Page 21 of Triplet Babies for Pucking Christmas

“Fine,” I mutter, shaking my head. “One week. But if this doesn’t work out, she’s gone.”

Millie lets out a little squeal. “Thank you, Troy! I promise you won’t regret it. She can come by this afternoon to meet you, and you two can figure out the details—rent, cooking schedule, all that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, already regretting it a little. “I’ll need to talk to her first. Set the rules straight.”

“Of course,” Millie agrees. “I’ll send her over around four. Be nice, okay?”

“No promises,” I grumble before hanging up.

I sit there for a minute, thinking about what I just agreed to. A live-in chef named Savannah. Great. I hope she’s not some stuck-up, high-maintenance type.

I can’t deal with that shit. If she can keep to herself and cook, we’ll get through this week just fine.

With a sigh, I stand up, grab my towel, and head for the locker room. If I’m going to have a stranger in my house by the afternoon, I’d better get my head straight for it.

***

By the time four o’clock rolls around, I’m pacing my kitchen, second-guessing this entire plan. I’ve been thinking about turning that room into an office for months, but now I’ve got achefmoving in? What the hell was I thinking?

The doorbell rings, and I freeze for a second.This is it.

I open the door, and there she is. Savannah.

She’s not what I expected. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she’s wearing a simple black dress, the kind that doesn’t try too hard but still looks good.

She has this casual confidence about her like she’s used to holding her own in tough situations. Her eyes are a little red, though, like she’s been crying recently, and I wonder if Millie’s right about her having had a rough time.

“Hey,” she says, her voice a little shaky but trying to be strong. “I’m Savannah.”

I nod, stepping aside to let her in. “Troy.”

She walks in, glancing around the space. I can see her taking it all in—the clean kitchen, the open floor plan, the minimalistic setup. No pictures, no clutter. Just how I like it.

“Nice place,” she says, her voice soft.

“Thanks,” I reply, closing the door behind her. “Let’s get one thing straight before we talk about anything else. This is a trial. One week. You cook, you keep to yourself, and we’ll see how it goes. If I don’t like it, you’re out.”

Her eyes widen a little at my bluntness, but she nods. “Got it. One week.”

I motion for her to sit down at the kitchen island, and I take a seat across from her. “Millie said you’re a chef. What’s your deal? You looking for a place to stay long-term?”

She hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “Honestly, I just need a place right now. Everything’s been…rough.” She looks down, her voice dropping. “I used to run a restaurant in New York. Lemons. It was going well until…”

“Lemons?” I interrupt, the name sounding vaguely familiar. “Wait…you’rethatSavannah Brooks?”

Her face flushes, and she looks like she wants to crawl into a hole. “Yeah. That’s me.”

I sit back, crossing my arms.Well, shit.She’s the chef from that celebrity wedding scandal. The one who poisoned half of Hollywood with bad seafood or something.

“And now you’re here,” I say, still processing.

“Now I’m here,” she says, her voice tight. “I got scammed out of an apartment, and I don’t have anywhere else to go. Millie mentioned you might need help, and I can cook. So here I am.”

I stare at her for a second, feeling a little guilty for how hard I was on her at first. She’s clearly been through the wringer, and even though I’m not exactly thrilled about having someone in my house, I can see she’s desperate.

“All right,” I say, leaning forward. “We’ll do the week. But if I don’t like how it’s going, you’re out. Got it?”

“Got it,” she says quickly. “I’ll do my best not to get in your way.”

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