Chapter 4
4
“ W hat happened?” Tucker asked.
“I—well—I—” Hanna stuttered, then removed her hands from her face.
Penises, big and small, were painted all over her cheeks and forehead. His jaw dropped.
“One of the fifth grade boys asked to paint my face. I should’ve known. I was just trying to be nice.”
She sounded so defeated.
He fucking hated it.
Tucker turned around and grabbed a roll of paper towels and a spare water bottle. Wordlessly, he ripped off a paper towel and wet it.
“May I?” He asked.
She nodded, her eyes watering.
He grabbed her chin with a thumb and forefinger, tilting her face toward him. He methodically began wiping off the paint off her face.
“This is so fucking embarrassing,” she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek. “Great, and now I’m crying.”
He pinched his lips together, frustrated on her behalf. “It’s alright, shortcake. We’ve all been there.”
“We all unwittingly get penises drawn on our face at our place of work?” She deadpanned.
He sighed. “We all have embarrassing moments, is what I meant.”
“And yet, I’m the one who’s mortified every time I see you. I can’t catch a fucking break. The universe hates me. I’m paying for something I did in a past life.”
Tucker chuckled. “How about we even the playing field a bit?”
“What, let me draw penises on your face?” She asked with a huff, crossing her arms. “No, thanks.”
He laughed. “Actually, I was thinking I could tell you some embarrassing stories of my own.”
She was silent.
“I have some good ones. Some I promised myself I’d never tell anyone.”
“I’m listening.”
He grinned. He’d sacrifice his own self-esteem to make her feel better any day of the week.
“I used to have frosted tips.”
She gasped. “No.”
“Yep. Starting when I was eighteen all the way until I was twenty. Thought I was hot shit, too. ’Til one time, I asked for a girl’s number at a bar and she straight-up laughed in my face. Told me my hair was ridiculous. That I looked like a wanna-be boy band member.”
“Well, that’s kind of mean.”
“Yeah.” Tucker tilted her head to get a better angle to wipe away the still-wet face paint. “But it was true.”
“I’d have to see pictures to confirm, but yeah. Probably. Still…yikes.”
“Oh, that barely scratches the surface, shortcake. One time, I shat my pants at a funeral.”
She glanced up at Tucker so suddenly he was startled. “No, you didn’t.”
“I absolutely did.”
She gaped.
“As an adult?” She whispered, and Tucker laughed.
“Yep. I had food poisoning the day before my great-uncle’s funeral. Really thought I shouldn’t go, but my mom insisted. Told me she’d basically disown me if I wasn’t there. So I went. We were sitting there in the middle of the eulogy, and all of a sudden, my stomach hurt really bad. I hadn’t been feeling that great all day, but this was like, major cramping, ya know? Like the kind you get when you’re sick.” He couldn’t believe he was telling her this, but he was committed now. “And I felt a fart coming on. One I couldn’t hold in. So I tried to hold it until music was playing, and then I let it out. It was stinky, but not too bad. A lot of old people were there, so I figured people would assume it was one of them. I thought it was fine. Until I stood up.”
She gasped, and he paused for a moment to smile at her while he delivered the punch line. “That’s when I noticed that my seat was brown. And I felt something trailing down my leg.”
“Oh my god, ew !” she said, grimacing through laughter. “That’s disgusting. So what did you do?”
“Well, my whole family saw it.” Tucker cringed at the memory. “My mom was horrified, but it was her fault. I told her I shouldn’t be there. She made me go. So I took the car and went home.”
She bit her lip. “Oh. My. God.”
“My mom made me sit on an extra beach towel on the drive home.” He still remembered that drive home—what a sweaty, smelly mess he was. “Then she threw out that beach towel.”
“Good call on her part.” Hanna closed her eyes and shook her head. “Holy shit. That’s so embarrassing.”
Tucker grinned to himself.
She’d stopped crying.
Her cheeks were pink with amusement.
All because of him.
He tossed the paper towel he’d been using in the trash and grabbed a fresh one. Grabbing her chin again, he angled her face. But this time, instead of bursting into tears, her breath hitched. They were close—almost flush against each other—and he resisted the urge to trace her lip with his thumb.
“Almost done,” he said, resuming his work on her face.
She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch so his hand cradled her cheek.
“Any other stories?”
“I have one more for you, but you have to promise me you’ll take it to your grave.”
“I promise.”
He tipped her head up, noticing how her eyes went hazy as she looked at him. “I mean it, shortcake. I can’t have this getting out. It’ll ruin me.”
She bit her lip, then crossed her heart and held up her hand like a Boy Scout. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He held eye contact with her. “Nobody knows this story.”
“Until now.”
He grinned. “Until now.” He removed his hand from her chin, and continued wiping off her face. “One time, in culinary school, I was working with the vegan cohort. I’m not vegan, but I like to be able to make vegan dishes so I can cater to people with different dietary needs and preferences.”
He took a deep breath. What compelled him to tell her this story? It was damning, and surely shitting his pants at Uncle Bob’s funeral was enough.
“Go on,” she said, the anticipation clear in her voice.
“The vegan chefs at culinary school were amazing. They taught me a lot, and I liked testing recipes on them to make sure I was getting the best feedback possible. So on this particular day, I wanted to try a recipe for spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Oh, no,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand, then biting her lip and looking up at him.
“Oh, yes,” Tucker felt his cheeks reddening. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
He sighed, his embarrassment just barely taking his mind off of how he felt a zap of energy radiate through him every time he touched her.
“I’m sworn to secrecy. Please finish the story. Please?”
She was really fucking cute when she begged. He might do anything those green eyes asked him to.
“I was going to make the meatballs with Beyond Meat. So I grabbed it out of the fridge, and started seasoning it. Made the sauce from scratch, using an old recipe I’d learned growing up.”
“Another one from Granny?” She asked with a cheeky smile.
“Exactly,” he said. He loved that she remembered that from the first night they met a couple weeks back. “I wanted to make sure I was extra careful about how I seasoned the meatballs, so I added a few new ingredients. Meanwhile, I cooked the sauce on autopilot. I'd made it a million times, and it’s vegan already. Tomato sauce, ya know?”
She nodded.
“I’m all done, by the way,” he said, tossing the paper towel in the trash can. “But I’ll finish the story.”
She grinned, then leaned against one of the tables nearby, crossing her arms.
“So I cooked the meatballs, then tossed them in the sauce. I prepared the plates for my classmates, and they immediately started praising my recipe. They loved it. And they wanted to learn how to make it like I did. So I started walking them through the general ingredients for Granny’s tomato sauce. And about halfway through, I realized that the secret ingredient is not vegan.”
She gasped. “What’s the secret ingredient?”
“Sardines.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Tucker sighed. “So I didn’t tell them that. I kept it to myself.”
“Did they get sick?” She bit her lip in anticipation, and he felt his eyes linger on her mouth.
“No, no, nothing like that.” He pressed his lips together. “But they’ve all tried to recreate Granny’s sauce, and they can’t get it quite right. To this day, I’ll get the occasional call from a former classmate to walk them through the recipe, and they’ll inevitably text me that it didn’t turn out the same way as mine.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, I’m not proud of it,” Tucker said, running his fingers through his hair. “That’s not even an embarrassing story. It just makes me look like a shitty chef. A shitty person.”
“Well, it still makes me feel better. So thank you.” She grinned. “And based on what I’ve seen, you’re not a shitty chef and definitely not a shitty person.”
“I should’ve told them, but it’s been so many years now,” he sighed. “I learned my lesson, though. I’m borderline neurotic when it comes to making dishes for people with dietary restrictions or preferences.”
“So maybe some good came out of it, then.”
“You’re far too generous.” He locked eye contact with her, and smirked when he noticed her heated eyes lingering on the tattoos on his biceps.
Her eyes darted up to his, then skirted away when she realized he’d caught her. Her cheeks flushed, and then she glanced back at him.
“Thanks for helping me,” she said softly.
Tucker took a few steps to close the space between them, then tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “No problem, shortcake. Does this mean I get to know your name now?”
Her gaze drifted to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. She took a step closer. “And ruin the mystery? I don’t think so.”
She licked her cherry lips, and he groaned internally. “Should I just call you Ms. Taylor then?”
“Only if you have a teacher fantasy.”
Fuck, she was flirting with him now? He was done for. Was he staring at her mouth too much? How much was too much when it came to mouth staring, anyway? “As long as you’re in it, I definitely do.”
A voice hollered from the neighboring tent. “Tuck?”
He drew back suddenly as one of his employees hollered for him from the other side of the tent. Burp girl’s eyes widened. Even he jolted. She’d done it again—made him completely forget about work. What kind of magic did this girl possess?
“Yep?” Tucker yelled back, not taking his eyes off her.
“Still need the cutlery and napkins. You get lost back there?” A chuckle followed.
He grinned, leaned back, and shouted, “A little. Be there in a sec.”
Tucker reached across the table she was sitting on and grabbed a box of napkins and cutlery. She bit her lip and stared at him with a mix of curiosity and hesitation.
“Don’t move,” he whispered.
She nodded, and he jogged around the tent to replenish the napkins and cutlery as quickly as he could, avoiding the inquisitive stares from his employees.
When he returned to where he’d left burp girl, she was gone. He couldn’t say he was surprised—he’d seen the look in her eyes.
But he didn’t care this much as he did the other times she’d disappeared without a trace.
Because this time, he had a lead.
Ms. Taylor worked at Seaside Elementary, and Tucker knew tracking her down would be as easy as making chocolate chip cookies from scratch.
Which is to say—he could do it in his sleep.