Page 61 of Chef's Kiss at the Chalet
Charles laughed. “I slipped him a little extra to let me take it for a spin.”
“That’s not funny!”
“Don’t worry. I got my license years ago. Just keeping up with my hours to stay current.”
“He’s really not a half-bad pilot,” Jason said.
“I don’t want a pilot that’s only half-good,” I shot back.
The boys just laughed, thoroughly amused at my discomfort while Charles circled us smoothly around Maplewood Creek and over the mountain peaks. We watched intrepid snowboarders slalom down the fresh powder from the highest rocky ridges, and spotted backcountry skiers traipsing through secluded trails.
“Keep your eyes out for polar bears,” Charles joked.
“Ha-ha.”
Once Charles had had his fun, Jason thankfully took over the controls again, and brought us back to solid ground. I couldn’t wait to climb out of that thing and feel the tarmac under my feet again while the boys said goodbye.
“See? You loved it a little,” Charles said, after we climbed back into the Land Rover and cranked up the heat.
“Not sure I would have signed up for that if I knew I was putting my life in your hands,” I said, rolling my eyes with a smirk.
Honestly, it was sort of hot he could fly a helicopter. I don’t know. Maybe it appealed to the lizard part of my brain that thought it would make him useful in an apocalypse. Women dig guys who can be handy in an emergency.
“Admit it, you had fun.”
“I had half-fun,” I told him.
His self-assured smile pulled wider across his face. “I’ll take it.”
He reached over to cover my hand with his and held it the rest of the way home.
It turned out he was right. Seeing Maplewood Creek from a new perspective did give me a spark of inspiration for the contest. I spent the night after dinner service at the dining table in my cottage, furiously sketching out a plan. Now, I just had to pull it off.
Chapter 21
The night before the Thanksgiving Throwdown, I couldn’t sleep at all. Too many thoughts were running through my head. Ingredient measurements and structural integrity calculations. I thought about architects building skyscrapers, and wondered how any of them didn’t collapse from the overwhelming immensity of it all. And my gingerbread house wouldn’t even have people in it.
I was up and in the kitchen well before the sun that morning, getting started on breakfast for the family. Which was fortunate, because it turned out Amelia had a couple of friends who flew in late last night for a brief layover before heading off for Whistler, so there were two extra places at the table today.
I had decided the best move was to fill the family up with a huge meal, so there was no possible way they could be hungry for lunch, even if they decided to stick around the chalet today. Which would hopefully leave me free to attend the contest. I had every burner on the stove going, and every rack of the ovens filled with baking sheets, churning out fresh muffins, banana bread, bagels, bacon, turkey sausage, hash browns, scrambled eggs, and cinnamon French toast with berry compote and crème fraîche. I even pre-blended half a dozen smoothies and green juices, just in case someone wanted to be a real pain in the ass.
“You’ve really outdone yourself this morning,” Ali said, standing over the island while I plated up the pastry basket. “They might not be hungry again at all today.”
“That’s the idea.”
I transferred maple syrup to individual ramekins and sprinkled salt flakes atop individual pats of butter for each place setting. I wouldn’t give Mrs. Hawthorne the opportunity to scowl at a single missing touch. I passed a plate I’d set aside to Ali, with a little bit of everything, and she dug in gratefully.
“This turkey sausage is unbelievable,” she moaned, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a paper towel. “What am I tasting?”
“Just a little bit of jalapeño and rosemary, to give some extra depth of flavor.”
It was how I preferred my turkey burgers, and I figured it worked just as well for breakfast.
“Mmm,” she hummed. “It’s incredible. A little kick, but not too spicy.”
“Charring the peppers first calms a lot of the heat.”
The waitstaff entered to start taking platters and Ali quickly swallowed to accompany them back to the dining room with service, while I surveyed the messy aftermath I’d created. I glanced at my watch. If I hurried, there was just enough time to clean up and get down the mountain for the contest. Then I noticed I had a text from Mia.
