Page 136 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“A well-intentioned idiot.”
“The worst kind.”
“The best kind, actually. Because it means you care enough to worry about doing right by me.”
He steps closer, his hands finding my waist with familiar certainty. “I do care. More than I probably should.”
“Exactly as much as you should.”
When he kisses me, it tastes of relief and promises and the sweet certainty of two people who’ve finally figured out how to trust each other completely.
“So,” I say when we break apart, both of us breathing hard, “no more careful distance?”
“No more careful distance.”
“Good. Because I have news.”
“What kind of news?”
I grin, pulling out my phone to show him the email I received this morning. “This influencer with over amillion followers wants to feature us on her social media. Her name is MilliEats.”
His eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Apparently, our little restaurant and its dramatic grand opening caught some attention.”
“Think we can handle it?”
“We can handle anything.”
As the reception continues around us and the ocean waves provide the perfect soundtrack for new beginnings, I realize we’ve changed completely from the people who started this journey ten months ago. We’re stronger, braver, and absolutely certain that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
Even if it involves more coffee table casualties and flower petal explosions.
Especially then.
THIRTY
BRETT
Three weeks after the wedding, Jack and Hazel are back from their honeymoon in Hawaii, and I’m standing in The Salty Pearl during the afternoon lull, watching Amber review reservations for tonight with the satisfaction of someone whose gamble paid off spectacularly.
We’re booked solid. Again.
MilliEats visited our restaurant last night and posted this morning, and our phone hasn’t stopped ringing since. Turns out people really do want “authentic coastal cuisine with a real family behind it,” exactly like Milli predicted. Who knew honesty was such a revolutionary marketing strategy in the restaurant business?
“Table fourteen wants to accommodate a party of eight,” Amber says, not looking up from her reservationbook. “And the James family specifically requested our corner table for their anniversary dinner.”
“The Jameses are becoming regulars.”
“Third time this month. Mrs. James told me our seafood pasta reminds her of her honeymoon in Italy.”
I love how this still surprises her. Two months of sold-out nights, glowing reviews, and families becoming genuine regulars, and she still can’t quite believe people actually want what we’re offering. Like she’s waiting for someone to pull back the curtain and reveal this has all been an elaborate prank.
“Brett,” she says, setting down her pen and fixing me with those gray-green eyes still making my pulse forget its rhythm, “what if this is as good as it gets?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if we’ve peaked? What if Milli’s attention was our fifteen minutes of fame and now we coast?”
