he born with an innate knowledge of what appealed to women? Or was it some masculine dark art he practised to enchant and ensnare them? She could not let herself fall under his spell—it would be only too easy.
‘Make sure you don’t miss out on the apple pie, I’m sure you’ll love it,’ she said. ‘But don’t even think of telling anyone it’s low calorie. I might get sued when my customers start stacking on the weight.’
He put down the tray, leaned across the counter towards her and spoke in a low voice, his eyes warm with what seemed like genuine concern. ‘Seriously, are you pleased how it’s going?’
She nodded. ‘Really pleased. I don’t want to jinx myself but people are booking already for our opening day on Thursday.’
‘The buzz is good. I was on door duty a while ago and had to turn passers-by away. Lucky we put the “Closed for Private Function” sign on the door or I reckon we’d have been invaded.’
‘I’ve handed out a lot of leaflets letting people know about the opening hours and menu.’
‘So everything is going as planned?’
‘I’m happy but—’
‘You’re not happy with the staff.’
Again, she was surprised at how easily he read her. Especially when he scarcely knew her. ‘No. Yes. I mean I’m really happy with the sous chef. He’s excellent. In fact he’s too good for a café and I doubt we’ll keep him.’ She glanced back at the kitchen. But with the noise level of the café there was no way the chef could hear her.
‘You’ll keep him. He’s already got one kid and another on the way. He can’t afford to leave Dolphin Bay.’
‘I don’t know whether to be glad for us or sad for him.’
‘Try glad for him. He’s happy to have a job in his home town. What about the others?’
‘The kitchen hand is great with both prep and clearing up and the waitresses are enthusiastic and friendly, which is just what I want.’
‘I can hear a “but” coming.’
‘The waitress who is also the barista—Nikki. She’s a nice girl but not nearly as experienced with making coffee as she said and I’m worried how she’ll work under pressure.’
‘You know what I said. With a small staff and a reputation to establish you can’t afford any weak links.’
‘I know. And...thanks for the advice.’
He picked up the tray again, swivelling it on one hand. ‘The kitchen is calling.’
She’d noticed how adeptly he’d carried the tray, served the food. ‘You know, if you weren’t an engineer and helping the world, you’d have a great future in hospitality,’ she teased.
‘Been there. Done that. I worked as a waiter for an agency while I was at university. I’m only doing it again to help make Bay Bites a success.’
She bet she knew which agency. It employed only the handsomest of handsome men. It figured they’d want Jesse on their books even if only in university vacations.
Jesse took off again, stopping for a quick word with his mother on his way to the kitchen.
Lizzie waved to Maura, and Maura smiled and blew her a kiss. Jesse’s mother was a tall, imposing woman with Jesse’s blue eyes and black hair, though hers was now threaded with grey. Lizzie had taken up with her again as if it had been yesterday that she’d been a teenager helping her in the kitchen and soaking up the older woman’s cooking lore.
Thankfully, Maura had been delighted at the idea of sharing some of the guest house favourites based on the cooking of her Irish youth. They’d made a date for Monday to go through the recipes. Just to go through the recipes, not to talk about Jesse, Lizzie reminded herself. Or to do anything as ridiculous as to ask Maura to show her his baby photos. Her thoughts of him being doted over as a baby had sparked a totally unwarranted curiosity to see what he’d looked like as a little boy.
* * *
As Jesse picked up a tray of mini muffins, he wondered what the heck he was doing playing at being a waiter in a café. He hadn’t enjoyed the time he’d spent in the service industry during university, had only done it to fund his surfing and skiing trips. Being polite to ill-mannered clients of catering companies hadn’t been at all to his liking. In fact he’d lost his job when he’d tipped a pitcher of cold water over an obnoxious drunken guest who wouldn’t stop harassing one of the young waitresses. The agency had never hired him again and he hadn’t given a damn.
He’d promised to help Sandy with the café but the building work he’d already done was more than his sister-in-law would ever have expected. No. He had to be honest with himself. This café gig was all about Lizzie. Seeing her every day. Being part of her life. And that was a bad, bad idea. Even for two hours a day.
Because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. How beautiful she was. Her grace and elegance. Her warmth and humour. Remembering how she’d felt in his arms and how he’d like to have her there again. Her passionate response to his kisses and how he’d like—
In short, he was failing dismally in thinking of Lizzie Dumont as a family acquaintance trying to be friends. Could it ever really be platonic between them? There would always be an undercurrent of sexual attraction, of possibilities. Even in that white chef’s jacket and baggy black pants she looked beautiful. He even found it alluring the way she tasted food in the kitchen—how she closed her eyes, the way she used her tongue, her murmurs of pleasure when the food tasted the way it should.
Lizzie wasn’t sexy in a hip-swinging, cleavage-baring way. But there was something about the way she carried herself, the way she smiled that hinted at the passionate woman he knew existed under her contained exterior.
However, his reasons for not wanting to date her were still there and stopped him from flirting with her, from suggesting they see each other while he was in town. There could be no ‘fun while it lasts’ scenarios with Lizzie. And the alternative—something more serious—was not on for him. The last time he’d tried serious it had taken him years to recover from the emotional battering.
He had fallen so hard and fast for Camilla he hadn’t seen sense. Hadn’t realised when he’d talked to her about his feelings she had answered him with weasel words that had had him completely stymied, fooled into thinking she cared for him. He cringed when he thought about how naïve and idealistic he’d been. When he’d proposed to her she had virtually laughed in his face.
No way would he risk going there again with Lizzie. He had to stop looking at her, noticing her, admiring her.
There was also the sobering truth that Lizzie didn’t seem to want anything to do with him other than as a family friend. In fact he suspected she disapproved of him.
He’d noticed the way she’d watched him as he’d worked the room, offering samples of food, talking up the café, Lizzie’s skills as a chef, the bookshop next door, how it would all work when Bay Bites opened. He’d talked to guys too, but it was the women who’d wanted to linger and chat. As it always had been. And Lizzie was clocking that female attention.
Ever
