My heart lurches as a weird yet sudden onslaught of nerves hits me.
I lean back in my chair, trying to remember the last time I felt nervous, but I come up empty.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Forcing my ass to stay planted so I don’t look too keen to go and greet her, I continue reading about the possible endorsement opportunity.
But by the time I get to the end, I haven’t processed a single word of it. Instead, I listened to every crash and bang that’s happening out in my kitchen.
Without replying, I close my laptop, push my chair back, and walk out of the room like I’m a man in control of my life.
I roll my shoulders back a beat before I get to the kitchen.
“Good afternoon,” I sing, my voice a little too high and squeaky for my liking.
Get a fucking grip, Hansley.
As always, Freya startles, although thankfully, she doesn’t hurt herself this time as she spins around to greet me with a cut of meat in her hands.
“Hey,” she says before looking down, realizing what she’s holding, and turning back to lower it into the pan.
“Would you like a coffee?” I ask, needing something to do.
“Yeah, that would be great,” she says as she returns to…massaging her meat.
“What are you doing?” I blurt.
She giggles.
“Rubbing your pork,” she states in a way that sounds entirely too filthy.
I snort as she looks over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, that wasn’t very professional.”
“Freya, never apologize for making me laugh,” I say, pouring beans into the grinder. “What are you making?”
“Haven’t you looked at the menu I emailed you?”
“Uh…”
“Cole,” she cries. “I sent that over for you to approve. You said yes. You said it all looked delicious.”
“That’s because it will be.”
“But…but what if there was something on there you don’t like?”
“You already asked for things I don’t like. I’m confident you know what you’re doing. Just like I’m confident that every dish will blow my socks off.”
Her eyes drop to my feet. “You’re not wearing any,” she points out.
“Ah, see? They’ve already been blown away.”
She shakes her head, and her hands continue rubbing the meat. Her fingers are almost glowing red with something.
“What is that?”
“It’s a Chinese-inspired spice rub. I’m going to slow cook this pork all afternoon, and then I’ll serve it with?—”
