Chapter 4
COLE
I’ve had a few big things happen to me in my life. Some I’d rather forget. Others I’ll cherish for as long as I live.
And I can’t help feeling like Freya agreeing to this should be up there with some of the best.
The last few years with unprofessional and unreliable chef after chef have been hard. Getting food and nutrition right is so important for my job. And as much as I’d love to learn and do it all myself, it’s just never going to happen.
But all of that is about to change.
Everything is looking up. Life is about to get easier—and a hell of a lot tastier. And if I’m being honest, having someone around the house every now and then will be nice.
I’m self-aware enough to acknowledge my inability to let people in. I’ve never really had friends. Sure, I consider many of my teammates friends, but they come and go. Brit and I were fairly close, but now that he’s been traded for Rett Donnelly, I have no doubt that that friendship will wither.
Freya and I keep the conversation focused on work and what I’ll be expecting of her in the weeks and months to come.
She’s nervous, I can see that in the constant tremble of her hand, but she’s also excited.
The way she lights up when we begin talking about meals she can make for me is addictive.
She really loves food and cooking, and that works perfectly for me, because I fucking love eating.
I give her a key fob that will allow her access to the building, the basement garage, and most importantly, my apartment.
She’s the only person to have one aside from me, my housekeeper, and security, and I can’t lie, handing it over isn’t easy. This is my life, my safe space. Letting someone into that, someone I don’t really know, is a big fucking deal.
For some reason, though, I trust Freya. There’s something about her.
I don’t know if it’s her nerves, or the way she clearly overthinks everything in her quest to make everything perfect, or the fact that she hasn’t once fangirled over me, but spending time with her is like hanging out with Casey or Parker.
To them, we might be hockey players, but we’re nothing special.
We’re just like everyone else walking the planet.
“You really don’t need to help with this,” she says as I hand her the saucepan she used to cook the vegetables in not so long ago.
“It’s the least I can do,” I explain as she places the rinsed pan into the dishwasher. “Make the most of it while you can; there will be plenty of times where I go straight to bed after eating.”
“Well, in that case, I’m honored to have your assistance. I just don’t want you to think I require you to help tidy up my mess. I was quite neat with the dish I made tonight, but I don’t want you to think that’s how it’ll always be.”
“You can make as much mess as you’d like. I’ll be sure to warn my housekeeper.”
“You have a housekeeper?” she blurts.
“Uh…yeah. She pops in a couple times a week to make sure I don’t turn into a slob. I barely ever see her.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll look forward to meeting her. But if there’s anything you ever need me to do outside of the kitchen, all you need to do is ask.”
The words hang between us as she arranges the cutlery on the tray. For a few seconds, I don’t think she’s realized what she just said, but then, the words seem to hit her and she stands bolt upright.
“No, that’s not…I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant, Freya,” I assure her.
There is something so endearing about her blurting out whatever is in her head. I hope that as she becomes more comfortable being in my company, it doesn’t go away.
“I’m so sorry. Words…they just fall from my lips when I’m nervous.”
“You have no reason to be nervous, Chef.”
She smiles, her eyes brightening.
“I could get used to that.”
“Just don’t let it go to your head. I don’t want you leaving me to go work in some fancy restaurant.”
“I’ll do my best,” she says, her smile still wide.
Damn, she’s pretty when she smiles. It reaches her eyes and makes them twinkle, as if she’s letting me in on a secret.
“I should probably get going,” she says once she’s wiped down the countertops for the third time, the dishwasher now whirring between us. “I’ve got an early start in the morning.”
“Do you have everything you’re going to need? I can order—”
“You don’t need to worry about that now,” she assures me. “If I need anything, I can stop and pick it up. I’ll just give you the receipts and we can level up at the end of the month, maybe?” she offers.
I shake my head, annoyed that I hadn’t thought about this sooner. I’ve always had groceries delivered; I just kind of assumed that she’d do the same thing. But if she wants to go to the store, or pick up anything she’s missed, then there is no way in hell she’s using her own money.
“I’ll get you a credit card,” I state. “Anything you need, you’ll put on that. In the meantime”—I march out of the room and locate my wallet in my duffel bag, which I abandoned by the front door when I first got in. I pull out a few bills and then thrust them at her—“this should cover us.”
Freya stares at the cash with her hands locked at her sides.
“I’m not taking your money, Cole. It’ll just be a few things. It’s fine.”
“No,” I grunt. “It’s not fine. You’re buying things for me, so I’ll pay.”
“The salary is already—”
“Freya,” I warn, my voice deeper than it was a few moments ago. “If you keep bringing it up, I’ll double it again.”
She slams her lips shut.
After pulling her jacket on, she hooks her purse over her shoulder and pulls her cell out.
As I follow her to the front door to show her out, I catch sight of the rideshare app she’s looking at.
“You didn’t drive here?” I ask.
“Uh…no. I was…I was a little too nervous, so I called an Uber,” she confesses.
“I’ll take you home,” I state, opening one of the doors in the hallway and pulling out a pair of sneakers.
“N-no. You need to relax. Get ready for bed. It’s late and—”
“I’m taking you home, Freya. Argue as much as you like; it won’t get you anywhere.”
For the second time in only a few minutes, she closes her mouth and admits defeat.
Grabbing my keys from the bowl I threw them in earlier, I pocket them and then open the door for her.
“How long have you lived here?” she asks as we descend through the building.
“Only a few months.”
“It’s incredible.”
“Yeah,” I muse. “Almost good enough to convince me to buy it.”
“You rent?” she asks, sounding shocked.
“Yeah, playing in the NHL means I could be traded at any moment. I’d prefer not to put roots anywhere until I secure a no-trade clause in my contract.”
“I guess that makes sense. Must be unnerving to know everything can change so suddenly.”
“Watching it happen to Brit is a reminder that it could be any of us.”
“Dad was shocked by that move.”
“We all were. He was at the top of his game. But we’ve got to trust that our GM knows what he’s doing.”
“James does know what he’s doing,” Freya agrees, reminding me that she knows Coach on a more personal level. “How is Rett getting on?”
“Playing about as hard as can be expected. He’s the kind of D man every goalie wants in front of them.
” It’s the first time I’ve played on the same team as Parker’s big brother.
I’ve always watched him from the other end of the ice, but he is a beast at what he does.
I can understand his frustrations in Seattle this season.
I’m just hoping his bad luck doesn’t follow him, because we’ve had too good a season to fuck it all up now.
“Dad’s looking forward to seeing how it all plays out.”
“And what about you? You’ve been to a few of our home games this season, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve tagged along to a couple. I always enjoy the excitement of a game, even if I don’t really understand everything that’s happening.”
“As long as you celebrate every time the puck hits the back of our opponents’ net, that’s all that matters.”
“Good to know,” she laughs.
“Are you coming to watch on Friday night?”
“Maybe. I guess it depends on how demanding my new boss is.”
“Only time will tell,” I tease as the elevator door opens to reveal the parking garage before us.
Pressing my hand to the small of Freya’s back, I guide her toward my car and open the passenger door for her.
“Careful, I could get used to this,” she teases as she climbs up into my Range Rover.
“The fact you’re not already accustomed to it tells me a lot about your life up until now,” I state before closing the door and stalking around to the driver’s side.
She sits silently, fiddling with her purse in her lap, as I start the engine and back out of the space.
“Will you…should I expect…do you have…”
I glance over at her when she continues failing to finish whatever question she’s trying to ask.
“Take a breath,” I instruct.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers before finally asking her question. “Will I have to cook for another person in your life?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “I don’t have anyone else at my apartment. The only other person who will be eating there is you.”
“O-okay. Good to know.”
As silence falls between us, I reach out and turn the music up. It’s not uncomfortable, but the air is heavy with questions Freya wants to ask but is too scared to do so.
As much as I want to prompt her to say what’s on her mind, I also don’t really like talking about myself, or having anyone dive into my life, so I just let her be as I head toward her parents’ place.
“I’m sorry, it’s a long round trip for you. I’ve been looking for a place of my own a little closer to the city, but everything is crazy expensive.”
“It’s not a problem,” I assure her. I love driving, but other than going back and forth to the arena, I don’t often have a reason to do so. “At least I know you’re home safe this way.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”
Only a few minutes later, I pull up outside her childhood home. A house that sits right next to Coach’s.
“It looks like someone else appreciates it too,” I say, pointing to where her dad is standing at the windows.
“He’s probably trying to refrain himself from coming out and fanboying over you. Don’t tell him I told you, but you’re his favorite goalie in the league.”
“I’m honored.”
“So, I’ll see you in the morning then.”
“You will. Just let yourself in and do your thing.”
She nods, but I can see her hesitation.
“I’m already looking forward to breakfast,” I tell her honestly as I open the door and turn to climb out.
“What are you doing?” she asks in a panic.
“Coming to open your door,” I tell her before doing precisely that.
It might dark, but it’s impossible to miss the way her cheeks blaze with heat as she slips out of my car.
“Goodnight, Cole. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Chef. Sleep well.”
I stand there and watch as she walks toward the house. When she’s almost there, the front door opens and her dad stands there, his eyes on me.
Lifting my hand, I wave at him before getting back in my car and heading home with a smile.
My season has just gotten that little bit better.