Page 93 of Sing with Me

“Chef Joseph is making a frittata,” Skye said.

“Good.” He sipped the hot coffee.

“How about you go shower and clean up?” Skye asked. “Then breakfast will be ready.”

He nodded slightly.

Then his eyes were on her.

Skye wanted to leave.

Outside it started to rain a little. She had left her umbrella in her car, but it was a short dash.

She stood there listening to the rain, and prayed for Diehl.

Sometimes personal chefs were privy to private lives, but this time it was a man who had kissed her. It was getting too personal.

Thank God he hadn’t been out there driving around while intoxicated—although he might have because at some point he had to bring his stash home.

The smell of hot coffee and fresh rain began to push away the smell of liquor and human sweat.

“I have to go,” Skye said.

Don’t judge him.

“I’m sorry,” Diehl said quietly.

To Skye, there was no problem in the world that God could not solve. To find a solution elsewhere—to attempt to drink away a problem—was a fool’s errand.

Her parents had found out the hard way. No matter how much they drank, their money woes remained week after week. At thirteen years old, Skye couldn’t understand why Dad would say they “deserved a drink” when the very next day, they ended up where they had started—or worse. Drinking had put them deeper into debt as they lost work and time with their kids.

Skye blinked. “You said sorry earlier.”How many times have you said it, Diehl?

“I don’t remember.”

“In your sleep.”

“Will you let me explain?” Diehl asked.

“To me? I have nothing to do with your problems.”

His phone pinged again.

“It did that earlier too,” Skye said. She still could not see the phone.

Diehl winced. “Can you get me some aspirin? Drawer in the kitchen.”

“Which one?” Skye asked. She hadn’t gone through all the drawers in the kitchen.

“Or maybe I put it in the pantry.”

Before Skye could go to the kitchen, Marlo appeared with the bottle.

“Thank you,” Skye said. “Did you want some water, Diehl?”

“No. I’ll drink it with my coffee.” Diehl held his head.

His phone rang.

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