Chapter 2
COLE
Freya stares at me as if I just asked that question in another language.
“Uh…um…yeah,” Freya stutters, her cheeks a little red. “Your kitchen is incredible. Such a waste not to use it.”
“Trust me, it would end up burned to dust if I attempted to do anything.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re not that bad. Everyone can cook.”
I raise a brow in response.
“I brought you cookies,” she says in a rush, reaching for the covered plate that sits at the other end of the island. The second she peels back the foil and my eyes land on the chewy, oaty goodness, my mouth waters.
“I could get used to this,” I muse as I reach for one. “Oh my god,” I mumble the moment the flavors explode on my tongue. “Thisissogood.”
I have no idea if she understood my ramble, but she smiles and ducks her head as if she gets the idea.
“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 is laughable. 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.
“What would you like?”
“A water would be great,” I say as she pulls the door open and grabs me a bottle. She selects the same despite there being a whole host of other, more exciting options to choose from.
“Okay, so,” I start once I’ve had a sip. “Come and sit down, we’ll go through everything.”
She hurries over and nervously hops up on the stool beside me.
“I didn’t know if you had any allergies or dislikes, so this is just a sample that I’ve come up with. I’ve gone through all the nutrients and ensured that it’s well balanced and will give you everything that you—”
“Freya, it’s perfect,” I interrupt as I scan through a month’s worth of incredible food based on the schedule I sent her for the next few weeks.
My stomach growls just looking at it all.
“I can change anything you want, and of course, we can adapt where needed. I’m sure a busy guy like you has more on his schedule than just the training and games that you sent and—"
“Stop,” I urge, reaching over and resting my hand on hers that is nervously fidgeting in her lap.
She stills the moment I touch her, and I immediately chastise myself.
Despite being closed off to most people, I can be really tactile with those I’m comfortable with. It’s easy to forget that not everyone is the same.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m being too much. I just…I just want to prove that I really can do this.” Worry and the fear of not being good enough bleed from her.
“You already have. If I had any doubts, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
She stares down at her menu and nods.
I wish I knew what I could say to help her see herself the way I do. She’s so talented, and I don’t think she has any idea.
“I just…I’m struggling to get my head around all of this. One minute I was making party food and then…” She waves her arm around, gesturing to my kitchen.
“Sometimes, we just have to embrace opportunities when they appear.”
“Yeah,” she mutters, keeping her eyes downcast. “I’ve done that before and been burned.”
I didn’t go into this entirely blindly. If I was going to be letting this woman into my life, into my home, then I needed to at least know the basics about her.
Casey filled in most of the details, including that she’s pretty fresh out of a long-term relationship.
Honestly, I have no idea what that’s like. The only one I’ve ever had has been with hockey, and I’m fairly confident we’re not going to be breaking up anytime soon.
But everything Casey told me only confirmed what I already knew in my gut. She’s the one.
Okay, not that kind of one. But the one who can be the missing piece in my life right now.
“I’m confident that there will be no burning in this kitchen from here on out.”
She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed. “You’ve never burned anything in here. You’ve never even turned the oven on, have you?”
With a laugh, I hold my hands up in defense. “You caught me.”
“What the hell have you been eating?”
“I found a food delivery service that does okay food.”
“Okay, food? Wow, you’re really selling it,” she laughs.
“It did the job, but it was premade and packaged up.”
“So you’ve used the microwave, then,” she deadpans, clearly having relaxed a little.
“Yeah, I do know how to use that.”
She laughs, and the soft sound flows through me. Damn, I want to hear that more.
“So obviously, I didn’t have this on hand when I filled the fridge,” I say pointing at her meal plan. “Do you think you’ll be able to make something up on the spot?” I challenge.
“You…you want me to start right now?”
“Did you have other plans?” I ask, realizing that I never specified how long she’d be here. I invited her for a chat to go through things. But now that she is, all I can think about is getting to try her food again.
Sadness washes through her expression. But as much as I want to ask, I keep my questions to myself.
“No. No, I don’t have any plans.”
I study her for a beat, searching for a lie, but I don’t find anything.
“Honestly, my plans included hanging out with my mom while we cooked dinner, then watching ESPN with my dad. My life is anything but busy or exciting right now.”
“It sounds like the perfect kind of night, if you ask me.”
“Yeah,” she whispers as she slips from the stool and walks around to the fridge.
I watch as she pulls it open and stands with a hand on her hip as she studies the contents.
“You never told me if you’re allergic to anything.”
“I did the grocery shopping. Trust me, I didn’t buy anything I’m allergic to, Chef.”
She startles at my nickname for her. I might not be able to see her face, but I’d put money on the fact that it made her smile.
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“But no, I’m not allergic to anything,” I say.
“And anything you dislike?”
“There isn’t anything I refuse to eat.”
“Wow, you’re making this sound too easy,” she muses as she begins pulling ingredients out and placing them on the counter.
Once she’s happy, she turns to the pantry for more.
By the time she’s finished, there are more ingredients than I know what to do with covering the island. Just looking at it all makes me nervous.
I’d love to be able to cook, and I hate that I’m so bad at it. Maybe one day, when I have some more time on my hands, I’ll figure it out and be able to look after myself. But right now, I have other more important things to focus on.
I sit there watching as she figures out how to turn the oven on and then begins pulling pots and pans from the cupboard.
If I had my way, I’d stay here and watch for as long as I can, but I can’t help feeling that my presence makes her nervous. Aware that having your every move watched and scrutinized on day one is probably a little overwhelming, I make my excuses and disappear to my bedroom.
Where I try to think about anything but the woman working her magic in my kitchen.