The Happy Ever After Playlist - Abby Jimenez Page 0,12
have something later, but not until noon. I’ve got time to hear all about how you’d make a good addition to my end-of-days squad. Stop changing the subject.”
“How about this,” I said, switching the phone to my other ear. “I’ll send you a link that’ll explain exactly why I’d make a good survivalist. But if I do, you have to give me an extra day with Tucker.”
He sucked in air. “I don’t know. I miss him pretty badly. Waiting an extra day to see him when I get back is a tall order.”
“I think you’ll really appreciate my skill set,” I said, in my best salesperson’s voice. “And there’s a photo of me. It’s old and grainy, but if you zoom in, you might get a rough, pixelated idea of what I generally look like.”
“Pixelated, huh? Sounds sexy. Here’s an idea, how about we share him on your extra day? Take him somewhere together.”
Together? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “Like where?”
“On a hike somewhere. You pick. You’re the local. I don’t really know anyone in LA, and I love the outdoors. It would be nice to have someone show me some good hikes.”
I considered this. I wanted the extra day with Tucker. But the thought of going somewhere with Jason was a little daunting. It felt too much like a date. And I liked him, I realized. I liked talking to him. And that made going somewhere with him feel like a betrayal of Brandon. That was stupid and irrational, but it did. But I guessed I could always opt out if I decided against it when it rolled around. After all, it was my extra day.
“Okay. You have a deal. Give me a second to get to the page. Hold on.”
I found the blog and sent him the link just as Kristen knocked on my screen. Tucker bolted up and ran to the door, barking.
“Hey, I sent you the link, but I have to go,” I said quickly. “A friend just came over. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Chapter 5
Jason
♪ Give Me a Try | The Wombats
Room service showed up with my breakfast right as I hung up with Sloan.
I poured myself a black coffee and sat on the bed with my plate on my lap and tapped the link she’d sent me. When the blog came up on my phone, I stared at it, my fork halfway to my mouth.
No. Fucking. WAY.
My thumbs couldn’t move fast enough over my phone.
Jason: Are you trying to tell me you’re The Huntsman’s Wife?
I waited. The dots didn’t appear, and I went back to the blog with my mouth open.
The Huntsman’s Wife was a well-known website containing recipes for wild game. In hunting circles, it was the go-to for good wild meat dishes. Mom used it religiously when Dad, my brother David, and I brought home our hauls. Hell, everyone who hunted used it.
Tucker had scored The Huntsman’s Wife as his dog-sitter? Un-fucking-believable.
I went right for the About tab and scoured the contents. It was brief.
If you’re here, you’re probably looking at some ridiculous amount of wild something or other in your freezer, wondering, “What the hell do I do with this?”
I laughed, hearing Sloan’s voice as I read.
I’m here to help. My man is an avid hunter and I am an enthusiastic chef. Enjoy.
At the bottom of the About page, as promised, was a small picture of a smiling man in camo posing with a crossbow. A blond woman with tattoos down her arm stood on her toes, kissing him on the cheek. She wore light-gray capris and a white tank top with her braided waist-length hair in a pink bandana.
I tried zooming in and the photo distorted severely. I couldn’t really make out her face. All I got from the picture was long hair and a nice figure.
I looked back at the man in the photo.
Mom had said, rather disappointedly, that The Huntsman’s Wife hadn’t been updated with any new recipes in years. Was it because the hunter in Sloan’s life had died?
The site contained no other information to give me a clue as to who she was. She signed off on every post as “The Huntsman’s Wife.” No last name to google or search on Instagram.
It didn’t escape me that I wanted to shamelessly google her, just like the creeper she accused me of being, but my curiosity about her had just gone from moderate to extreme. I was impressed. Really impressed.