Page 5 of Chef's Kiss at the Chalet
“Come on in,” Megan said, escorting me inside with the boxes of pastries. She took them from my arms and laid them out on the kitchen counter. “Han’s already left to open the Drip and my girls aren’t in yet.”
The house wasn’t fancy—Megan was still focused on investing everything in the growth and success of Culinary Connection. But, despite the old paint and dented baseboards, she kept the place immaculate and always had cute little touches dotted about, like fresh flowers and seasonally appropriate kitchen towels on display.
Megan poured me a cup of coffee and dug into the croissants as we sat at her dining-room table.
“Lay it on me,” I said, eager to hear the details of this mysterious job. “What’s the gig?”
“Hello to you too,” she scoffed playfully.
Megan had short blond hair that had grown back a few shades darker than Hannah’s after the chemo and radiation treatments. Once she’d felt well enough to put away the robes and pajamas, she always dressed like she was going into a real corporate office, even if she wasn’t leaving the house. Today she was wearing a crisp, collared shirt and blazer, with gold stud earrings.
The truth was, if Hannah was my little sister, then Megan was my big sister. I’d lost my mom years ago to Huntington’s disease and I’d since found some of the maternal nurturing I missed so dearly in Megan. It was a relationship between the three of us that I had come to really rely on these last few years.
“Don’t get too excited, I don’t know if this is going to be something that you’re interested in. It’s an unconventional request.”
“Color me cautiously intrigued.”
Megan didn’t do out-of-the-box with her company. Her placements were always straightforward, fair and the consistency of her five-star reviews were what kept industry leaders knocking on her door.
“I’ll warn you, I haven’t had time to investigate this job fully yet, as it literally came in last night, right before I texted you.”
“Okay . . .” My trepidation grew. I imagined the worst.
Megan took a bite of her croissant and moaned with pleasure. She quickly took another while I waited impatiently for the details.
“First of all, they need someone who can start immediately,” she said.
Oh. I had to give the coffee shop ample notice. They had been good to me for years and I didn’t want to screw the owner over, no matter how great this potential gig was.
“How soon is soon?”
Megan washed down her croissant with a sip of coffee. “She asked if tomorrow was an option.”
“Tomorrow?” I yelped, laughing as I waited for her to say it was a joke. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I am not. Full disclosure . . .”
My stomach dropped.
“They’re a tad high maintenance,” Megan warned.
I was already pulling up Google on my phone. “What’s the client’s name?”
She swallowed another greedy bite of croissant and got up to grab herself another one. “It’s the Hawthorne family and you’ll need to sign anNDA.”
“AnNDA?” My heart beat a little faster.
“Standard practice with a client in this income bracket,” Megan told me. She came back to sit at the table. “The last girl quit in forty-eight hours after a screaming match because of an underbaked soufflé.”
I laughed nervously. “What exactly are they looking for?”
“A chalet girl.”
“A what?”
“I know, I had to look it up,” she said. “The term is a throwback from the sixties, but it’s sort of like a private chef, party planner and ski bunny all rolled into one.”
“They’re not going to make me put that on a name tag, are they?”
