My lips lift in a smirk I can’t hold back. “But you knowmyname.”
“Clearly I have a better memory than you do. I’m Savannah.”
Right. I knew that. “And how do you know Lola, Savannah?”
She folds her arms. It’s cute how she tries to look intimidating, but without her monstrous cat, she has no claws here. Plus, she looks like she’s liable to fall over if she holds that bag on her shoulder for much longer. What isinthere? “I work for her.”
“What kind of work?”
“Meals.”
I perk up at the same time my stomach growls. “Meaning what?”
Her head tilts to one side. “Meaning I prep the family’s meals for the week and give them instructions on how to cook them. Mrs. Shafer and her husband both work, so they don’t have a lot of time for making nutritional home-cooked meals.” Red blossoms across her skin as she adds, “That’s, uh, more than I should have told you.”
Probably, but I’m glad she did. I can see her being useful in multiple ways. One, she could get me face-to-face with Lola. Two, she could solve my dietary problem and save me fromdrinking all my calories. The second is the less intrusive one, so I start with that.
“Cook for me.”
She scoffs, jutting out a hip again and showing off the sass that was so attractive the first time I met her. “Excuse me?”
Right, that was a bit…abrupt. I clear my throat. “What I meant to say was, will you cook for me? I want to try out your skills before I hire you.”
She scoffs again. “Who said I was looking for clients?” But a light has turned on behind her eyes as she examines me a little more closely, and her shoulders tense up enough that the bag starts slipping from her arm.
I grab it right as it falls, holding it between us. It’s even heavier than it looks. “You’re telling me you don’t have room in your schedule for a dozen meals a week?”
She gasps, all of her attitude slipping away as she looks from me to the bag. “A doz… Um, I’m sure I could fit you in somewhere.”
I haven’t officially hired her, but based on the way relief floods her features, I might have to regardless so I can avoid the guilt of letting her down. “Brilliant.”
“I’m happy to make you a few samples that cater to your nutritional needs and caloric intake, which…” Her eyes trace over me, leaving me feeling oddly warm. “Which is probably pretty high,” she finishes breathlessly. “Um. Let me grab you a card.”
She starts digging into her giant bag, which I hold higher to give her access, and pulls out what looks like a postcard, stuffing it into my free hand. “You can put that down, by the way.”
With my attention piqued by the prime rib recipe on the front of the card, complete with a mouthwatering picture below the words “True Fuel Kitchen,” I lower the bag to the cement and flip the card over. The back lists a degree in dietetics and a couple different nutritionist certifications next to a professional picture of Savannah that shows none of her spicy personality. According to the words beneath the QR code, I can scan it to take a questionnaire and specify what I’m looking for from a meal planner.
I’m impressed, and I never would have guessed someone like her would do something like this. Granted, I know nothing about her aside from her owning a demon cat, but still. “Sports nutrition?” I ask, referring to one of her certificates.
She nods eagerly. “That’s my favorite part of my job, figuring out the right meals for different athletes. Los Angeles has about a million pro athletes, and you’d be surprised how complicated their nutrition needs can get.”
“Try me.”
She blinks. “What?”
Though tempted to fill out her questionnaire here and now, I tuck the card in my pocket and fold my arms again. “You’re talking to a pro athlete right now, so I want to see if you know what you’re doing.”
Again, she simply blinks at me like I’m talking nonsense. “But you’re on a team with Moxie.”
“Also a pro athlete.”
“No, he’s a vet.”
I chuckle, still amazed that Moxie hasn’t given this woman any proper attention. If I were in his shoes, I would have led withrugby the day we met. “He’s team captain of the Los Angeles Thunder, love.”
“Thunder?” She gets a thoughtful look, like she’s sorting through all the different teams in the valley. “Wait, is that the rugby team?” She gasps again when I nod, her eyes wide as she grabs my arm. “No!”
Frowning down at her fingers, I try to make sense of her sudden enthusiasm. “Yeah.”
