Page 16 of Third Time Lucky

LUCY

The evening air hangs around me as I approach the house, its facade softened by a gentle glow from the streetlights.

The scent of fresh rain clings to everything, making the sidewalks shimmer under the silver touch of moonlight.

Light spills from the kitchen windows, painting ethereal beams across ivy vines that cling persistently to the brick walls.

When I enter, I expect to find her in her usual chair, but Mitzi’s laughter isn’t there to greet me as it usually is, a subtle symphony that has become as much a part of this place as the weathered doorknob.

Instead, I encounter only shadows and stillness, broken occasionally by the soft clinks of utensils in use from the next room.

‘Hello?’ I call out, hesitant considering I don’t know who I’m hearing.

‘It’s just me,’ a voice says gently.

As I walk in, Asher stands surrounded by a spread of ingredients and jars on the pristine white marble island. He’s here late.

‘Hey,’ he greets me, looking up briefly from his chopping board, his smile wide.

‘Hi. Where’s Mitzi?’ I ask, only slightly worried.

‘Said she was turning in early to watch her show.’

Laughing softly, I throw my purse onto the dining table and take a seat opposite him at the bar.

‘She’s obsessed with streaming services and has subscriptions to all of them. Did she tell you what show she’s currently binging?’

‘Nope.’

‘Multiple things, but mostly, Game of Thrones .’

He pauses mid-cut before shaking his head. ‘Damn. Mitzi’s braver than I am. Aaron tried getting me into it, and I barely stumbled through Season One.’

‘Same here! The cringe factor is high with that one,’ I commiserate. ‘Last year, she devoured Sons of Anarchy – twice – because she’s head over heels for Charlie Hunnam.’

‘Well, who isn’t?’ Asher lofts with a hearty chuckle.

‘Did you know he’s British?’

He nods knowingly. ‘Yet he nails being an American biker far better than I’d ever manage.’

‘And you’ve actually got the tattoos!’

My eyes wander over the vibrant ink snaking out from beneath his shirt sleeves right down to his wrists – mysteries inked across skin, each one possibly holding a story untold. And secretly I wonder how far they might extend beneath that shirt. Yep, he’s beyond hot and now it’s all I see.

He glances down at himself, suddenly shy.

‘Yeah… I got swept up in the Portland ink-nado fest of the twenty-teens – did I overdo it?’

I dismiss his concern with a shake of my head.

‘Would you even be a PDX chef without them?’ I laugh. ‘Truthfully, I didn’t expect them, but somehow, they fit perfectly.’

His gaze sends jitters pattering throughout when meeting mine again, suddenly serious.

‘Good to know,’ he says with an appreciative smile.

As I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, he works quietly, his eyes flicking to me every now and then. Climbing back onto my stool, he breaks the silence.

‘Should I ask how your date went, considering it’s not even nine?’

I exhale a long sigh, slightly more humiliated than before. ‘It was… interesting.’

His eyebrow arches curiously at my choice of words. ‘I feel like that’s not a compliment to Tucker-Tanner.’

‘You remember his name?’

His smile is warm as he nods. ‘Did you ever nail it down?’

‘Tanner. And no, “interesting” is not a compliment.’

We’re just going to skip over the puzzling mind-reading aspect of him. Even I can’t wrap my mind around that. And no way am I telling him I ran into Aaron. I’m hoping with everything in me that he and Madi keep my words to themselves.

The artistic arrangement of vegetables on the counter beside him catches my eye: vibrant colors organized meticulously in clear packaging like a painter’s palette before the inception of a masterpiece.

‘I didn’t think you’d still be here.’

‘I prefer prepping everything the night before,’ he explains with an easygoing grin. ‘Mornings and me, we don’t jibe. I’m definitely not here because I wanted to stick around and see how your date went, if that’s what you were wondering?’

‘Ha!’ I blurt a nervous laugh. Did he stay to find out exactly that? Now I want to know. ‘Well, uh – do you need a hand with anything?’

‘Um—’ he says after scanning the kitchen around us for options. ‘If you insist, I’d love your help slicing vegetables?’

‘I insist,’ I say, washing my hands before joining him at the kitchen island. ‘Who should I cut first?’ My playful tone makes him smirk and shake his head slightly.

‘Let’s start with celery – it’s ready to go, just needs a chop.’

Equipped with a sturdy butcher knife, I slice through the celery stalk with such verve that it reverberates against the cutting board – a sharp echo ringing through our cozy culinary corner. Ash jumps slightly at the sound.

‘Brutal,’ he remarks, with amusement edging his voice.

‘It’s a great frustration reliever. The Tanner in my head totally just shut up,’ I say, going a little easier on the rest of the celery.

He smirks.

‘Should I know this is celery when I’m done?’

His laughter is genuine and brightens up our small cocoon within this late-night hour. ‘Knowing what it is makes it easier to know what I’ve got when cooking. So, yes, please.’

Continuing at a softer pace than my initial hack-job cadence; all that’s heard are steady rhythms being carved into wooden surfaces – creating music solely owned by shared focus amidst kaleidoscopic veggies.

‘Can I ask you something? About men?’

Without uttering a single word, he pushes aside his task and leans against the counter facing me, ready to listen.

His hip casually rests against the edge, and his arms are folded over his chest. Every intricate tattoo adorning his skin and the well-defined biceps I hadn’t previously noticed are displayed.

They certainly weren’t as pronounced when he was eighteen, and they definitely didn’t possess the same definition they do now, with his shirt sleeves embracing them snugly.

My God, I bet he’s firm in all the right places.

Snap out of it, Lucy. You’ve had enough of leering eyes on you like you’re a piece of meat tonight. No way are you imagining Asher that way; he’s your friend.

‘I’m an open book,’ he says with a warm smile. ‘Ask me anything.’

‘Is getting laid your people’s only objective?’

He lets out a chuckle. ‘Jumping right into the fire. OK, well, for some guys, yeah, they’re only looking to get laid. Others? Not so much.’

‘How can I tell the difference?’

He side-eyes me. ‘I’d bet money the second you saw Aaron and me in Vegas; you knew who the fuckboy was.’

‘Well, yeah,’ I say. ‘But I’ve known you before, so I assumed you were the good guy.’

‘I’m still a guy – I just don’t consistently have X-rated scenes playing through my mind like I suspect Aaron does,’ he replies.

‘I apparently knew a guy a like that once,’ I tease. ‘Almost married him…’

He half smiles, but part of it’s sad. ‘My advice, watch out for the narcissistic or overly flirtatious.’

I bite my lips together, focusing on the celery not the words that now remind me of Brandon. He was both of those things.

‘Tanner spent thirty minutes admiring my chest – then randomly let me know his apartment was just around the corner.’

One of Asher’s eyebrows arches sharply upward with amusement mingled with disbelief. ‘Eye contact with your nipples is always a red flag. Unless that’s the game you’re playing.’

‘What’s a red flag?’ I ask. ‘And I’m going to need you to explain it to me like I’m five, because I’ve failed this class before.’ A laugh escapes me despite myself because it’s better to joke about it than get frustrated over it all again.

Brandon flashes through my memory – a painful reminder wrapped up perfectly with a bright red bow that I never saw until Vegas.

‘I think I’m color blind in the flag department…’ I say with a shrug.

‘I’m sure you’re not, Brandon was just a douche.’

I nod slowly, absorbing his words. ‘I’m not disagreeing, I just don’t understand how I didn’t know.’

‘He was a great liar.’

I nod. ‘And if it wasn’t for you, he’d have gotten away with it and I’d be none the wiser.’

‘Nah,’ he says gently. ‘You’re a smart woman; you’d have figured it out.’

His words seep into me like gentle rain on parched soil. I meet his warm, understanding eyes – the same ones that seemed so apologetic in the past – and feel a comforting wave settle over me. He’s still a good guy, as I thought.

‘Doing what you did couldn’t have been easy. So, in case I haven’t said it yet, thank you. You saved me from a lifetime of deceit. And probably a handful of STDs.’

He grimaces, shaking his head. ‘I’d say the pleasure was mine but repeatedly giving you bad news isn’t my favorite part of life.’

‘It makes you a saint, though.’

‘Nah,’ he says. ‘I’m definitely no saint. Remember the issues you mentioned the other night?’

I nod.

‘I’ve got ’em too. And they’ve taught me all kinds of shit I never wanted to know.’

‘Really?’

He nods. ‘Wisdom stems from trauma.’

‘That it does,’ I agree. ‘I don’t even know why I expect more from men or why I even bother with this dating game any more. Everyone I love eventually leaves.’

Ash frowns, visibly conflicted on how to respond to that.

Take it all back, Lucy. You sound like a loser.

‘Anyway, Tanner wasn’t a “real” date, he was just Madi setting up another pity date while urging me to use him for my pleasure. But using guys isn’t really who I am and Madi doesn’t have the best taste. Brandon is proof of that.’

‘Another pity date? Who was the first one?’

How could he possibly forget? It’s one of those memories that cling to you, refusing to fade.

‘Come on, Ash. You were the first.’

He grimaces slightly like its unwelcome news. ‘ Me ? I was your first pity date?’ he asks, placing a hand on his chest. ‘When?’

‘Prom?’ I reply, torn between surprise and hesitation.

He shakes his head repeatedly. ‘That wasn’t a pity date,’ he presses back.

I tilt my head, pointing the knife in his direction. ‘You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?’

‘No,’ he insists earnestly, ‘I did that?—’