Page 53 of Lady Luck

Liem had casually dropped into conversation that he knew my “seafaring best friend”—using that exact descriptor instead of his name—with a starry look in his eyes, but he had been uncharacteristically closed-lipped with details. The mention of Cody had me forcing back a grimace as I remembered the voicemail—and worse, the texts—that he still hadn’t answered or acknowledged.

I knew a storm was brewing there.

And that I had a lot to answer for.

Liem sighed dreamily, the sound nearly identical to the one he’d made not thirty minutes ago when the golf visor he was now wearing first caught his eye in the window of the main Fortuna gift shop. With his particular hairstyle, the addition of the visor made for a lopsided look, with one side disappearing into the straight, long, black hair on one side of his head and the other completely visible where it ended behind the ear of his shaved side.

Somewhere between the moment he bought that visor and now, Liem had evolved from a possibly fictitious, almost certainly too-good-to-be-true potential friend to an actual friend. Our relationship had solid footing in reality now, separate from million-dollar bathrooms and out-of-control birthday celebrations.

And that firmer foundation of friendship was what gave me the audacity to ask the question at the forefront of my mind.

“Do you have a crush on Cody?”

“Yes.”

Okay. That backfired.

I stared at him in disbelief. “Yes?! No, you can’t just say ‘yes’ like that.”

Liem smiled coyly. “Why not?”

Vinh saved me from answering by crossing the threshold onto the deck with two plates of breakfast balanced on one arm and the third in his other hand. He carefully placed them on the rickety table as he said, “If you’re trying to put Liem on the spot,”—his voice rumbled, laced with humor—“don’t bother. He’s never been there.”

I smiled but wasn’t ready to face Vinh completely, so I turned my attention to the steaming food. My stomach grumbled loudly, and my mouth watered, this time for much more family-friendly reasons, as the full visual and aromatic effect of the food hit me. It was plated so professionally and artistically that it would’ve rivaled even Fortuna’s nicest restaurants. I shared that sentiment with Vinh, but he brushed off the compliment before situating his tall frame in the chair beside me.

Liem cleared his throat, blinking dramatically a few times before sitting ramrod straight in his chair and turning to Vinh to ask with a put-on tone of seriousness, “Describe the dish.”

Vinh smiled slightly, but then he did, describing his “fried-green-tomato sort-of eggs Benedict” in detail. He started at the bottom of the plate and worked his way up, explaining the poblano cornbread pancake, the two fried green tomatoes, an over-easy egg, all topped with Cajun hollandaise sauce and fresh parsley. I only heard about half of the words, finding myself riveted to his lips as they formed and delivered every sound, only cheating on his lips to seek his hands, so strong and sure as he gestured and described the finer details of the processes behind it all.

I was firmly a lives-to-eat person, and this meal was basically heaven that was prepared by an intimidatingly competent angel-voiced chef. And after spending all night in the Bengay-scented emotional purgatory that was Grandmother’s hotel room, I was famished for some comfort food.

Comfort anything, really.

A hug would’ve done nicely too.

Liem and I each thanked Vinh before digging in, conversation ceasing as we ate—a testament to just how truly delicious everything was. It was a struggle to keep inappropriate noises of appreciation from falling from my mouth, but Liem held no such restraint, punctuating the scrape of our utensils every so often with obscene groans of pleasure that had Vinh grimacing and maybe regretting some—if not all—of his choices.

Once we were all done, not a drop of sauce left on anyone’s plate, Liem stood up. “Well, that was the best eggs Benedict I’ve ever had. Canadian bacon can suck it.” He happily patted his slightly bloated stomach and started stacking our plates. “I’ll clean, you stay here and relax for a minute,” he ordered as he pushed Vinh back into his seat.

Then he sauntered through the door and into the cabin with the dirty dishes. There was a distinct clattering sound as he put them into the sink a few moments before he poked his head back through the open doorway. “I’m going to close this so as to not infect the ambiance with my domestics.”

The door snicked closed, and I fixed my gaze on it as I internally rolled my eyes at Liem Lott and his progressively unsubtle interfering.

Then I turned my attention back to the elder Lott brother. “Thank you again for that. It was delicious and much needed.”

Vinh trained his dark-brown stare on me, a small smile in the corner of his lips. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad everything was okay with your grandma.”

I held his gaze for a moment, enjoying the way the breeze from the water rustled his hair, his arched eyebrow the last line of defense against his unkempt hair falling into his eyes.

“Grandmother,” I corrected. “Though I did call her ‘Grandma’ when I was really young.” Before she rebranded herself.

He ran a hand through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, I actually met her before yesterday.”

I shifted back in the chair, drew my legs up, and wrapped my arms around them. “When?”

“On Liem’s birthday.”

Huh. “Was she….” I frowned, resting my head on my knees. “What was that like?”

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