Chapter 37 Freya
FREYA
Istand side by side with Cole in my parents’ kitchen as he helps me prepare the Mexican cuisine I decided on for Dad’s birthday meal.
Cole may not be skilled in the kitchen, but he’s more than willing to be helpful. Right now, he’s mashing avocados for guacamole. And he’s doing a damn good job of it, too.
“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing his mashing.
“Yeah, it’s great. You’re killing it.”
“Quite literally. This thing has been mashed to death,” he deadpans.
“Yeah, maybe it’s time to add the other bits,” I say, nodding to the ingredients I’ve placed around the chopping board for him.
“All of this needs to go in here?”
“Yep.”
“At once?”
“Go for it.”
He hesitates, before he reaches for the chopped onion and throws it in.
“Okay?”
“I’ll stop you if it’s not,” I promise him.
He nods in agreement before adding the coriander and then reaching for the chili.
“This is going to be hot,” he warns.
“Have you tried the chilies?” I ask, resting back against the counter and watching him.
“Uh, no. Should I?”
“If you want to know how much to add to ensure you don’t make it too hot, then yeah, you really should.”
“Haven’t you tried them?” he counters.
“I’m not the one making the guac,” I point out, raising my brow.
“Okay,” he says, pinching a few bits of the chopped chili and throwing it into his mouth. “That’s not so bad,” he says confidently. But then, his eyes widen and his chin drops. “I lied. I lied. It’s bad.”
I can’t help but burst out laughing as he begins fanning his open mouth with his hand.
“How? It came from the same bag as the one I tried.”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles, his eyes watering.
Rushing over to the fridge, I grab a gallon of milk and pour him a glass.
“Here,” I say, passing it over and watching him swallow every drop.
“Wow, that was intense,” he confesses before wiping his mouth. “Wait. You don’t believe me.”
“What?” I gasp. “I never said that.”
“You don’t need to; I can see it in your eyes.”
“I just…I don’t understand how that one could be so bad. The others were just warm, you know?”
“Uh-huh, I know. That wasn’t warm,” he says, pointing at the chopped-up chili. “It was fire.”
Having chopped them all not so long ago, I lick my finger. There’s heat there, but nothing too bad.
“Try it, if you don’t believe me.”
“It’s not—”
“Go on. Try it.”
I narrow my eyes at him and he just smirks.
“Fine,” I huff, successfully baited.
I pick out a small piece of chopped chili and place it on my tongue.
It’s sweet, exactly as I expected from earlier.
I chew as Cole watches with an expectant look in his eyes, waiting for what he knows is coming.
And then it hits.
“Oh, holy hell.” I gasp when the fire strikes. “What on earth?” I ask as I rush for the milk carton.
“Told you,” Cole states smugly.
“Did they put a death chili in that packet or something?” I ask, after I’ve chugged half a glass of milk.
“How many have you put in the rest of the food?” Cole asks.
“But I tasted them.”
“What if you tasted the only mild one, and the rest are going to knock our socks off?”
“Dad won’t notice,” I say confidently.
“He’s a fan of spicy food?”
“Not really. But you’re here. He probably won’t even notice that I cooked.”
“Trust me, if everything is laced with that, he’ll notice.”
“This really could be a birthday to remember.” I laugh as I place my glass in the dishwasher.
“So how much would you like me to put in?” Cole asks, returning to the task at hand.
“Less than half of that.”
“That much?”
“What’s wrong, Handsy? Don’t think you can take it?” I taunt.
His eyes flash with something as I use the nickname the rest of the world knows him as.
“Don’t you worry; I can handle anything.”
“That’s good because I’m pretty sure that engine you can hear is Dad arriving home. Are you ready for a night of being worshipped?”
Cole cocks his head to the side. “Can’t say that being worshipped by your father is all that high on my to-do list. Someone else, maybe.”
My heart pounds. He means me, right?
There’s a commotion at the front door as Mom greets Dad, and it forces us to end that conversation right there.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Mom coos as they move closer.
“Another one? I thought you gave me all my gifts this morning,” Dad responds.
My eyes remain locked on Cole’s, trying to figure out exactly what he meant by that previous statement until the very last minute.
“Surprise,” Mom cries as she throws the door open.
“Freya,” Dad sings, but before he has a chance to say anything else or even step into the room, his eyes land on Cole, and they almost bug out of his head. “Cole Hansley is in my kitchen. He’s…” Dad shakes his head and rushes toward Cole with his hand stretched out.
“Happy birthday, sir,” Cole greets, shaking his hand.
“You’re really standing in my kitchen,” Dad states, making us all laugh as he practically shakes Cole’s arm free from his shoulder. “Best birthday gift ever. Sorry, love,” he says, unable to take his eyes off Cole. “Those socks you bought me have been downgraded.”
“Dinner will be ten minutes,” I announce. “There are chips and dip on the table, and we’ve made a jug of virgin margaritas.”
“Freya,” Dad says again, as if remembering that I’m also standing here. “Wow, this all looks incredible. Thank you,” he says, pulling me into a tight hug. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, Dad,” I say, more than aware that he’s referring to bringing Cole rather than the food I’ve cooked.
“That game the other night,” Dad starts the instant he’s released me.
Cole chuckles, glances at me, and then follows Dad to the table and takes a seat.
“I think we made him very happy,” Mom says with a wide smile.
“Honestly, Mom. I’m not sure we have anything to do with that,” I tease.
“Well, I invited him and you ensured he came,” she points out.
“Do you think we should go out and leave them to it?”
“And miss your father fanboying over that man all night? Not a chance.”
Mom helps me serve up the food as Dad and Cole get lost in hockey talk. Most of it still goes over my head, but I pick up on a lot more than I used to.
The season is about to end, and the Vipers are headed straight to the playoffs.
They’ve still got a lot of hard work ahead of them.
And my job is going to become even more important.
Cole is going to need a well-planned and nutritious diet to help with performance and staying healthy.
It isn’t just him feeling the pressure as the season comes to a close; it’s me as well.
But we’ve got this. If I’ve learned anything in my time with Cole, it’s that I’m capable. That’s something I never would have said about myself a year ago. Hell, even six months ago I was lost and felt like I’d never achieve anything again.
“I love seeing you so happy,” Mom whispers as Dad and Cole’s laughter bounces off the walls around us.
“I love being happy,” I say, unable to wipe the smile off my face.
“Come on, let’s eat.”
I made more food than we were able to fit on the table, but as the next hour passes, we all eat our weight in Mexican and Mom makes a second pitcher of margs. We chat and laugh as if we’ve done this a million times before, and I swear, every time I turn to look at Cole, he’s already gazing at me.
As the time ticks on, the thought of climbing back into the car with him and heading home has my stomach rioting with butterflies.
Something has shifted again tonight. I don’t know if it’s being here, or spending time with my parents or what, but his eye contact is even more intense than usual.
And I’d put money on the fact that his chair is closer to mine than it was at the beginning of the evening.
“Wow, it’s getting late,” Mom points out after looking at her watch.
“We’re not leaving until we’ve helped clean up,” Cole states, making my heart soar. He’s such a sweetheart.
“Stay,” Dad suddenly says. “It’s late, and it’s a long drive back.”
“Oh, no, we can’t do that. Cole needs to be back for work in the morning.”
“I could go straight to work from here,” Cole offers, shocking the hell out of me. “Your dad is right; it’s late.”
Dad beams.
“We don’t have a guest room,” Mom points out. “We turned it into my craft room,” she explains to Cole. “I just love it. I could spend hours locked away in there, fiddling around.”
“I can crash on the couch,” Cole offers.
“Oh no. No, no, no. There is no way on this earth I am allowing you to sleep on a couch. Your body is far too important for that. Freya has a king-sized bed in her room. You’ll be okay sharing for a night, won’t you?” Dad asks, turning his eyes on me.
My mouth opens and closes like a fish.
Is this really happening?
My father is suggesting that a fully grown man sleep with me in my bed under his roof?
The same father who refused point-blank to ever have Rowan back in this house after their first meeting, let alone in my bedroom?
“Brian?” Mom questions, clearly as confused as I am.
“What? You’re both adults. It’s not a big deal, is it?”
Cole and I look at each other, the air between us turning thick.
I really don’t want to drive home now. Maybe Mom and I could upgrade our next drinks to full margaritas so we could continue our evening a little longer.
Dad would love it, and it’s his night, after all.
“I mean, if it’s okay with you…” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
Cole rips his eyes from mine and looks at both of my parents. “It would be an honor to spend the night. Thank you.”
“Fantastic. Now, I know you have work tomorrow, but I have a bottle of whiskey in the living room that I’ve been saving for a special occasion. Will you join me?” Dad asks Cole.
“Just a small one, seeing as it’s your birthday.”
“You two go; we’ll tidy up here,” Mom says.
Cole wants to argue. He wants to help, I can see it in his eyes, but when Dad rushes out of the room, still talking a mile a minute, Cole has little choice but to follow.
“Well then,” Mom muses once we’re alone. “That took an unexpected turn.”
“Yeah,” I agree, still staring down the hallway they disappeared through.
“Honey,” Mom says, dragging my attention to her. “You need to be careful.”
“W-why?” I stutter, confused.
“Your dad is putting things in motion that I fear you’re not going to be able to control.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, my sweet girl. You can’t see it, can you?”
“See what?”
“That man in there,” she says, pointing toward the living room, “is crazy about you. And I think the feeling might just be mutual. Would I be right?”
“He’s my boss, Mom.”
“Uh-huh, just as I feared. Hold tight, Freya. Things are about to get complicated.”