Page 36 of The Sweet Spot

“I’m positive.” She grabbed a pot and threw in the chopped carrots, along with some onion she’d diced before I’d shown up. “What do you think of the chocolate almond bites?”

“Delicious.”

She moved on to peppers, cutting with the same authority. I was going to have to get her to teach me that one day. I had no idea what she was making, but I was looking forward to it.

“You seem happier. Everything worked out with Tangi?” She’d told me in passing that she was going to hang out with Jill and Tangi. I assumed that whatever happened had blown over.

“I did. We had a fun time. Turns out my friends are going to make sure I stop picking all the wrong guys and start picking the right ones. There’s nothing like one of your best friends giving you a laundry list of all the shitty guys you’ve dated or chased after to make you realize you need to change up your game. I think Jill has made it her mission to find me my perfect match.”

“Oh. Good. Jill thinks she is a matchmaker?”

That niggled at me for some reason. Why was Jill even doing that? It reminded me of all the times Mom tried to set me up with the daughters of her friends. Like Wolseley, I’d madesome shitty choices along the way, but when I liked a woman, I went after her. I didn’t need my mom’s help.

“I have no idea.”

“Does she have someone in mind?”

Wolseley was slicing through mushrooms now, making some kind of hearty stew, I think. Whatever it was, it smelled like a garlic paradise.

“I don’t think so. Not anyone she mentioned.”

“I didn’t realize you were looking to date.”

“I didn’t either,” she said, checking on the Dutch oven she had on the stove. “But maybe it’s time. I want Daniel to be a distant memory, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been in a healthy relationship.” She paused. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a healthy relationship.” She paused again and shook her head as if to move on from it. “Enough about me. You should date too. I’m sure Jill can find you someone special.” She laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile even though I felt suddenly disjointed, and I had no idea why.

My phone buzzed, and I checked it to see that Ryan was here and needed to be buzzed up. I met him at my front door, and he followed me into the kitchen to meet Wolseley again.

“Welcome to Chez Brandon,” she said. “Around here we seat ourselves. Your first course will be served shortly. So you know, there really is no rhyme or reason to this meal. I simply followed along and made some of your favorite things in healthier ways. I want you to still enjoy food and not feel like you’re being punished. Before we get started, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Maybe just water,” he said, looking a little excited to try all the smells coming from the kitchen.

She started with three dips. One was a bean and vegetable dip that Ryan made a face at but still tried it on one of Wolseley’s protein-packed tortilla chips. The second was a spicyhummus—the famous hotmus, I presumed—and the third was a buffalo cauliflower chicken dip. The theme was spicy, since Ryan liked when food burned his insides. I liked heat, but not like Ryan did.

Ryan tried each one first, then went back for seconds and thirds. I smiled proudly and winked at Wolseley. She blushed in response. She really was a cutie.

We moved on to a few main courses. She had stuffed peppers, a healthy deconstructed potpie—Ryan liked simplicity—portobello steaks, quinoa in what looked like fried rice and tasted like fried rice, and grilled snapper. I don’t think we took a break to talk, the two of us were devouring the food, and despite the fact that Wolseley didn’t even try the chicken potpie or snapper, they were fucking fantastic.

“You’re hired,” Ryan said, after swallowing down the last bite of snapper.

“Do you want to think about it?” she asked, stifling a giggle.

“No. I know it’s a pain in the ass to make and get the food to me, so I’ve thought it through. You make the food, and I’m going to hire someone to pick it up. That way, you can keep working out of here. I have someone in mind for the deliveries. She delivers to me all the time, so if I can get her to swing by here three times a day, would you consider making me all my meals?”

“I think I can make that work,” she said, her face lighting up. I thought she might scream with joy.

They chatted for a bit, with Wolseley taking notes on foods Ryan absolutely hated, and allergies he may have—basically all the questions she’d asked me. When they were done, she put together a doggie bag for Ryan, and I walked him to the door.

“Cool, I get to take food home. Is it bad if I eat it later?”

“Why would it be bad?”

“I don’t know. It feels like cheating.”

“She gave you the doggie bag because she likes you. Hey, did you know that doggie bags got their name because people brought home food for their dogs?”

I think his eyes glazed over with my interesting little fact.

“Oh, really? Anyway, she makes good food that I thought I’d hate.”

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