Page 25 of Third Time Lucky

I meander the kitchen, pulling open cabinets and drawers, looking for what I need to pop the top on this champagne. Lord knows I could use a glass right now, and that’s coming from a guy who usually refuses to drink on the job.

Once we all have a glass, Lucy smiles softly, visibly relaxing in her seat.

‘I can’t believe you were chef three. I don’t understand how it’s even possible.’

‘You should tell him what you told me a few minutes ago about his sample dish,’ Mitzi suggests as she lifts her glass.

‘Mitzi,’ Lucy says under her breath.

‘What was it that you said? “Trash all the others. My taste buds have fallen in love with chef number three.” I believe you used the word orgasmic,’ she says through a chuckle, sipping her champagne as cover.

I laugh but rein it in when I notice Lucy’s look of mortification at Mitzi’s repeating the words I couldn’t quite hear from out here earlier.

‘Orgasmic,’ I repeat, a smile creeping through. ‘Well, that’s a high compliment. Thank you.’

Lucy rolls her eyes playfully, flashing me an uncertain smile. ‘You’re welcome – I suppose. So, what smells so good?’

‘That is the savory scent of garlic sizzling, onions caramelizing, and the buttery goodness of chicken breasts roasting in the oven.’

Lucy lets out a small sigh, resting her chin on her left fist as she leans forward, watching me intently. ‘I don’t remember you being into cooking back in school?’

‘I wasn’t,’ I admit. ‘After I moved out, I realized I needed to eat, and I wasn’t a fan of the fast and frozen food my mother loved to serve for every meal, so I learned. Then, I got into it, learned more and more – went to college, and now, I’m in the transitional period between working for someone else and opening my own restaurant.’

She gasps with surprise. ‘You’re opening your own restaurant?’

I nod. ‘I am. Downtown, Knob Hill area – my favorite.’

‘Mine too,’ she says softly.

‘Best neighborhood in the city if you ask me. The building is currently being remodeled, and I’m on the hunt for a suitable name. Maybe you two could keep that at the forefront of your mind as I work for you, and if you think of anything fitting, let me know.’

‘Copper and Clover? Saffron and Sage? Cocktails and Cake? Fork and Flame?’ Mitzi throws out options – the champagne not taking long to do its job – none of them bad.

‘I like the idea of “something” and “something,”’ I say. ‘Not sure those are the right words, but great brainstorming, Mitzi.’

She smiles, nodding proudly at Lucy.

‘I’m gonna think about it,’ Lucy says. ‘I feel like I need to know you— er, your cooking better first.’

She wants to know me better? Huh. Why do I like the sound of that? I glance her way, catching her gaze and flashing her a grin. Lucy Gray has suddenly become a mystery I can’t wait to unravel, yet her caution reminds me to be careful of how I handle this.

* * *

I pick up my buzzing phone without bothering to check the caller ID because I already know who it is. Every night at 11p.m. sharp, he calls me – unless we’re together, which is often.

Aaron’s not only my brother, but also my business partner. He’s almost as brilliant in the kitchen as I am. Unless you ask him, then he’s the best there ever was, and he’s just waiting for a moment to knock my ass out of place – and yeah, never happening.

‘Aaron,’ I say, feigning annoyance.

‘Bro. How was the side gig?’

I let out a laugh as I stretch out and prop up my feet on the soft ottoman, crossing one over the other. It’s good to be back home, relaxing in an outfit almost identical to the one Lucy wore this evening – comfortable gray sweatpants and a cozy black hoodie. But I admit, my head’s on her. I think I officially have my first-ever crush, and it’s got some baggage – not her, but us, our history. How in the hell do I navigate that?

Despite not wanting to leave tonight, I did, and I’m back at what I now see as a dingy dude’s apartment compared to Mitzi’s mansion. I don’t live as luxuriously as Lucy does. My place is a single bedroom. Literally, you walk into a big living room/kitchen/dining combo and look left at the small hall with three doors all facing one another. One goes to the bathroom big enough for one. Another is my only closet. The third is my bedroom, which I am pleased to say was big enough for my king-sized bed, so I’m not complaining. But the place is quaint. And filled with thrifted crap that a grown man needs to live. A couch – black leather, purchased nearly new. The matching ottoman turns it all into one big La-Z-Boy. A giant TV because I’m a dude, and that matters. There may be a gaming console or three (millennial who didn’t get this shit as a kid here – don’t judge). I am somewhat sentimental, though. I didn’t buy everything via Facebook marketplace. I’ve got a vintage Bentwood rattan rocking chair (and know what that is) straight from my grandmother’s estate. It was the one item she left for me. I don’t have a lot of great childhood memories. My parents were a mess and worked a lot to pay the bills and just barely kept food on the table, so my favorite memories are of my nana rocking me as a child in this chair. Looking at it brings me a sense of comfort and realization that I don’t need to relive the mess I was raised in. I can be anything I want to be.

In the makeshift dining room, there is absolutely nothing on the walls. But there is a robin’s egg blue sixties dining table set. On top of that, I’ve decorated with a stack of cookbooks, an out-of-control pile of unopened mail (again, dude) and a spot for me to eat like I’m not a caveman if I prefer. But, usually, I don’t, because the ottoman makes a great table while binge-watching whatever I’m in the mood for.

Overall, think small, clean (c’mon, I’m a chef), sparse yet cluttered rental apartment on the second floor, overlooking the sidewalk and a parking garage that’s always got some kind of shenanigans going on across the street. I hear a lot of sirens, if you get my drift.

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