Page 68 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“Both. The combination. It works.”
“Like a good partnership.”
I look up at him, and there’s something in his expression that makes my pulse skip.
“Brett—”
The doorbell rings.
We both freeze. I glance at the clock. Nearly ten. Too late for neighbors, too early for emergencies.
“I’ll get it,” I say, standing quickly.
“You sure?”
I nod and head for the door. When I open it, Penelope Waters is standing there in a pencil skirt and heels that are completely inappropriate for this time of night, holding a white bakery box.
“Amber, darling,” she says, her voice syrup-sweet. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
Behind me, Brett appears in the kitchen doorway. Penelope’s smile widens.
“Oh,” she says, tilting her head like a curious bird. “I am interrupting.”
She doesn’t wait to be invited in. Just steps over thethreshold like she owns the place, setting the bakery box on my counter.
“I brought treats,” she announces. “Lemon lavender macarons from that new place in Raleigh.”
“You drove to Raleigh for cookies?” I ask.
Penelope laughs. “Don’t be silly, honey. I had them delivered. Time is money, after all.”
Brett mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like commentary on her delivery habits.
“What was that, Brett?” Penelope asks sweetly.
“Just admiring your... dedication to dessert,” he says, moving to stand beside me.
“Well, aren’t you sweet? “ She clasps her hands in front of her like she’s about to deliver a presentation. “I actually came by to share some exciting news from our tourism board meeting.”
“At ten o’clock at night?” I ask.
“I was driving by and saw your lights on. Thought why not share the good news immediately?”
Brett crosses his arms. “What kind of news?”
Penelope’s eyes light up with obvious pleasure. “Well, it turns out we’ve been approached by a restaurant group from Charleston. Very high-end, very sophisticated. They’re interested in our waterfront properties.”
Something cold settles in my stomach. “And you’re telling us this because...?”
“I thought you should know what you’re competing against,” she says, not even trying tohide her satisfaction. “Professional establishments with proven track records, significant capital investment, connections to food critics and travel magazines.”
“Sounds expensive,” Brett says flatly.
“Quality usually is.” Penelope’s smile sharpens. “The council has a responsibility to choose developments that will elevate Twin Waves’ reputation. Bring in the kind of visitors who stay longer, spend more, write glowing reviews.”
“And you don’t think we can do that?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Her pause is just long enough to sting. “I think you have heart. But heart doesn’t always translate to the kind of sophisticated dining experience that puts a destination on the culinary map.”
