Page 23 of Cooking Up My Comeback
And for the first time in years, I don’t really care what people think.
SEVEN
AMBER
The smell of butter and lemon fills my kitchen, exactly what I need after today’s chaos. Between the boutique incident and that awkward beach encounter, I need to do work with my hands that makes sense and doesn’t involve Brett Walker’s unexpected kindness throwing me off balance.
So I make Grandma’s crab cakes recipe. The one that never fails to center me.
Mason zooms a toy dump truck across the tile while Crew builds what appears to be a Lego fortress designed to withstand alien invasion. Normal afternoon chaos that feels like exactly what I need.
“Mom, do crab cakes count as dinner or just fancy finger food?” Crew calls out.
“It can be both,” I say absentmindedly. I’m focused on Grandma’s recipe card—the one with the grease stainand her looping cursive fading at the edges.Use fresh crab if you want it to sing, and don’t forget the squeeze of lemon.
My fingers move by memory, but my heart aches a little. This kitchen still looks exactly like it did when I was twelve—the mint-green backsplash catching the afternoon light, untouched since Grandma picked it out in 1967. Some things belong to the past. Others still have more to give.
The screen door creaks, and Hazel breezes in holding a mason jar of sweet tea and wearing a smug expression that usually means she knows gossip I don’t.
“Hey, girl,” she says, kicking off her sandals. “How are your complicated feelings doing today?” She gives me a big cheesy grin.
I scoff. “You’re reading too much into everything.”
“Because I’m sitting on fresh intel.” She hops onto the counter. “Grandma Hensley saw the whole thing at the beach today.”
My hands pause on the crab mixture. “The whole what thing?”
“You in that teal swimsuit. Brett looking like his brain had short-circuited.”
I nearly drop the spatula. “What?”
“I quote: ‘Strong as an ox, that one. And completely smitten, though he’s too stubbornto admit it.’”
My face heats so fast I might spontaneously combust. “Grandma Hensley needs a hobby.”
“She’s got one. Matchmaking commentary. And she’s never wrong about chemistry.”
I groan and shove the tray into the oven. “It wasn’t like that. We just ran into each other.”
“And he just happened to help you with the boys’ sand castle like he’d been doing it his whole life?”
Actually, that part was pretty smooth. Brett had crouched down to Mason’s level and asked about the moat system like it was serious engineering. Crew had immediately launched into turtle migration patterns, and instead of looking glazed over, Brett had asked follow-up questions.
Most men run when Crew starts talking about sea creature reproduction cycles.
“Have you decided between the coffee shop and the restaurant partnership?” Hazel asks, switching gears.
“Michelle’s offer is safe. Steady hours, predictable income, no risk of losing everything I’ve worked for.”
“And Brett’s offer?”
“Exciting. Probably the chance of a lifetime.” I sigh. “Also completely terrifying.”
Hazel’s gaze lands on the recipe tin behind me. “Is that Grandma’s collection?”
I nod. “Pulled it down from the attic recently.”
She opens the tin with reverence. “I remember this. You used to cook here every summer when we werekids. You were twelve, but you could dice an onion better than my mom.”
