So yeah, my passion for the culinary arts has been a pretty damn good way to manage the pressure that started when I was a teenager destined for the NFL and only intensified once I actually became the starting quarterback for Arizona.
Most people look at me and thinkcharmed life.
They have no idea.
I shift my car into park and look up through the windshield. The afternoon sun glints off the sign in front of the building.
Golden Days Retirement Village
A genuine smile tugs at my mouth. Which is exactly why I volunteer in the kitchen here as often as my schedule allows.
When my publicist, Todd, found out what I’d been doing without his knowledge, he nearly had a stroke. First, he wanted to flog me for “unmanaged exposure.” Then he quickly pivoted and tried to turn it into a press event.
“Ryan, this is amazing brand positioning,” he’d said. “Human interest angle. Quarterback gives back. We could get a crew down here—”
I shut that down real fucking fast.
I told Todd that if a single word about this got out in the media, I would fire him on the spot.
Because this? This isn’t content. It’s not a brand moment. It’s not a carefully crafted social media story.
It’s just… mine.
And yeah, the residents know who I am. Half of them watch every game religiously. They’re tickled pink that the quarterback cooks for them sometimes, and that’s all I care about.
That—and the fact that I get to cook.
I grab my keys, push open the car door, and step out into the warm Arizona afternoon.
The smell of lavender perfume hits me the second I walk through the front doors and into the lobby.
“RYAAAN!”
I barely have time to react before Clara barrels out from behind the front desk and wraps me in a fierce hug.
Clara is a witty Black woman from Georgia who runs the front desk like it’s her own personal kingdom, and every single time I walk through these doors she reacts like I just returned from war.
Today is no different as she practically tackles me.
“Lord have mercy, boy,” she says, pulling back just enough to smack my arm. “Why don't you ever tell me when you're going to stop in, baby?”
I flash her my real smile. “Now where would the fun be in that, Miss Clara? Got to surprise my number one lady.”
I wink at her and she smacks my chest.
“Boy, don’t play with me. I’m a married woman.”
I let out a full-throated laugh.
“And keep your voice down,” she whispers, leaning closer. “Orthey’llhear you.”
“Who? The Bettys?” I snicker. “They’re harmless.”
Clara snorts. “The hell they are. I’m about to hire my own bodyguard.”
I shake my head, chuckling.
“But seriously,” she says, eyeing me. “They’re going to give you hell for how long it’s been this time, but they’ll be so excited to see you.”
