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“Serious, sweets.” He kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “Are we ordering dinner, or do you want me to cook?”
“You can cook?” I asked.
Claus tsked and shook his head. “Sweets, do you know what I do for a living?”
I cocked my head to the side. “Uh, well…” Jesus, I had no freaking clue what Claus did. “Why don’t I know what you do?” I asked.
Claus shrugged. “Because I’m just your brother’s best friend who you don’t see often?”
I rubbed my hand over my chest. “I feel horrible that I don’t know what you do for a living. Even more horrible than I did last night when you told me why you never came over for Christmas.” I swear I wasn’t that self-centered that I only cared about myself, but the fact I didn’t know what Claus did for a living was a big red flag that I was.
“I’m a chef, sweets, and it’s okay you didn’t know. Not like I run around broadcasting it.”
“Where do you work?” I asked. There were only a few restaurants in town, and I figured I would know if Claus worked at one of them, but he said he was his own boss.
“Depends.”
I tipped my head to the side. “Depends on what?” I asked.
“On what day it is. I’m a private chef, Stevie. I have a few regular clients, but I also have clients who hire me for parties and whatnot.”
Claus was a private chef.
Wow.
“How did I not know this? And who around here can afford a private chef?”
Claus stood and wandered into the kitchen. “I have two local clients; the rest are out of town. How do you feel about Italian?”
“I feel that you should check my cupboards before promising me Italian food for dinner. A frozen lasagna is probably going to be the closest we’ll get with what I have in my house.”
Claus cringed. “We can do better than frozen lasagna, sweets. Mind if I look around to see what you’ve got?”
I splayed my hand out. “Have at it, but you will be disappointed.” I sat at the kitchen table and watched Claus rummage through my cabinets. “Who are your clients in town?” I asked. It wasn’t like we lived in a tiny town where everyone knew each other, but I would like to think I knew who would be able to afford a private chef.
“One manages the Walmart on the outskirts of town, and the other is a recluse author who lives in the Circle Valley.”
I furrowed my brow. “We have a recluse author in town?” That was news to me. Hell, it seemed like everything Claus was telling me was news I didn’t know.
“Matt would be happy to know that you don’t know about him. He likes it that way.”
“Does Matt have a last name? I might have to give him a littleGoogle.” I pulled out my phone.
“You can figure it out on your own, sweets. He’s not too hard to find.”
My interest was piqued even more.
Five minutes later, I was trying to pick my jaw off the floor when I figured out the town's recluse author was none other than Matt Miles, who wrote the wildly popular Phoenix Tower series.
“Well, you really don’t have much when it comes to ingredients, but I think I can whip together something for dinner,” Claus called. “We can loosely call it Italian.”
I flitted my hand at him. “Have at it. My kitchen doesn’t see much action other than the microwave going for a whirl most nights.”
Claus shook his head and shrugged off his leather jacket. He moved behind me, draping it over my chair’s back. “Find out who the recluse author is?” he asked softly next to my ear.
“Matt Miles?” I breathed out.
“Good job, sweets.”
