Page 28 of Third Time Lucky

LUCY

Asher

What u up to this morning?

How can a text from him make me feel giddy?

He has been the only thing on my mind since the dance – and I like it.

My plans for the morning were derailed as the client I was supposed to meet with canceled at the last minute.

Of course, there are things I could be doing instead, but as usual, my head is elsewhere.

Lucy

My schedule is clear today.

My fingers drum nervously against my desktop as I wait for his response, eagerly anticipating those three little dots indicating that he’s typing. Finally, they appear. The suspense is almost palpable as I anxiously await his reply. Why is he curious about my plans? What is happening between us?

Asher

Wanna help shop for this week’s menu? I’ll buy u coffee.

Lucy

I was ready to say yes before you even mentioned coffee… now it’s a hell yes.

Asher

Precisely what I wanted to hear. Be there in 30.

Thirty minutes? I glance down at myself, still clad in my wrinkled pajamas and my hair is a tangled mess. Panic sets in as I realize I have to shower, get ready and be dressed in – I quickly recheck the time – twenty-nine minutes!

Frantically, I rush to the bathroom, shedding my pajamas and stepping under the hot spray of the shower. Ah. The warm water soothes my nerves as I hurriedly wash away any hint of sleep from my skin.

Determined not to make Ash wait, I move through my morning routine with practiced speed, pulling on a simple yet stylish outfit (cut-off jean shorts – not the booty kind, my checkered Vans and a sky-blue V-neck top).

I’ve no time to dry my hair, so I run a brush through it, add a dab of product, and scrunch, hoping it’ll air-dry fast. A swipe of lip gloss, mascara, and a dash of perfume, and I’m ready just in time.

Stepping outside, the morning air fills my lungs. Just seeing his SUV running in the driveway sends a flutter through me.

Before I can approach his car, he steps out, his quick smile putting me at ease.

‘Hey,’ he greets me, his eyes warm and inviting.

‘Hello,’ I say, attempting to keep my cool.

‘Be honest, what are you most excited about, grocery shopping, coffee or me?’ he asks while opening the passenger-side door.

‘Obviously, coffee,’ I reply with a teasing glint in my eyes, as I brush past him to slide into the passenger seat. ‘But having you as company is a close second.’

‘I suppose that’s the right answer,’ he says, winking before closing my door.

As he pulls out of the driveway, I steal a glance at him. Today, he’s clean-shaven, smells fantastic, and I’m not the only one who did the shower-and-go thing if I had to guess by his slightly tousled hair.

* * *

‘So, what’s on the menu this week?’ I ask once we both have to-go coffee cups in our hands, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

‘How do you feel about taste-testing some new dishes for me?’

‘If I ever say no to that, get me to a doctor asap because I’m delusional.’

He chuckles at my response, his gaze lingering on me longer than necessary before returning to the road – and I like it.

‘I’m attempting to build my menu for the restaurant.’

‘Count me in then. Always. Anytime you cook anything, count me in.’

I love the way he laughs at my words like they make him feel good. But I’m only being honest.

As we arrive at the grocery store, Asher grabs a cart, and we start our leisurely stroll down the aisles.

His expertise in choosing fresh ingredients and unique spices is evident as he explains his vision for each dish he plans to prepare.

I find myself hanging on to every word of his, fascinated by his passion.

‘Any favorite foods or requests?’ he asks, glancing at me with genuine interest.

He wants my opinion? The woman who practically mashed celery?

‘Um… I like to try new things, but I also have a soft spot for Italian food.’

‘Italian food,’ he repeats my words, somehow making them sound alluring. He’s standing next to the cart, one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the cart handle.

‘Yeah. There’s just something about a hearty bowl of pasta that warms my soul.’

‘Tomato or cream-based?’

‘Cream,’ I say without question.

He nods thoughtfully, reaching into the refrigerated cheese display we’re standing near and tossing mascarpone and mozzarella into the cart.

‘Italian for dinner tonight, then – just for you.’

Just for me. Why do I like the sound of that so much? My taste buds are bouncing with joy right now at the thought of it.

We continue our grocery shopping, and by we, I mean him, because I’m mostly admiring him while sipping my coffee and attempting not to get caught.

He turns to me with a sly grin as we approach the register. ‘Prepare yourself,’ he whispers, leaning into me. ‘I have a feeling that this check-out girl is into me.’

‘Really…?’ My curiosity piques.

‘Yeah, she’s always checking me out.’

I glance at him, watching his grin widen, becoming almost ridiculous, and realize he’s messing with me. With a burst of laughter, I play along with his game.

I nudge him with my elbow. ‘Wow, Mr Popular! Can’t blame a girl, though; who could possibly resist your charming personality and incredibly addictive cooking skills?’

He lifts a single eyebrow.

‘Or perhaps she’s fallen for your handsome face?’

His gaze is tied to mine, and his face holds a captivating heat, like embers waiting to burst into flames, which adds a dangerous allure to his already striking features. There is no doubt we’ve crossed into ‘I like you and you like me, let’s flirt,’ phase of this new old friendship.

‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ he teases, winking at me.

‘Is that so?’ My words dance like a butterfly, teasing and light.

Flirting with Ash feels right, amazing even. But deep inside there’s a voice screaming, what are ya doing?! Here I am, partially still brokenhearted, on a man ban, fighting off memories of my past yet succumbing to his charm so effortlessly.

We’re silent as we load the groceries into his car. As we drive back to Mitzi’s, a Sirius Radio station plays softly in the background, but my mind is on our flirtatious grocery trip. Perhaps, I should change the subject to lift the tricky fog surrounding us.

‘Um— I’ve been considering your menu design and had a few questions,’ I mention.

He side-eyes me, flashing a slight smile. ‘Ask me anything,’ he says, before returning his focus to the road ahead.

‘What type of restaurant will it be?’

His eyes glint with excitement. He really loves his job, and it shows. ‘Fusion meets comfort,’ he says. ‘I like melding different flavors together to create something entirely unique.’

I nod in agreement. ‘And you do it well. Will there be a bar?’

‘Yes, but with custom drinks. We won’t be serving something you can grab anywhere.’

‘If someone falls in love with a specialty cocktail, they’ll keep coming back. I’ve done that myself. Genius.’

And it’s true – those irresistible bourbon balls always manage to find their way into my life.

‘Will it be an all-day-service restaurant or dinner only?’

‘Five to midnight. Dinner, desserts, drinks.’

‘Dress code?’

‘No shoes, no shirt, no service,’ he jokes, cracking a smile my way.

‘Funny.’

‘Seriously, upscale casual.’

‘OK… dinner party attire. Nice. Music vibe?’

He tilts his head to the side, pondering my question.

‘Nothing too loud but enough to set the mood. Maybe something upbeat and happy? I’d want to make everyone feel welcome, so a mix of genres and songs from different years might be wise.

I dunno; I’m picturing a lively atmosphere with diners chatting and enjoying themselves without a care in the world. Does that make sense?’

‘It sounds absolutely lovely. I would love for the menu to reflect that vision.’

‘Do you want to see the place?’ he offers.

‘Your restaurant?’

He nods. ‘We’re one exit away. I usually stop by once a week to check out the progress. It could be fun to get an outside perspective.’

‘Yes,’ I reply with a smile I can’t contain. ‘I would love to see it.’

The car glides off the highway and into a quieter part of town, where the streets are lined with quaint shops and cozy cafés – Knob Hill – my favorite.

‘Here we are, the restaurant with no name,’ he announces with a grin, turning off the ignition after parking along the curb out front.

As I step out of the car, my heart quickens. It’s obvious he’s proud of this. He can’t quit smiling. And he chose to show me. Wow, I’m seriously honored because this place seems like his baby.

The building stands like a charming beacon of the past, blending into the cityscape with a familiar coziness that promises warmth and comfort inside. Its walls are a welcoming brick, worn with character and history, and its large front windows hold secrets behind their opaque coverings.

‘It’s adorable,’ I say as he pulls open one of the double doors.

‘This will be the dining area,’ he explains, walking me through the space.

Tables and chairs are stacked along one wall, waiting for their final places.

The soft glow of hanging pendant lights casts a warm ambiance over the room, making it easy to envision the lively atmosphere he described.

I can already see the potential in the space.

I imagine guests laughing and clinking glasses as they devour his carefully crafted dishes.

‘A handcrafted bar with a vintage blue subway tile base and a countertop made from local barn wood will line this wall with open glass shelves so the early-evening light can do its thing through the front window, and after dark, there will be deep blue LED lighting.’ He motions along the brick wall as if he can see it.

‘Black back barstools,’ he says, nodding at the wall of furniture and pointing them out.

‘And my mother suggested greenery to take advantage of the large front windows.’

‘So, no dark, dingy restaurant for you.’

‘No way,’ he says. ‘Mood is key.’

I bite my lip, forcing away the ridiculous smile at how enthused he is. ‘I love that. How is your mom, by the way?’

I didn’t know her well – or really at all. But I did meet her at Kris’ funeral; she was a mess, like everyone else. I was surprised when she hugged me with the force of my father.

‘She’s – her usual self – not into parenting at all,’ he says, his smile soft but sad. ‘Her and my dad divorced when I was nineteen. I don’t see much of either of them any more.’

I frown. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t be. They taught me the valuable lessons of never overdoing things and never giving up.

My dad was the king of pushing the limits.

And my mom was queen of disassociation. There were some battles in my house on a regular basis.

But that is so depressing to relive and I’m sure you don’t want to hear my problems so, on with our tour. ’ He changes the subject flawlessly.

I’m depressed for him. He seems like he should have had an amazing life to become the man he is, but from the sounds of it, things were anything but.

He leads me through the rest of the space, pointing out where the kitchen will be located, the cozy private dining area in the back for special occasions, and even a small stage for live music performances on weekends.

‘You’ve thought of everything,’ I say, gazing at the partially set up kitchen that could give Mitzi’s place a run for its money. ‘I can already tell this place is going to be something extraordinary.’

‘I hope so,’ he says earnestly, his eyes alight with an unmistakable passion. His gaze doesn’t waver as it shifts to meet mine. ‘I can’t wait to see what you come up with for the menu design.’

His excitement is contagious, a fever that courses through me and sets my heart racing. This might be my most exciting project ever, and mostly because I want to know every single thing about Asher Wright – the good, the bad, the sooner, the better – and taking this on may help me do that.