Page 95 of Cooking Up My Comeback
Brett’s eyes flash. “I care.”
“Do you? Or do you want to control everything so you don’t have to trust anyone?”
The conversation gets interrupted by Dad calling us over for introductions, but the tension simmers between us in the humid air.
The introductions go well despite our underlying conflict. Bill and Rachel seem impressed when Brett asks the right questions about sustainability and pricing, even though his delivery sounds brusque.
“You two seem like good partners,” Rachel says, glancing between us. “Business requires trust.”
I almost laugh. Trust. Right.
As boats prepare to separate, I overhear Dad pull Brett aside.
“Brett,” Dad says in his serious voice. “I want you to know something about my daughter.”
My cheeks warm, but I can’t interrupt without being obvious.
“She’s been through a lot. Her ex-husband never showed up when he said he would. Always had excuses.”
Brett’s jaw tightens. “She deserves better.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t want to see her hurt again. Those kids either.”
I hold my breath, waiting for Brett’s response.
“Mr. Bennett,” Brett says, voice low and steady, “I can’t promise I’ll never make mistakes. But I can promise I’ll never make her feel like she’s not worth showing up for.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest despite our earlier argument. The way he speaks sounds like a vow.
“Good man,” Dad says, clapping Brett’s shoulder. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
The ride back flows more quietly than the trip out. Crew and Dad discuss the morning’s catch while Mom reads to Mason below deck. Tally helps with navigation, which means she actually pays attention instead of texting friends.
Brett and I stand at the bow, watching Twin Waves harbor grow larger. The tension from our argument has settled into something more manageable, but it lingers.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “What I said about the fishermen... that was unfair.”
“Was it? Or were you just being honest about what you think?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Both, maybe. I do think you lead with your heart sometimes. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“Gee, thanks for the ringing endorsement.”
“Amber—”
“No, it’s fine. I get it. You think I’m impractical and naive, and I think you’re cynical and controlling. Good thing we’re just business partners, right?”
“Is that what we are?”
The question hangs in the salt air between us. Because we both know we crossed out of “business partners only” territory weeks ago, probably around the time he started showing up at my house for dinner and staying to help with homework.
“I don’t know what we’ve become,” I admit. “But I know I’m tired of defending every idea to you.”
“And I’m tired of you thinking I’m the villain for asking practical questions.”
We stare at each other, both frustrated and neither entirely wrong.
“This explains why workplace romances constitute a terrible idea,” I mutter.
