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.
I scrolled through the blog, looking at it with a new appreciation. I could taste some of the familiar dishes in my memory. Some of these were my family’s favorites. The slow cooker Dr Pepper boar pot roast, the venison Bolognese, rosemary smothered pheasant. It was incredible to think I’d eaten Sloan’s food without ever having met her in person, that she’d already been in my life in this way for years. It was like I already knew her.
Mom was going to flip. Shit, everyone back home was gonna flip. And I’d just weaseled my way into a date with her. I should play the lottery with my luck.
My phone pinged.
Sloan: So did I make the team?
I smiled.
Jason: Oh, yes. You’re definitely on the team. Looking forward to the apocalypse.