Page 71 of Sing with Me

Skye placed three dozen eggs into the cart.

“So many eggs?”

“Yeah. A dozen for you, a dozen for another client, and a dozen for me.”

“Client.” He made a face. “I don’t know if I want to be called a client. I’d rather be your friend.”

“Yes, I cook for you and another person, and then I manage everyone else. The other chefs will shop for their own clients.”

“Sounds like you have a system.”

Skye checked off another item on her list. “Yep. Each chef will have plenty to remember as it is—who eats lunches at three, who goes out for dinner every night, who wants snacks, and so forth.”

“A lot to handle.”

Skye nodded. “Especially during the summer, when schedules can be erratic. A lot of cancellations.”

“They pay though, whether you cook or not.”

“Yes, if it’s within twenty-four hours. I mean, we can’t return the fresh groceries.”

Diehl followed Skye to select fresh bread. “Smells good here.”

“You said you prefer sourdough.”

Diehl nodded.

“Have you tried some other kind of bread?”

“Like what?”

“Here’s rye.”

Diehl scrunched up his nose. “Let’s stick to sourdough.”

“I figured you’d say that.” Skye picked up a round sourdough bread. It was uncut.

“How did you figure? We’ve only been with each other for a little more than a week.” Diehl then raised a finger. “Wait. You talked to my sister.”

Skye wasn’t about to divulge her research on her high-profile clients. Not that they required much digging. Those clients often attended luncheons and dinners catered by renowned chefs. And they sometimes gave interviews to food magazines. However, her most important gleanings of what they wanted to eat came from her interview with them—the one that Diehl had skipped, and which his sister had filled in the blanks for him.

Still, in between cooking and running around between Friday and Sunday, Skye painted a food art collage for Diehl. And she had pegged him. Comfort food, no surprises.

“We’ve planned for steak on Tuesday night,” Skye said. “But if you want us to grill on Monday night, we could do that.”

“Will you be there on Tuesday night?” Diehl asked.

“Yes, and I will leave at six o’clock after we cook the steak. Marlo will stay back to clean up.”

“Do you have a date?”

Skye wondered what kind of a question that was. Had Diehl forgotten that he kissed her on Saturday afternoon? It had only been about twenty-four hours.

“A date?” She looked for clarification.

“That might cause you leave my house early on Tuesday nights.”

“If I do?”

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