Page 22 of Third Time Lucky

A thought that hadn’t crossed my mind. Have I ever been worshipped by a man? Once. But I’m not sure teenage puppy love counts.

‘You are something else,’ I say, knocking back the rest of my drink so I can make it through the evening.

6

LUCY

The delicious scent of mango and cherry wafts through the steamy shower as I lather my hair with my favorite shampoo and conditioner. I’ve got a big evening planned (not really). Dinner (surely there’s something in the fridge that’s appetizing) and Netflix’sLove is Blind– which I’m not sure that it is, if I base my opinion solely off this show. My favorite part is seeing the newly engaged couples meet in person for the first time; after that, it becomes a wild race to the altar – if they even make it that far. It’s oddly comforting to watch the train wreck it usually becomes, especially since my own love life has been less than successful.

I let out a contented sigh as the warm water washes over me. Rinsing the conditioner from my hair, my mind wanders. I’ve warded off Tanner’s texts three times over the last seven days. That’s right; Madi gave him my number because she suspected I’d never call him, and she wasn’t wrong. I’d planned on staying single for at least the next decade, but she just has to throw a wrench in my plans – because I ‘deserve’ more. But until a man rides in on a white horse, wearing a crown or his kingdom’s family crest – and saves me from the dragon that is life, I’m out. The man ban is now in full swing. Plus, I could use the time to figure out who I am again without the stress of worrying about finding Mr Right. I don’t need a man. I can woo myself better.

Lost in my thoughts, I absentmindedly reach for the body wash and start to lather it on my skin, relishing in the sweet scent of coconut and vanilla. A knock on the bathroom door startles me out of my reverie, and I hear a familiar voice calling out to me.

‘Darling, I’m sorry to barge into your room, but remember the take-out sample meals you tried last week?’

I quickly rinse and shut off the shower. Do I remember? I tried them in order (she had them numbered, not named, so I didn’t know who the chefs were) and I swear when I got to three, it was orgasmic. Seriously, that man knows how to cook. I’ve never had flavors dance on my tongue before. I didn’t even know what I was eating besides pork, pears and cashews, and those are just the ingredients I could see, but it’s going on the list of soul-selling foods.

‘Please tell me you hired number three and trashed the other guys? My taste buds fell in love with him.’ I shout so she can hear me from my en suite bathroom while the door is closed.

I twist a towel over my hair, and with a second towel pulled tightly around my chest, I buzz by Mitzi, who’s standing in my room, the door wide open to the house behind her, and into the closet, where I pull the door partially closed, so I don’t flash her, dressing in whatever is most comfortable for binge-watching after eating a meal that will make me believe in love momentarily.

‘I did hire chef three,’ she says. ‘I came to tell you he’s here.’

‘Oh!’ I coo excitedly. Now I don’t have to eat cheese and crackers for dinner like I’d previously planned. ‘Is he cooking?’ I ask, sniffing the air as I walk back into my room from the closet.

‘He is cooking—’ She stops mid-sentence, looking me over from head to toe with her eyebrows furrowed. ‘Oh dear. Is this what you’re wearing?’

I glance down at the oversized emerald-green hoodie that hangs on me like a dress over two-tone gray heart print leggings and fluffy pink socks because this house is big and drafty sometimes.

‘To have dinner and spend an evening in my room binging Netflix? Yep. Why are you surprised? This is always how I dress for a night in.’

‘No surprise. I just expected us to be in daytime clothes when we met him.’

‘Based on the one meal I’ve had, the man is a genius in the kitchen,’ I say. ‘Because of that, I wanted to wear my stretchy pants in preparation of overeating. You didn’t have a single opinion on them at Thanksgiving. What’s the problem now?’

Her eyes go wide as I speak. ‘I think perhaps?—’

Right then, I get a whiff of something. Garlic? Maybe. I can’t wait to find out. ‘Do you smell that? Come on, Mitzi, we have a private chef to entertain us. Why are we standing in my room worried about my outfit when we could be ogling a young, hot chef,’ I say with excitement.

She grimaces. ‘That is sort of the problem.’

‘He’s not hot? Or young? Is he elderly? That’d be good for you!’ I approach, taking her hand and leading her through the house toward the kitchen.

‘No dear, it’s not that – it’s?—’

‘Mitzi, you’re never this hard up for words. Just say whatever it i?—’

Suddenly, I have a stroke. Not a real stroke or anything, but I’ve lost all my words as I reach the kitchen – stopping as if my feet have been glued to the floor, partly because my brain has malfunctioned at the sight of him.

Our eyes meet, and there’s a flicker of something in his expression that mirrors the shock swirling within me. Memories flood back – him standing on my doorstep at one in the morning attempting to stay stoic as he gave me the worst news I’ve ever gotten, his terrible dancing at my senior prom, the ten-thousand-dollar gown, the scent of flowers from the wedding bouquets, and the sound of my heart pounding furiously as I stood at the altar watching a video I still can’t unsee. A shiver runs down my spine as I recall the commotion, the surprise of the guests, and the look of determination in his eyes as he uttered those unforgettable words – ‘I couldn’t not tell you – I’m sorry.’

‘He happens to be the man who interrupted your wedding,’ Mitzi says, squeezing my hand tightly as my gaze lingers.

My God. Has the man saved my life twice now? It’s possible.

Over the months, I’ve tried to bury the memories deep, along with all the haunting nightmares that go with them. That’s going to be harder to do now that he’s standing in front of me.

‘W-wh-whyis he here?’ I manage to whisper, my voice barely above a breath.

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