Page 140 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“I love you too.”
And suddenly, watching her celebrate this incredible milestone while covered in flour and completely in her element, I know exactly when I want to ask her to marry me.
Not in some planned, perfect moment. But in one of these real, beautiful, chaotic moments that make up our actual life together.
Soon. Very soon.
THIRTY-ONE
AMBER
The back door opens, and Brett steps inside The Salty Pearl, bringing the sticky summer heat in with him. We’ve developed this routine of early morning prep together, before service chaos begins.
“You beat me here,” he says, pulling off his sunglasses and giving me a quick kiss on the lips.
“Couldn’t stop thinking about this,” I say, holding up the officialHeart and Heritagenomination letter like evidence in a court case. “A month ago, we were submitting our application wondering if we had any chance at all. Now we’re actually nominated.”
“You’re nominated,” he corrects, moving closer and starting the coffee with the efficiency of someone who’s done this routine a hundred times. “This is about your talent, your vision, your grandmother’s recipes.”
“Our restaurant,” I correct right back. “Our dream.”
He pauses in his coffee preparation to look at me, and there’s something in those storm-gray eyes making my pulse skip. Something resembling pride mixed with something deeper. Something building over the past few weeks since the nomination call.
“How are you feeling about the whole thing?”
“Terrified. Excited. Like I might throw up and cry simultaneously. Also like I should probably clean something.”
“The ceremony’s not for three months. Plenty of time to stress-clean everything in Twin Waves twice.”
“Thanks for the encouragement,” I say, but I’m smiling. Brett knows exactly how to make me laugh even when I’m spiraling into organizational overdrive.
Last year, his practical responses made me want to throw kitchen utensils at his head. Now they somehow anchor me when everything feels overwhelming.
“Besides,” he adds, handing me a steaming mug of coffee that’s perfectly made because he pays attention to details like how much cream I take and whether I’ve eaten breakfast yet, “you’ve got this. You’ve survived health department sabotage, influencer features, and Mason trying to ‘help’ by reorganizing the walk-in cooler. A fancy awards ceremony should be manageable.”
“Don’t jinx it,” I warn, taking a sip of coffee tasting like liquid comfort.
We hear the familiar sound of controlled commotion approaching from the front of the restaurant.
“Amber!” Mom’s voice carries through the dining room. “We brought celebration breakfast!”
“And by ‘we,’ she means she dragged us all here because she’s more excited about your nomination than you are,” comes Tally’s voice, thick with the long-suffering tone of a teenager forced to be social before coffee.
And there they are, appearing in the kitchen doorway like a small parade of Bennett family enthusiasm. Mom’s carrying a casserole dish smelling divine, Dad’s got what appears to be enough coffee to caffeinate a small army, and the kids are all wearing matching “Salty Pearl Crew” t-shirts someone definitely made without consulting me first.
“Surprise!” Mom announces, setting the casserole on the prep counter with the confidence of someone who’s never met a kitchen she couldn’t commandeer. “I made celebration breakfast casserole with extra cheese because today is a special day, and special days require extra cheese.”
“Mom, it’s 7:20 AM,” I point out. “And we’re not technically open.”
“Excellence doesn’t sleep in,” Dad says, setting up what appears to be a mobile coffee station. “Besides, figured you’d want to celebrate before the lunch rush.”
“Assuming we have a lunch rush,” I mutter, still not entirely convinced this whole Grant nomination thing isn’t an elaborate prank.
“Oh, you’ll have a rush,” comes a familiar voice from the front door. We all turn to see Hazel letting herself in with the confidence of someone who has emergency key privileges, followed by Jack, Michelle, and what appears to be half our regular customers.
“Hazel,” I say carefully, watching our unofficial Twin Waves breakfast club file in behind her, “what did you do?”
“I may have mentioned the nomination on social media,” she says with a grin suggesting she’s been planning this ambush for days. “And by mentioned, I mean I posted about it approximately seventeen times with enough hashtags to trend in three counties.”
