“Incredible. Really.”
“They have extra protein because…well, you need that.”
I nod.
“Thank you for sending over all your macro information. That was really useful. I’ve been doing some research, making sure I fully understand everything your body requires. I’ve actually drafted up a menu of sorts for you to look over.” She flips her purse open and pulls out a folder. As she passes it to me, her hand trembles.
“Cole Hansley’s Meal Plan”is written across the front in swirly handwriting. It instantly takes me back to school when the girls used to doodle on their books during class.
Dragging my eyes up the length of her arm, I find her eyes.
“Freya, are you nervous?”
The giggle she lets out is more than enough to answer the question. She doesn’t leave it there, though.
“Me? Nervous? Of course I’m nervous. I haven’t had a job interview in…years. I’m not a chef. I have no training or experience or…or…”
“You’re telling me this like I’m expecting you to pull a Michelin Star or two out of your purse.”
She giggles again, but it’s not because I’m funny. Far from it.
“I know you can cook, Freya. The dishes I’ve tasted that you’ve made have been incredible. I asked you to do this job knowing everything you just said. I don’t want some fancy chef who’s going to flambé my stir-fry.” I don’t need her snort of laughter to prove that I have no idea what I’m talking about.
The instant the noise erupts from her, her hand flies to her mouth, her embarrassment back full force.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sure flambéed stir-fry would be fantastic.”
“Freya, please, don’t think for a second you need to blow smoke up my ass. There are more than enough people outside of these four walls who do that regularly. It’s okay to tell me I’m talking shit.”
She nods, but I don’t think she accepts my word. The thought of her telling me how it is and putting me in my place islaughable. She’s so quiet and polite. Something competitive stirs within me. The challenge of riling her up and making her say exactly what she’s thinking is too much to ignore.
“Before we get into all of this, would you like a drink?” I ask, remembering my manners.
I don’t have people in my home. If I’m hanging out with the guys, we’re usually at Storm’s place or a bar. If I’m hooking with a woman, we’ll be in a hotel room or at her place. We’re never here.
This is my sanctuary, my safe haven. The fact that I’m even remotely comfortable having Freya in my space alone tells me that I’ve made the right decision here.
The guys have been razzing me for how fussy I’ve been over getting a chef. But I refuse to settle for just anyone. I’ve done that before and regretted it.
It’s been over a year since I’ve had someone I can rely on, but even then, they didn’t spend much time in my space.
Meals would be delivered, and I would, mostly successfully, heat them up.
“Uh…yeah. That would be great. I can get it, though. I found your drinks’ fridge,” she confesses as she moves toward it.
“So I saw. Was there anything you didn’t find?”
“I’m so sorry.” I shake my head, wondering how many times she’s going to apologize for something she really doesn’t need to. “I just saw this beautiful kitchen and got so excited. It’s the kind I drool over in magazines. If I had my own place, I’d want an island just like this. And the marble countertops are to die for.”
“Snoop away. Everything I have in here is for you to use. If I catch you in my bedroom going through my underwear drawer, though, we’ll be having a very different conversation.”
“Oh my gosh. I wouldn’t…I’d never…”
“It’s okay. It was a joke.” She nods frantically as she wipes her palms down the front of her dress.
As she takes a moment to calm down, I allow myself to look her over.
The fact that she thinks she’s at an interview right now helps to explain her outfit choice. She’s wearing a navy tailored dress with a matching jacket. It’s an entirely different look to when I’ve seen her previously. To be honest, it kind of looks like she might have borrowed it from her mom.
