Chapter 11 Cole
COLE
Iknow I shouldn’t have sent that message last night, but I couldn’t help myself.
I watched her leave. I knew she didn’t go home with that guy, but still, there was something stirring inside me that I didn’t like.
I wanted to have the final say.
For all I knew, the two of them continued messaging all night and she fell asleep thinking about him. But I like to think that wasn’t the case and that the final person she spoke to yesterday was me. Well…okay, the final person she heard from, anyway.
Because she read it.
But she didn’t reply.
As I lay in bed with my cell in my hand, waiting, a million and one reasons why she wasn’t responding spun around my head.
It was stupid. Freya is my chef. I should be happy that she found someone who made her laugh the way she did last night. But I’m really fucking struggling to be.
I was about to ignore my teammates, my friends, and go marching over there and offer to buy her a drink. Only, I never got the chance.
Even as I sit here now, going through my emails, irritation still burns through me.
We’d already agreed that she’d come in later today. I had overnight oats and a bowl of fresh fruit waiting for me when I got up, and I sat alone at my kitchen island and ate it in silence.
It sucked.
I still want to hear her thoughts on the game last night. I want to know if she enjoyed herself and if she’s planning on coming again on Monday. I also…damn it…I want to know about the guy.
I’m reading a long-ass email from my agent when my cell buzzes to let me know she’s arrived.
My heart lurches as a weird yet sudden onslaught of nerves hits me.
I lean back in my chair, trying to remember the last time I felt nervous, but I come up empty.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Forcing my ass to stay planted so I don’t look too keen to go and greet her, I continue reading about the possible endorsement opportunity.
But by the time I get to the end, I haven’t processed a single word of it. Instead, I listened to every crash and bang that’s happening out in my kitchen.
Without replying, I close my laptop, push my chair back, and walk out of the room like I’m a man in control of my life.
I roll my shoulders back a beat before I get to the kitchen.
“Good afternoon,” I sing, my voice a little too high and squeaky for my liking.
Get a fucking grip, Hansley.
As always, Freya startles, although thankfully, she doesn’t hurt herself this time as she spins around to greet me with a cut of meat in her hands.
“Hey,” she says before looking down, realizing what she’s holding, and turning back to lower it into the pan.
“Would you like a coffee?” I ask, needing something to do.
“Yeah, that would be great,” she says as she returns to…massaging her meat.
“What are you doing?” I blurt.
She giggles.
“Rubbing your pork,” she states in a way that sounds entirely too filthy.
I snort as she looks over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, that wasn’t very professional.”
“Freya, never apologize for making me laugh,” I say, pouring beans into the grinder. “What are you making?”
“Haven’t you looked at the menu I emailed you?”
“Uh…”
“Cole,” she cries. “I sent that over for you to approve. You said yes. You said it all looked delicious.”
“That’s because it will be.”
“But…but what if there was something on there you don’t like?”
“You already asked for things I don’t like. I’m confident you know what you’re doing. Just like I’m confident that every dish will blow my socks off.”
Her eyes drop to my feet. “You’re not wearing any,” she points out.
“Ah, see? They’ve already been blown away.”
She shakes her head, and her hands continue rubbing the meat. Her fingers are almost glowing red with something.
“What is that?”
“It’s a Chinese-inspired spice rub. I’m going to slow cook this pork all afternoon, and then I’ll serve it with—”
“No, don’t ruin it. If I wanted to know, I’d have looked at the menu.”
She rolls her eyes at me, and all I can do is smirk.
“Did you enjoy the game last night?”
“Of course; you guys won.”
“The goalie was pretty good, huh?”
Abandoning her meat, she lifts her blood-red hands in the air and stares at me, one brow quirked.
“I mean…I don’t really understand hockey all that much, but the goalie seemed okay. He just about managed to make a couple of saves.”
Her eyes hold mine, but her lips twitch with the need to laugh.
“Seemed okay?”
“Uh-huh,” she hums, her lips pinched together.
“I think you must have missed something then, because the goalie had a fucking awesome game. Another shutout to add to his collection this year.”
“Ooh, you meant the Vipers’ goalie. Sorry, I was talking about the one in blue in the other goal.”
I bark out a laugh.
“You were incredible.”
I swear my heart skips a beat.
Sure, I’ve heard the words before—from teammates, from coaching staff, even management. But they’re expected to say that after I’ve performed well. Even back in the day, I’d have teachers comment, other parents and fans. But…there was only one who ever really mattered. Now though…
Something warm spreads from my chest, surging through my body.
“I mean, I literally have no idea what I’m talking about, so the compliment is pretty much worthless, but—”
“It’s not,” I assure her. “I really appreciate it. Thank you.”
Her cheeks heat as our eye contact holds.
Beside me, the coffee machine finishes her shot, and I jump back into action to steam her milk.
I pause before I pour the last of it in, but I quickly ignore my doubt before finishing it off.
“Aw, is that a heart?” Freya asks when I place it down beside her.
Now it’s my turn for my face to heat.
“It’s one of the easiest ones,” I mumble, turning back to make my own.
“Where did you learn to do it?”
“I worked in a coffee shop for a while when I was a teenager. Coffee art was about the only culinary thing that stuck.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. I bet you can heat up a banging panini.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“That isn’t cooking,” I argue.
She shrugs one shoulder. “It’s better than nothing. Maybe I’ll have to get you to show me your skills one day.”
“I’d be honored to warm your panini, Miss Price,” I tease.
She laughs again as she pulls the oven open, then slides the tray of meat inside.
“What are your plans for the day?” she asks as I lower my ass to the stool at the island.
“Don’t have any. I’m sure if I looked at my cell, one of the guys would be in the group chat with something to do.”
“Do you spend a lot of time together?”
“Yes and no. We’re a weird kind of dysfunctional family.”
“I think it’s great,” she says, cleaning the counter where she was working even though it’s already clean.
“Sometimes it is. Other times they’re annoying as fuck.”
“When I was a kid, I always used to pray for a sibling so I had someone to play with or to understand what I was going through. You’ve got an entire teamful. It’s awesome.”
“I guess. I can’t say I have any sibling experience either.”
“Ah, only children unite,” she teases, drying her hands and then lifting her mug to her lips.
She blows across the top before taking a hesitant sip. The second the coffee hits her tongue, she closes her eyes.
I love that I can make her something that she savors and enjoys as much as I do the food she makes me.
“Did you stay out late celebrating?”
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t leave all that long after you.”
“Didn’t the guys hit a club after the bar?” she asks.
“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling it, though. I’m getting too old for all that. My hips and knees needed ice, not dancing.”
“After what I saw last night, I’m pretty sure you’ve still got all the moves.”
My brows lift. “Watching closely, were you?”
Her cheeks blaze.
Fuck. Why is it so much fun, getting her to blush like that?
I really need to stop. It’s not a habit I should be indulging in. But I can’t help myself.
Her eyes drop to her mug before she confesses, “Those warm-ups are something else. I didn’t realize men could move like that.”
“Glad you enjoyed them,” I muse, barely able to contain my amusement.
I knew she was watching me; I could feel her stare burning into me. But hearing her confess it…goddamn.
She falls quiet as she drinks. I follow suit, noting how comfortable I am in her silence. I’m pretty sure I’d feel awkward if it were anyone else in my kitchen with me like this. But there’s something about Freya that puts me at ease.
I wish I could say the same for her, but she seems to constantly be a nervous wreck around me. As cute as her embarrassment is, I can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like once she’s relaxed. Something tells me that she’ll be funny as hell when she stops second-guessing everything she says and does.
“What about your plans?” I ask.
“I’m heading to the mall, and then I’ll stop by the grocery store on the way back to do dinner. Is there anything you need?”
“Freya, you’re my chef, not my personal assistant,” I point out.
“I’m going there anyway. I don’t mind grabbing some extra items.”
“I appreciate the offer, but aside from cooking, I really can look after myself.” I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember. I don’t need to rely on anyone now.
“Well, the offer is there. If you think of anything, just message me.”
She spins to the sink and rinses her mug out.
“Did you…did you get the message I sent last night?” I ask, hating the hesitation in my voice.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply. I crashed as soon as I got in.”
“No worries. Just wanted to make sure I had the correct number.”
Cole Hansley, you are such a fucking liar.
“It was.”
As I stare at her, another question balances on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down.
The guy she was talking to last night is none of my business.
Hell, nothing about Freya other than her skills in the kitchen is my business.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want it to be, though.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been this curious about another person before.
Usually, I’m counting down the minutes until an interaction is over. But not with Freya. For some reason, the more time I spend with her only makes me crave more.
“If you don’t need anything else from me, I’m going to head out, leave you in peace to enjoy your afternoon.”
“Uh…yeah,” I say, combing my fingers through my hair and pulling myself from my thoughts. “You go and enjoy yourself.”
“I’ll…uh…I’ll see you later. Remember, just message me if you need anything.”