Page 28 of Chef's Kiss at the Chalet
“Oh, you’re up late.” Amelia paused in the doorway, wearing just a pair of yoga pants and a baggy sweater. Her short blond hair was pulled up in a bouncy ponytail. “I thought I was being sneaky.”
“Your charcuterie is ready. I would’ve sent it out to you,” I said apologetically. Surely it was not a good look for the client to come hunting for their order. “Was no one around?”
“Oh, no.” Her expression turned regretful. “Our plans changed and I came home early. I didn’t even think to say something. And you went to all this effort. I’m so sorry.”
It was slightly annoying, but that was the nature of the job. What did Mrs. Hawthorne say? Be flexible. I couldn’t expect the family to run like a restaurant.
“No trouble,” I lied. “Can I get you anything else?”
Her smile turned shy. “I was sort of hoping there might be a sweet treat lying around?”
As luck would have it, I’d picked up some muffins at the marketplace this afternoon. I planned to bake for breakfast most days, but it was always good to have a backup.
“Blueberry or coffee crumble?”
Amelia’s ocean-blue eyes, just like her mother’s, perked up with delight. “Blueberry.”
I walked to the pantry and pulled two out. “Toasted?”
“Toasted?” she asked, baffled.
“It’s my favorite way to have them.”
I pulled out a frying pan and got to work. I scooped butter into the warmed pan, sliced the muffins and proceeded to place the halves into the melted butter. The sweet, fruity scent filled the kitchen. When they were golden brown, I plated the halves and pushed it toward her.
“Enjoy.”
Amelia inhaled deeply before blowing on the muffin and taking a generous bite. She hummed at the taste and fanned her mouth as she chewed. I went to the fridge and poured her a glass of milk.
“You’re right,” she said after a sip. “This is the only way to eat a muffin.”
I thought she might take her snack with her, but instead she remained at the counter, eating leisurely.
“I hope I didn’t ruin your breakfast plans,” Amelia said, nodding at the half-empty box of muffins.
“I’ve got lots of options. Any special requests?”
“Chocolate croissants are my absolute favorite,” she said. “But that’s probably a huge imposition.”
“Absolutely not,” I told her stupidly.
I didn’t know why those words flew out of my mouth. I guess it was my instinct to say yes. The client is always right and whatnot. But croissants were hugely labor-intensive. I’d be up all night.
“Charles loves them too,” she said, picking another bite off her muffin to pop in her mouth. “We used to eat our weight in them on vacation when we were kids. But he hasn’t been up here with the family in ages. I think it’d really make his day.”
Her voice turned wistful. Her eyes were a bit sad, even as she spoke of him fondly. I got the impression she’d missed her brother. And it meant a lot to Amelia that he felt welcome.
Maybe it was because Amelia had been so kind to me, but it suddenly became important to me, too.
“Do you see him often?” I asked, taking the frying pan to the sink to wash up.
She shrugged. “Not as much as I’d like. I spend most of the year inLAor New York and Charlie’s in Denver. He likes to make himself scarce, you know.”
I didn’t, but I couldn’t deny I was interested.
“Do you always get together for the holidays?”
“The family has been coming up here forever. Since back when my grandparents had a place here. My mom first learned to ski on this mountain.” She laughed to herself, a memory forming behind her eyes. “When we were little, we’d spend the whole season building this massive snow fort. And inevitably Charles’s friends would be goofing off, and would end up destroying it. Taking turns sledding down the hill to smash into it. Then he’d be up first thing in the morning rebuilding it for us.”
