Page 35 of Third Time Lucky

He glances down at himself, suddenly shy.

‘Yeah… I got swept up in the Portland ink-nado fest of the twenty-teens – did I overdo it?’

I dismiss his concern with a shake of my head.

‘Would you even be a PDX chef without them?’ I laugh. ‘Truthfully, I didn’t expect them, but somehow, they fit perfectly.’

His gaze sends jitters pattering throughout when meeting mine again, suddenly serious.

‘Good to know,’ he says with an appreciative smile.

As I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, he works quietly, his eyes flicking to me every now and then. Climbing back onto my stool, he breaks the silence.

‘Should I ask how your date went, considering it’s not even nine?’

I exhale a long sigh, slightly more humiliated than before. ‘It was… interesting.’

His eyebrow arches curiously at my choice of words. ‘I feel like that’s not a compliment to Tucker-Tanner.’

‘You remember his name?’

His smile is warm as he nods. ‘Did you ever nail it down?’

‘Tanner. And no, “interesting” is not a compliment.’

We’re just going to skip over the puzzling mind-reading aspect of him. Even I can’t wrap my mind around that. And no way am I telling him I ran into Aaron. I’m hoping with everything in me that he and Madi keep my words to themselves.

The artistic arrangement of vegetables on the counter beside him catches my eye: vibrant colors organized meticulously in clear packaging like a painter’s palette before the inception of a masterpiece.

‘I didn’t think you’d still be here.’

‘I prefer prepping everything the night before,’ he explains with an easygoing grin. ‘Mornings and me, we don’t jibe. I’m definitely not here because I wanted to stick around and see how your date went, if that’s what you were wondering?’

‘Ha!’ I blurt a nervous laugh. Did he stay to find out exactly that? Now I want to know. ‘Well, uh – do you need a hand with anything?’

‘Um—’ he says after scanning the kitchen around us for options. ‘If you insist, I’d love your help slicing vegetables?’

‘I insist,’ I say, washing my hands before joining him at the kitchen island. ‘Who should I cut first?’ My playful tone makes him smirk and shake his head slightly.

‘Let’s start with celery – it’s ready to go, just needs a chop.’

Equipped with a sturdy butcher knife, I slice through the celery stalk with such verve that it reverberates against the cutting board – a sharp echo ringing through our cozy culinary corner. Ash jumps slightly at the sound.

‘Brutal,’ he remarks, with amusement edging his voice.

‘It’s a great frustration reliever. The Tanner in my head totally just shut up,’ I say, going a little easier on the rest of the celery.

He smirks.

‘Should I know this is celery when I’m done?’

His laughter is genuine and brightens up our small cocoon within this late-night hour. ‘Knowing what it is makes it easier to know what I’ve got when cooking. So, yes, please.’

Continuing at a softer pace than my initial hack-job cadence; all that’s heard are steady rhythms being carved into wooden surfaces – creating music solely owned by shared focus amidst kaleidoscopic veggies.

‘Can I ask you something? About men?’

Without uttering a single word, he pushes aside his task and leans against the counter facing me, ready to listen. His hip casually rests against the edge, and his arms are folded over his chest. Every intricate tattoo adorning his skin and the well-defined biceps I hadn’t previously noticed are displayed. They certainly weren’t as pronounced when he was eighteen, and they definitely didn’t possess the same definition they do now, with his shirt sleeves embracing them snugly.

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