Page 28 of The Sweet Spot

“She does. You could still ask her to be your personal chef too. Although, I don’t know how she’d juggle it. But you live near me. You’re welcome to pick up meals, or maybe she can drop some off.”

Ryan seemed to consider that with a shrug. “You like her food?”

“It’s excellent, and I’m always feeling good even after big meals. She knows her stuff.”

“It would probably help me along. I’ve been eating better, cutting out all booze, and it’s made a difference, but sometimes I get lazy, and I pick up shit on the way home. I know I’ve got to stop doing that.”

“I can run the idea past her. Even if it’s part-time. And you’re looking good. Everything okay?”

“It’s a lot better. I’m seeing a shrink now, and man, I realized I had a lot going on. And thanks for the suggestion and for not shooting off your mouth. It means a lot.”

“Like you, I won’t tolerate the gossip.”

I finished up the workout and headed home. Wolseley wasn’t there yet, so I took a nap, and when I heard her arrive a few hours later, I met her out in the kitchen, this time wearing a shirt since it seemed to bother her when I didn’t. I should have been more professional, but I’d had no idea she was there.

She was pulling out food from the fridge, this time dressed in baggy, faded blue jeans that had the worn look. She had anorange scarf in her hair, the tail of it falling down her back. Her orange knit sweater was baggy as well, and I wondered what she looked like under all those clothes. I vaguely remembered her from Tangi’s wedding, and she had a curvy figure in that fitted dress, so why was she hiding it all the time? She looked like an even more buxom Marilyn Monroe.

“Hey,” I said.

She jumped, and romaine lettuce flew up into the air and onto the floor. She whirled around to face me, and her cheeks were fully flushed.

“You scared me,” she said, reaching down for the lettuce, but I beat her to it, handing it back to her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I know you’re getting started on dinner, but I wanted to say something.”

The smile she wore slipped from her face, replaced with what looked like fear. Suddenly, I was uncomfortable, and then I realized it; she thought I was going to fire her. I’d been such an asshole that now she worried she’d be out of a job. I had to put her out of her misery as quickly as possible.

“I’m sorry about today. My behavior was uncalled for. I overreacted, and that’s not right. Accept my apology?”

Her face lit up again, and the smile returned, making me smile as well.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. I get why you were mad. Let’s forget it?”

“Forgotten.” I was about to leave to let her work, but I thought of Ryan again. “Hey, I know you’re probably super busy, but would you consider prepping some meals for Ryan? I can work on a fair deal, and if he’s agreeable, it can be all the same meals, so you aren’t doing something different.”

She blinked a few times, her large brown eyes seeming to glint at the idea. “I think I could swing it. Only problem is that I don’t have a car.”

“He lives five minutes away. He can pick up meals, or I can drop them off. We can figure it out. Of course, your priority is to me.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, beaming.

I left her to work, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt all-around good. My heart was light, a feeling I hadn’t had much in life, not since … Tangi.

Chapter Sixteen

Wolseley

After making Brandon’s pregame meal, and one he could heat up after the game, I went back to Tangi and Ethan’s condo. I’d finally figured out the public transit system and found that a bus took me within a block of the condo, so I was now saving money instead of taking a million Ubers. I saved those rides for when I had to lug a ton of groceries.

As I showered and changed for tonight’s game, I stared back at my reflection in the mirror. My roots needed a touch-up, and the stylist I’d found two blocks away had done such an amazing job, that I planned to do it again, keeping the same colors. But something was missing.

I pulled out my meager makeup bag and put on just a hint of concealer, a bit of blush, mascara, and my favorite pale pink lip gloss. I rarely wore much makeup—my mom claimed I had perfect skin and didn’t need it—but today felt like the right day to splurge, and since all my vegan cosmetics cost a small fortune, I figured I should at least use them.

Next, I needed to pick an outfit. Normally, I had no issues withbody positivity. I knew I wasn’t society’s version of perfect, but I liked my figure even though I rarely showed it off. Mostly because I liked my clothes and didn’t need to prove anything. But despite all that, being around women who were essentially what we were programmed to think were goddesses had me feeling self-conscious, and I hated that feeling. I much preferred not caring about makeup and clothes, but here I was, staring at what little I had brought to Vancouver and trying to come up with something that wouldn’t make me stick out like my hair would. I could already envision the stares.

After a long back-and-forth, I chose my best jeans that showed off a bit of my curves, a black blouse that I left a few buttons open on, and a matching black scarf in my hair. I’d gotten into the habit of wearing them, circa the 1970s. It would definitely hide my brown roots.

Since I’d never been to Graham Place, Jill picked me up, and we went together. We arrived early, so she showed me around her office, which was pretty sweet, with a gorgeous ocean view. I wondered how she got any work done. I’d be staring outside and wanting to meditate all day.