Page 91 of Sing with Me

“No note today?” Skye walked toward the front door.

“None.”

Marlo exited the vehicle on the driver’s side.

“Let me check the back before we try to get inside.” Skye hadn’t done that in weeks past, but today was the day after the note telling them not to cook, so she wanted to make sure he hadn’t extended that request for the entire weekend or something.

Marlo followed her around the house, and they stepped up on the deck. The curtains were drawn, but Skye did not attempt to open the French door. If the alarm was set, it would take a sprint to the front door to unset the alarm. Brinley had given her the code, but she had no idea how many seconds she had.

She walked back to the front of the house and texted Diehl.

No reply.

“Maybe he’s still at his mother’s house,” Skye said.

Why would she hesitate now? For the last two weeks, she had been given permission—first by Brinley and then by Diehl—to walk into the house to cook for him so that he didn’t have to get up to open the door for them.

Maybe I’m afraid of what I might find inside.

Skye prayed, mustered up her courage, and unlocked the front door. The alarm didn’t go off. It wasn’t even set.

Strong whiskey smell assaulted her nose.

Uh-oh.

Chef Joseph and Marlo were right behind her, carrying groceries.

She opened the door wide to let them in.

Marlo made a face as he took a whiff. The house reeked of a combination of booze and sweat, like someone had forgotten to turn on the air-conditioner.

As Skye walked into the foyer, she spotted Diehl passed out on a couch in the living room. He was not moving. All over the coffee table were bottles, some upright, some on their sides.

Skye’s heart skipped a beat and she nearly dropped her keys. She put them back into her crossover bag and made her way to the living room, holding her breath.

Help me be strong, Lord.

She pushed away the memories of her drunken parents stinking up their childhood home with untold brands of liquor. After they died in the car wreck, Skye and Sebastian cleaned out every single bottle they had left behind in their house.

They vowed that day never to marry anyone who was a drunk.

As she neared Diehl, she could see his chest rise and fall under the white undershirt and gym shorts.

Well, at least he was clothed. And alive.

Somewhere in the living room, a phone pinged several times. Skye heard it, but she could not see a phone anywhere.

Skye could hear Chef Joseph and Marlo talking in the kitchen. None of them had been surprised by the scene. Being a personal chef meant that they had to go to people’s homes. Those homes were not always perfect. Their job was to cook the meals and leave, and not to judge whether the rich and famous lived up to community expectations.

In fact, whether their clients were rich or poor, they all still had the same problem: sin.

Skye herself had seen couples fighting and throwing projectiles at each other while she and Marlo were trying to prepare a romantic candlelight dinner for them.

She had seen kids being dragged upstairs for talking back to the parent—and it didn’t matter which one.

She had also seen kids and adults alike telling her that a dish she just made them was the worst in the world and other subjective evaluations.

However, this time it was different.

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