Page 7

SEVEN

HUDSON

I’ve heard those lines a hundred times before, but this is the first time I actually believe them.

Madeline means business, and I appreciate how she’s not scooting closer to me. I like how she’s keeping her legs turned slightly to the side so they don’t touch mine. I appreciate that her eyes haven’t lingered on my chest and she’s kept her attention on my face, not my ass.

I think I appreciate her.

It’s obvious she’s good at her job and would take this role seriously. The chicken curry the other night sealed the deal for me, but no one’s come into my kitchen and thrown out words like acids and protein-heavy before, and fuck does that give me hope.

Cooking isn’t rocket science.

I should have a handle on this stuff.

My mom was great in the kitchen.

I grew up watching her cook, make bread and pasta from scratch on top of her full-time job, and put together Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve dinners for our extended family.

But I didn’t inherit any of her culinary capabilities.

Maybe after she passed, my brain involuntarily shut down. It threw up a defense mechanism and refused to learn how to do anything other than popping a frozen meal into the microwave because that was her thing, and if I take over, it’ll mean she’s really gone.

That’s what my therapist would say, and the asshole is always right.

Grief is a fucking menace.

“Thank you for the reassurance,” I say, and she smiles. “What was your schedule like at your previous job?”

“I got to the restaurant around two thirty and left around eleven. The days were long as hell, but I loved it so much,” she says. “What is your routine when you have a game in DC?”

“Morning skate is sometimes optional when we play that night, but we do have a team meeting around ten. I typically go to the arena early to tape up my stick and get in the right headspace. Sometimes I’ll do some skating and shooting, but it varies. A couple of the guys and I will mess around together and play a quick game of soccer in the tunnel.”

“Soccer? I didn’t know I was in the presence of a multi-sport athlete,” she jokes.

I laugh. I’ve never felt this relaxed around a stranger before.

“Athlete is a very generous term for my soccer skills. It’s a way for us to decompress and take the stress off before the game. I’ll grab the lunch the team provides for us or head home to eat, then I nap. I try to eat a light meal before I go back to the arena two and a half hours before puck drop, then I eat again when I get home.”

“Wow.” Madeline frowns. “I feel like an asshole.”

“An asshole? Why?”

“I thought you showed up to the arena ten minutes before you took the ice. I had no idea you put so much time into your job before you actually did your job.”

“It’s a lot of fourteen-hour days, and that doesn’t include the nights we fly to our away games right after the buzzer sounds at our home matchups.”

“What I’m hearing is you don’t have a lot of free time, so I think meal prepping is going to be a good route for us to take. I can batch cook food that will last you two or three days, and all you have to do is heat it up. I can be here as often as you want, but I also want to be respectful of the hours you get to yourself.”

“Speaking of hours, talk to me about money. I know this might be an awkward question, but what were you making back in Vegas?”

“A hundred and ten thousand dollars after tax, and it was a fair salary.”

It doesn’t sound like a fair salary to me for the amount of hours she was working, and I do some math in my head.

The Stars organization was willing to spend everything they had to keep their core group of athletes together. After our Stanley Cup win this summer, my agent negotiated a monstrous deal on my behalf: six years. Sixty-five million. A contract that will take me to retirement and give me more money than I know what to do with.

It gives me the luxury to spend that money on people who deserve it.

People like her.

“Everything we’ve talked about has been really encouraging, Madeline. I think this would be a great fit, and I want to offer you two hundred to start.”

“Two hundred?”

“Thousand. For your salary. DC is more expensive than Vegas. Rent is at least three thousand dollars a month, and that’s a robbery for some of the places around here.”

“You want to pay me two hundred thousand dollars ? After tasting only one of my meals?” Madeline shakes her head. “That’s a very generous offer. Too high, actually, and way above the average rate for a private chef according to Google.”

“Ah, you know how Google is always right,” I say, tempted to laugh when she huffs. “You’re going to be cooking here multiple times a day. You’re going to have to come up with weekly menus and do food shopping. That’s going to use up a lot of your energy, and you should be fairly compensated for it.”

She eyes me and rolls her lips together. “Will you let me prove it to you?”

“Prove what?”

“That I’m worth that much.”

I already know she’s worth that much and more, but I give in. “Sure. Are you going to spin a knife again? You did that at Piper’s, and I’m still trying to figure out how you didn’t slice a finger off.”

“Not my first rodeo.” Her smile is sharp. “Can I make lunch for you?”

“If you can find something around here that could be turned into a meal, have at it.” I sit up on the barstool, intrigued. “But good luck.”

Madeline fumbles through her bag and pulls out a dark blue apron. She slips it over her head and jumps to her feet, her hands settling on her hips.

“Can I have free rein of the space?” she asks.

“Of course. The stove might weep if you turn it on because it’s so excited to be used, so be careful. I don’t want the place to go up in flames.”

A laugh spills out of her, and it sure is a pretty sound. “I’ll be careful.” She does a lap around the kitchen and drums her fingers against her cheek. She opens the fridge then moves to the pantry. Gus and Millie watch her, and she stops to give them a pat on the head. After five minutes of looking in every cabinet and drawer, she washes her hands and glances at me. “I’m ready.”

“Should I get a stopwatch out or something? Do you want me to put on a hat and say yes , chef ?”

“You sound like you want to make this a game.”

“It’s the competitive nature in me,” I offer, and she smirks. “NHL player, remember?”

“Oh, I remember. Okay, Hayes. We’ll play by your rules. How much time do I have?”

“Thirty minutes.” I pick a random number and grin. “You really think you can make something out of nothing that quick?”

“Doubting me already?”

“Hell no,” I tell her, and her confidence doesn’t waver. “But I will be impressed. Last I checked, I don’t even have peanut butter in the pantry.”

“I’m not a show-off, but I’ve always loved proving people wrong.” She flashes me another smile and flips her hair over her shoulder. “Start your clock, hockey guy.”

I fumble with my phone and hit the stopwatch, trying my best not to laugh. The seconds start to tick by, and Madeline moves around the kitchen like she’s been here a dozen times.

I watch, mesmerized as she pulls a package of ground beef from the fridge, unwrapping it and dropping it in a large pan on the stove. As she adds seasoning from a mixture of spices I had no clue existed, and puts three tortillas on a plate.

“Am I allowed to talk?” I ask. “Or will I break your concentration?”

“I’m used to cooking in a kitchen half this size with six people around me.” She reaches for a knife and weighs it in her hand. Keeping her eyes on me, she does that spinning thing again, and I’m on the edge of my seat. I don’t know why I think that’s hot as hell. “I can handle two things at once.”

“What was your first job?”

“I worked at a McDonald’s.” She grabs a block of cheese from the fridge and sets it on the cutting board she found. “I’ve always liked to cook, and I worked my way up from kitchen to kitchen until I landed my dream job at CARVD.”

“CARVD,” I repeat. “Let me guess. It’s a vegan place.”

“You’re funny.”

“Have you ever considered opening your own restaurant?”

“There’s a lot that goes into restaurant management, and I’d want to make sure I was financially secure before embarking on an endeavor like that. I’ve dreamed about it, though.”

“Really? You should go for it.”

“Maybe one day.” Madeline bends over and rifles through a lower cabinet, holding up a cheese grater I didn’t know I had. I have no clue where the hell these gadgets are coming from. “How long have you been playing hockey?”

“Since I was a kid. I was born and raised in Georgia, and the sport isn’t as popular down there as it is everywhere else in the country. My parents found camps to put me in, and I learned to play while everyone else I knew was playing lacrosse and football.”

“No ambitions to be a lax bro?”

“Not a single one. My parents paid for me to play on a travel team. They supported me when I went to Denver and won the Frozen Four—that’s the collegiate hockey national championship.”

Madeline finds another pan and puts it on the stove after adding olive oil to it. “Sounds like you’re very dedicated.”

“I guess so. I grew up being told if I’m going to do something, you might as well give it your full effort. That means putting in hours and hours of work. I’m sure you did the same with your cooking. Can you do the knife thing again?” I ask, and she laughs. Flips the knife in her fingers then stabs it on the cutting board. “Sensational.”

“I’ll teach you.” She hums and doles out a spoonful of the cooked meat into one of the tortillas. After adding cheese and shredded lettuce she dug out from the fridge, Madeline folds the tortilla. She sets it in the pan with the oil, flips it two times, then slides it on a plate. “Here you go. A knock-off Crunchwrap Supreme.”

“You’re joking,” I say, and her smile is proud and assured.

“How much time do I have left?”

“Eight minutes. I can’t believe you made this from the stuff I have in my kitchen. It’s a real life Chopped episode.”

“Those were the rules, right? I like to follow instructions.”

“I thought you’d hand me a piece of bread with mayonnaise on it. Not—” I grab the wrap and take a bite. I don’t bother holding back my moan. “Not heaven in the form of ground beef and melted cheese. Hell. This is delicious.”

“And you didn’t even have to stop at Taco Bell.”

“Yeah. I’m upping your pay to two hundred and fifty thousand, and I’m not going to let you argue with me.” I use my thumb to wipe away a piece of cheese from the corner of my mouth and grin. “You’ve got yourself a job, Madeline.”

She takes a step back and puts a hand over her chest. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much. This is so kind of you. I need to… to do a lot of things, honestly.” She plays with the strings of her apron, a bright laugh falling from her. “I need to find a place to live here in DC. I have to pack up my apartment and move my daughter across the country. I need to find schooling for her and—” Her eyes cut back over to me. “When would you like me to start?”

“When would you like to start? I’ve been surviving off nachos I make in the microwave.” I take another bite of the Crunchwrap and wonder if this is going to be my life now. Delicious food made by someone who makes me laugh and might even be a new friend. “I can last another week or two.”

“Could I have two weeks? That will let me get everything figured out with my daughter, and then you’ll have my full attention.”

“Lucy, right?” I ask, and the way Madeline lights up at the mention of her is nothing short of magnificent.

Her eyes sparkle and her shoulders roll back. Her smile is full of joy and love, and I bet her daughter is the best kid in the world.

“That’s right. She’s a big fan of the team, so I apologize in advance for the dozens of questions she’s going to ask.” Her eyes drift to the dogs. “She’s also going to love Gus and… what was her name?”

“Millie. And I’ll answer any questions she has. Speaking of apartments, y’all are welcome to stay here if you want. Road games take me away from home for long stretches of time, and the place will be empty anyway. I have plenty of space.”

“You’d be okay with a six-year-old running around here?”

“Can’t be worse than my teammates running around. I had some of the guys over during the summer, and one of them ended up with ten stitches on his forehead because he hit the corner of the coffee table when he was being an idiot. Which I’m now realizing makes it sound like my apartment is a death trap, and I can get a new piece of furniture.”

Madeline grins. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll see how the apartment search goes, and I’ll let you know. Lucy’s never lived with a man before, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

There’s a story there. One about her ex and who I’m assuming is Lucy’s dad. I want to know what happened, but it’s not my place to ask. If she wants to tell me, she’ll tell me on her terms, and that’s fine by me.

“You know where I’ll be.” I point to the uneaten food in the pan. “Make yourself a plate. We can talk about schedules while we have lunch.”

“Thanks.” Madeline sets a portion for herself on her plate. A happy sigh falls out of her when she leans over the counter and takes a bite. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Bury me with these when I die.” I finish my lunch and sit back on my stool. “I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful partnership.”

She gives me another smile, a sly and coy one that does something to my chest. “I couldn’t agree more, hockey guy.”