Page 66 of Third Time Lucky

Before I can approach his car, he steps out, his quick smile putting me at ease.

‘Hey,’ he greets me, his eyes warm and inviting.

‘Hello,’ I say, attempting to keep my cool.

‘Be honest, what are you most excited about, grocery shopping, coffee or me?’ he asks while opening the passenger-side door.

‘Obviously, coffee,’ I reply with a teasing glint in my eyes, as I brush past him to slide into the passenger seat. ‘But having you as company is a close second.’

‘I suppose that’s the right answer,’ he says, winking before closing my door.

As he pulls out of the driveway, I steal a glance at him. Today, he’s clean-shaven, smells fantastic, and I’m not the only one who did the shower-and-go thing if I had to guess by his slightly tousled hair.

* * *

‘So, what’s on the menu this week?’ I ask once we both have to-go coffee cups in our hands, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

‘How do you feel about taste-testing some new dishes for me?’

‘If I ever say no to that, get me to a doctor asap because I’m delusional.’

He chuckles at my response, his gaze lingering on me longer than necessary before returning to the road – and I like it.

‘I’m attempting to build my menu for the restaurant.’

‘Count me in then. Always. Anytime you cook anything, count me in.’

I love the way he laughs at my words like they make him feel good. But I’m only being honest.

As we arrive at the grocery store, Asher grabs a cart, and we start our leisurely stroll down the aisles. His expertise in choosing fresh ingredients and unique spices is evident as he explains his vision for each dish he plans to prepare. I find myself hanging on to every word of his, fascinated by his passion.

‘Any favorite foods or requests?’ he asks, glancing at me with genuine interest.

He wants my opinion? The woman who practically mashed celery?

‘Um… I like to try new things, but I also have a soft spot for Italian food.’

‘Italian food,’ he repeats my words, somehow making them sound alluring. He’s standing next to the cart, one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the cart handle.

‘Yeah. There’s just something about a hearty bowl of pasta that warms my soul.’

‘Tomato or cream-based?’

‘Cream,’ I say without question.

He nods thoughtfully, reaching into the refrigerated cheese display we’re standing near and tossing mascarpone and mozzarella into the cart.

‘Italian for dinner tonight, then – just for you.’

Just for me.Why do I like the sound of that so much? My taste buds are bouncing with joy right now at the thought of it.

We continue our grocery shopping, and by we, I mean him, because I’m mostly admiring him while sipping my coffee and attempting not to get caught.

He turns to me with a sly grin as we approach the register. ‘Prepare yourself,’ he whispers, leaning into me. ‘I have a feeling that this check-out girl is into me.’

‘Really…?’ My curiosity piques.

‘Yeah, she’s always checking me out.’

---