3. Chapter 3
Phoenix
"Please tell me that's what I think it is," Joe says, practically bouncing on his toes as I walk through his front door with the cupcake box.
I swear he didn’t look this excited when we got our Super Bowl rings.
“Gigi’s red velvet,” I confirm, setting the box on his kitchen counter. “And she warned me these things are dangerously addictive.”
“She’s not wrong.” Joe tears into the cupcake wrapper like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ella’s been trying to crack this recipe for years. Gigi guards it like state secrets.”
I watch my former teammate take a bite and actually moan with pleasure. It’s both amusing and slightly disturbing.
“You know training camp starts in two weeks, right?” I point out. “You’re supposed to be in peak physical condition.”
“Some things are worth the extra cardio.” Joe pauses mid-chew, studying me with those sharp quarterback eyes that see everything. “Wait. Did you actually wear that Hart Health shirt to her bakery?”
I glance down at the logo. “Yeah, why?”
Joe whistles low. “Bold move. Gigi’s not exactly a fan of being reminded about her family connections.”
“Now you tell me.” I unwrap my own cupcake, remembering the way her smile flatlined the second she saw it. “Her parents asked me to deliver a message, too. That went over about as well as you'd expect.”
“Let me guess—she told you where her parents could stick their business proposition?”
“Pretty much. I barely got two words out before she said ‘hard pass.’”
Joe grins. “That sounds like Gigi. She doesn’t beat around the bush when she’s made up her mind.”
I take a bite of the cupcake, and wow—it might just be the best thing I’ve tasted in my entire life. Rich, moist, and decadent. The kind of dessert that makes you forget you're supposed to care about macros.
“She’s... not what I expected.”
Complete understatement. The woman managed to insult me, dismiss me, and somehow make me want to come back for more in the span of ten minutes. I’ve never met anyone quite like her.
“Yeah? What were you expecting?”
Honestly? I’m not sure. But I definitely wasn’t expecting a frosting-covered firecracker with curves that could stop traffic.
“Someone less... fierce.”
“Fierce is a good word for Gigi.” Joe finishes his cupcake and eyes the crumbs like he’s considering licking the wrapper. “But don’t take it personally. She has her reasons for keeping her distance from anything Hart Health-related.”
“What’s the story there?”
Joe’s expression grows more serious. “I don’t know all the details—Ella’s pretty protective of Gigi’s privacy—but I remember some things from when we were kids. Gigi wasn’t allowed to eat sugar. Period. No Halloween candy, no birthday cake, no ice cream at parties.”
I frown. “No sugar at all?”
“Maybe fruit occasionally, but that was it. Her parents had her on this strict ‘clean eating’ plan from the time she could walk.” He shakes his head. “Can you imagine being eight years old and watching all your friends eat birthday cake that you can’t have?”
I picture her sitting at a brightly colored party table, watching other kids lick frosting off their fingers while she’s stuck munching on carrot sticks. “No wonder she rebelled.”
And no wonder her bakery feels the way it does—warm, joyful, unapologetic. It’s not just a business; it’s payback in frosting.
“Big time,” Joe says. “But she’s proven she doesn’t need their help—or their approval—to be successful.”
I find myself admiring that more than I should. Most people would cave under that kind of family pressure, especially when there’s a multi-million-dollar empire on the table. But Gigi carved out her own path and made it work.
“Can’t really blame her for not wanting to hear what they have to say,” I admit.
Joe raises an eyebrow. “Phoenix Wood, defending the woman who just turned down your corporate peacekeeping mission? That’s interesting.”
“I’m not defending anyone. I’m just saying I understand her position.”
“Uh-huh.” Joe’s grinning like he knows something I don’t. “Well, since you understand her so well, maybe you won’t kill me for what I’m about to ask of you.”
I narrow my eyes. “What did you do?”
“I may have volunteered you to help Gigi run her booth at the Independence Day festival.”
“You what ?” I set down my cupcake. “Joe, she threw me out of her bakery. Twice.”
“Exactly.” Joe claps me on the shoulder hard enough to rattle my teeth. “If Gigi really didn’t like you, she would’ve ignored you completely. The fact that she’s actively antagonizing you means you got under her skin.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”
“With Gigi? It’s the best thing. Trust me, I’ve known her for years. She only bothers arguing with people she finds interesting.”
Interesting? I can work with that.
“What exactly would I be doing at this festival?”
Joe’s grin turns downright diabolical. “Help her run the bake sale booth. Provide some muscle for setup, charm the customers with that famous smile of yours. All the proceeds go to the local volunteer fire department, and your pretty face will help bring in the big bucks.”
“You want me to spend an entire day with a woman who thinks I represent everything wrong with the world?”
“I want you to spend an entire day with a woman who makes the best cupcakes this side of the Mississippi and happens to be single, gorgeous, and exactly the kind of challenge you’ve been looking for since you retired.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Joe cuts me off.
“Don’t even try to deny it, Phoenix. You’ve been restless for months. Ever since you hung up your cleats, you’ve been drifting around like a lost puppy. The endorsement deals pay the bills, but they don’t exactly light your fire.”
He’s not wrong. Retirement has been harder than I expected. After years of having every minute scheduled, every meal planned, every goal clearly defined, I’ve been floating. The Hart Health contract helps financially, but it doesn’t fulfill the soul.
And there was something about Gigi—something about the passion in her voice when she talked about her bakery, the fire in her eyes when she stood up to me—that made me feel more awake than I have in months.
“When’s this festival?” I hear myself ask.
Joe’s grin could power the entire town. “Tomorrow. I’ll call Gigi right now and tell her you volunteered.”
“Wait, that’s not what I—”
But Joe’s already dialing, and I have the sinking feeling I just got played by a quarterback who’s apparently as good at matchmaking as he is at reading defenses.
And worse?
I’m not even mad about it.