Page 138 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“Grandpa took me fishing this morning,” Crew says, setting his tackle box down carefully. “We caught three redfish.”
“Before school?” I ask. “Impressive.”
“Yeah, we got up really early.” He grins. “Grandpa says I’m getting better at not scaring the fish away.”
“That’s great, buddy,” Amber says, ruffling his hair. “Maybe you can tell us about it later. Right now we need to figure out lunch.”
“Sandwiches,” Mason declares from his perch on a chair. “I already decided.”
As the kids settle in—Crew putting away his fishing gear, Mason offering helpfulsandwich suggestions, Tally checking her phone—I watch this family somehow becoming mine.
This chaotic, beautiful, perfect mess of people who’ve made me understand what home really means.
And that’s when it hits me like a rogue wave.
I don’t want to help Amber build this dream. I don’t want to be her business partner or her boyfriend or even her live-in whatever-we-are.
I want to be her partner in everything. The person who stands beside her through restaurant openings and magazine features and whatever challenges come next.
I want to argue with Crew about homework and teach Mason to throw a baseball and somehow survive Tally’s remaining teenage years.
I want all of it. The chaos, the laughter, the 5 AM fishing trips, the family dinners where everyone talks at once.
I want forever.
“Brett?” Amber’s voice pulls me back to earth. “You look like you’re having some kind of revelation.”
“Maybe I am.”
That’s when Amber’s phone rings. She glances at the screen and frowns.
“Unknown number,” she says, but answers anyway. “Amber Bennett.”
I watch her face transform from cautious to confused to absolutely stunned.
“I... what?” she says, sinking into the nearest chair. “Could you repeat that?”
Mason stops his sandwich planning. Crew looks up from his tackle box. Even Tally pauses her texting. Something about Amber’s tone has captured everyone’s attention.
“The James Beard Foundation,” she says slowly into the phone. “Yes, I understand. Next month. Yes, we’d be honored.”
My heart stops. The James Beard Foundation doesn’t call people with bad news.
“Thank you,” Amber continues. “Thank you so much. Yes, I’ll send everything by email.”
After she hangs up, she stares at her phone like it might explain what happened.
“Good news or bad news?” I ask, though her expression already tells me the answer.
“I... I don’t know. Maybe both?” She looks up at me with wide eyes. “Can you believe it? The Emmeline Grant Foundation wants to nominate us for theHeart & Heritage Award. It’s for restaurants that blend tradition and innovation—and actually make a difference in their towns.” Silence. Complete, total silence.
Then Tally shrieks. Actually shrieks with pure joy.
“MOM! Do you know what this means? The Emmeline Grant Culinary Foundation? They’re like the Oscars of food!”
“But we’ve only been open four months,” Amber says, still processing.
“They said they saw the MilliEats post,” she continues, her voice getting stronger. “They said our story—family recipes, sustainable practices, community involvement—is exactly what they’re looking for. They want us to submit an application.”
