Page 49 of It's a Date (Again)

I eye the bubbling, hot oil and then glance over at Nash. His back is toward me as he alternates between plopping white and yellow cheese on each patty.

“Nash.”

He looks over his shoulder at me. His brow is already furrowed, but he quickly relaxes it, rushing to me. “Here,” he says as he snakes his arms around my waist and guides my hand to the handle of the basket. Together we lift it and hook it on the wall, letting the excess oil drip back into the basin. “You got it,” he whispers. His hot breath grazes my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

Before I can say anything back, he’s in front of the stove again, tending to the burgers. “Can you grab two plates from the corner over there?” Nash points off to a shelf. “Then go ahead and drop the fries again.”

I do as he says like I’m the sous to his chef. “How long this time?”

“Just two minutes. Double-fried french fries are the best. Gives them a nice crunch,” he says as he assembles a burger on each plate. “These are smash-patty burgers.” He gestures to them. “They’re far superior to hockey-puck patties, and smashing them creates these lacy, charred edges.”

“They look amazing.”

“And they taste even better.” Nash winks.

I throw a smile over my shoulder while I keep an eye on the french fries and the clock on the wall. I glance back every few seconds or so, watching him assemble the toppings. He’s laser-focused on his task at hand, and perhaps that’s why he hasn’t been in a serious relationship. Career over romance. But then what’s my excuse? What have I been so focused on?

A hand brushes against my waist as I pull the fries again. I turn to find Nash standing behind me.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he shuts off the fryer.

“No need to be sorry,” I say with a coy smile.Because I liked it.I don’t say that part out loud.

He smiles back at me. Up close, I notice how clean shaven he is. Not a stubble or even a nick on his angled jawline. He smells of baked goods, and I wonder if he was baking before he picked me up for our date. Nash grabs the basket of fries and tosses them into a shallow metal basin.

“If you want to grab a table for us, I’ll finish plating and bring these out,” he offers.

“You got it.” I untie my apron and hand it over.

In the dining area, I take a seat at a corner booth in the front. A large window sits behind it, overlooking the sidewalk and street. A sprinkling of people pass by.

“Who’s ready to eat?” Nash calls out. He crosses the restaurant carrying a plate in each hand and smiling all the way. I’ve noticed his grin growing throughout our date, like he’s getting more confident in showing off his happiness. It makes me smile a little wider too.

“It looks great,” I say as he sets down the food and pulls two bottles of water from his apron. The cheese and garlic aioli ooze out of the sides of the burgers. There’s a heaping pile of crispy fries on each plate with a small ramekin of dipping sauce beside it. Nash takes a seat and tells me to dig in.

I pick up the burger and practically unhinge my jaw in order to get a full bite of it. It’s the perfect balance of flavors, a mix of acidity, saltiness, meatiness, and tang. Plus, the char on the meat is a nice addition. Nash was right about that. All together it creates a sort of umami flavor. I nod several times while chewing and wipe my mouth and chin with a napkin.

“So, what do you think?” Nash waits to dive into his own until he hears my feedback. Such a gentleman and a chef.

“Incredible. You were right about the smash patties.”

“That’s exactly what you said last time.” He smiles, picks up his burger, and bites into it.

“Really?”

Nash nods as he uncaps the bottle of water and takes a swig. “It’s been like déjà vu for me today. Even without your memories, you did and said everything practically the same. Rather remarkable.” He dips a couple of fries into the aioli and eats them.

I wonder if this date was boring for him since I did and said everything the same. I hope it wasn’t. But at least I know I’m still Peyton. I eat a couple of fries, one with the aioli and one without. It’s better with the sauce.

He glances over at me. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Not having memories.” Nash sighs. “I know it’s a strange question, so you don’t have to answer it.” He bites into his burger. Gooey cheese, aioli, and oil squeeze out the other side, dropping onto his plate.

He’s the first one to ask me that question, and I like that he did. It shows he cares how I’m feeling and what I’m experiencing.

“It’s strange. It’s like there’s nothing guiding me. You know? Most of what we do and say is dictated by our past experiences. But mine is a blank page. And sometimes I can sort of feel the memories, but I don’t know what they are.” I swirl a fry in the garlic aioli.

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