Chef’s Kiss at the Chalet by Sookie Snow

Author:Sookie Snow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan

Chapter 17

“You play dirty,” Charles said, climbing into the Land Rover and cranking up the heat after putting his pants on at the side of the road. “Not cool.”

I hadn’t stopped laughing since he came sprinting out of the forest in his coat and boots, bare legs hanging out.

“Worth it,” I said, giggling. “You should’ve seen yourself.”

“Just for that, you owe me dinner.”

“Sort of a hollow threat. It’s literally my job to make you dinner.”

“Good point,” he said, putting the SUV in gear and pulling back out onto the road. “In that case, let me buy you dinner. I know just the place.”

The sun was just dipping behind the tallest peaks when we arrived at the mountaintop bistro by gondola. I’d read about this place but never considered dining here, because its menu was famously exorbitant and reservations were basically impossible.

“The owner of the restaurant group is a friend of the family,” Charles told me as we were escorted by a waiter in a black vest and bowtie to a window-side table with stunning views of the snowcapped landscape. The lights of the town twinkled in the distance below. “You have to try the elk. It’ll change your life.”

Exposed beams were juxtaposed with white plaster walls, white linen on the tables, and centerpieces of pine cones, magnolia leaves, and votive candles. One end of the dining room featured a fireplace large enough to stand up inside. At the other, the stainless-steel open kitchen with white subway tile walls framed a large wood-burning oven.

“I feel incredibly underdressed,” I whispered as the waiter placed a white linen napkin in my lap. “And my butt’s still wet.”

Charles smirked, ordering us a bottle of wine. “Mine too.”

Yet it was easy to feel completely comfortable around Charles. He made the slight embarrassment entirely melt away. His smile, his effortless confidence. I guess they sort of rubbed off. Or else enveloped everyone around him, creating a shield of self-assuredness that kept the bad thoughts away. About how that one bottle of wine cost more than my entire electric bill. And how he’d traipsed through the forest in an outfit that probably cost more than my rent.

Those things didn’t matter when Charles looked at me, because he saw me. Not our differences.

“Oh, God,” I mumbled around a bite of wood-fired elk when our plates arrived. “Oh my God.”

“Right?” he smiled, eyeing me over his wine glass. “Told you.”

The meat was perfectly seared on all sides with a simple crust of salt, pepper, paprika, garlic, onion, and thyme. It was finished in the wood oven to keep the inside moist and tender, at a perfect mid-rare temperature with a generous basting of butter and aromatics. They served it with a berry balsamic reduction for a touch of sweetness to balance the gaminess of the meat. Not to mention the exquisitely buttery potato purée artfully infused with rosemary.

“This is incredible,” I moaned around another bite. “Nothing I’ve ever cooked has been this good. You think they’d give me the

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