Page 68 of Third Time Lucky

The car glides off the highway and into a quieter part of town, where the streets are lined with quaint shops and cozy cafés – Knob Hill – my favorite.

‘Here we are, the restaurant with no name,’ he announces with a grin, turning off the ignition after parking along the curb out front.

As I step out of the car, my heart quickens. It’s obvious he’s proud of this. He can’t quit smiling. And he chose to show me. Wow, I’m seriously honored because this place seems like his baby.

The building stands like a charming beacon of the past, blending into the cityscape with a familiar coziness that promises warmth and comfort inside. Its walls are a welcoming brick, worn with character and history, and its large front windows hold secrets behind their opaque coverings.

‘It’s adorable,’ I say as he pulls open one of the double doors.

‘This will be the dining area,’ he explains, walking me through the space.

Tables and chairs are stacked along one wall, waiting for their final places. The soft glow of hanging pendant lights casts a warm ambiance over the room, making it easy to envision the lively atmosphere he described. I can already see the potential in the space. I imagine guests laughing and clinking glasses as they devour his carefully crafted dishes.

‘A handcrafted bar with a vintage blue subway tile base and a countertop made from local barn wood will line this wall with open glass shelves so the early-evening light can do its thing through the front window, and after dark, there will be deep blue LED lighting.’ He motions along the brick wall as if he can see it. ‘Black back barstools,’ he says, nodding at the wall of furniture and pointing them out. ‘And my mother suggested greenery to take advantage of the large front windows.’

‘So, no dark, dingy restaurant for you.’

‘No way,’ he says. ‘Mood is key.’

I bite my lip, forcing away the ridiculous smile at how enthused he is. ‘I love that. How is your mom, by the way?’

I didn’t know her well – or really at all. But I did meet her at Kris’ funeral; she was a mess, like everyone else. I was surprised when she hugged me with the force of my father.

‘She’s – her usual self – not into parenting at all,’ he says, his smile soft but sad. ‘Her and my dad divorced when I was nineteen. I don’t see much of either of them any more.’

I frown. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t be. They taught me the valuable lessons of never overdoing things and never giving up. My dad was the king of pushing the limits. And my mom was queen of disassociation. There were some battles in my house on a regular basis. But that is so depressing to relive and I’m sure you don’t want to hear my problems so, on with our tour.’ He changes the subject flawlessly.

I’m depressed for him. He seems like he should have had an amazing life to become the man he is, but from the sounds of it, things were anything but.

He leads me through the rest of the space, pointing out where the kitchen will be located, the cozy private dining area in the back for special occasions, and even a small stage for live music performances on weekends.

‘You’ve thought of everything,’ I say, gazing at the partially set up kitchen that could give Mitzi’s place a run for its money. ‘I can already tell this place is going to be something extraordinary.’

‘I hope so,’ he says earnestly, his eyes alight with an unmistakable passion. His gaze doesn’t waver as it shifts to meet mine. ‘I can’t wait to see what you come up with for the menu design.’

His excitement is contagious, a fever that courses through me and sets my heart racing. This might be my most exciting project ever, and mostly because I want to know every single thing about Asher Wright – the good, the bad, the sooner, the better – and taking this on may help me do that.

19

ASHER

‘There you are, darling. I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t make it,’ Mitzi calls out from the kitchen island.

‘I’d have to have lost my mind to be a no-show to one of Asher’s dinners.’ Lucy’s voice is soft, luring me in with every word.

My eyes dart over, and the sight of her causes my grip on the wooden spoon to loosen. It falls from my hand with a clatter, landing in the sizzling pan below.

Sweet Jesus. She’s dressed in a form-fitting, high-waisted blue pencil skirt that stops just below her knees, a cropped white top revealing her toned midriff and white Converse shoes. I can’t help but notice every curve of her body, and my thoughts come to a standstill. Her hair is styled in loose waves like a mermaid, her eyeliner perfectly winged, and she’s wearing a bold shade of pink lipstick that is absolutely mind-melting.

A smile creeps up on her face as I admire her, and then she glances at the pan nearby, which – is now on fire. Shit.

I twist off the gas burner, grab the burning pan that just sprayed me with hot oil and race it to the sink – throwing a towel over it.

‘There’s a fire extinguisher under the sink!’ Mitzi exclaims, pointing wildly.

Without second thoughts, I fling open the cabinet door and snatch the extinguisher. I quickly aim and release a single burst of thick smoke onto the furious flames. The kitchen now is filled with smoke and the smell of charred onions. The fire alarm blares, its urgent call piercing the air and surprising everyone. I am so glad this place isn’t set with a sprinkler system.

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