of what you’ve achieved now?’
It was an effort to keep her voice steady. ‘He sees being a chef as a trade rather than a profession. I...I think he’s ashamed of me.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s his problem, isn’t it?’
‘And not one you want to talk about, right?’ Jesse said, his blue eyes shrewd in their assessment of her mood.
She had to fight an urge to throw herself into his arms and feel them around her in a big comforting hug. At Sandy’s wedding ceremony she’d sobbed, not just with joy for her sister but for the loss of her own marriage and her own dreams of happiness. Jesse had silently held her and let her tears wet his linen shirt. She could never forget how it had felt to rest against his broad, powerful chest and feel his warmth and strength for just the few moments she had allowed herself the luxury. It had meant nothing.
‘That’s right,’ she said. Then gave a big sigh. ‘I won’t say it doesn’t still hurt. But I’m a big girl now with a child of my own to raise.’
‘And you’re sure as heck not going to raise her like you were raised,’ he said.
‘You’re sure right on that,’ she said with a shaky laugh.
‘I was so lucky with my parents,’ said Jesse. ‘They’re really good people who love Ben and me unconditionally. I didn’t know what a gift that was until I grew up.’
‘Looking back, I realise how kind Maura was,’ Lizzie said. ‘She must have found me a terrible nuisance, always underfoot. But there was so much tension between my parents, I wanted to avoid them. And Sandy was always off with Ben.’
‘Of course she wouldn’t have found you a nuisance,’ said Jesse. ‘Out of all the guests she had over the years, Mum always remembered you and Sandy. I think she’d love to share her recipes with you. Maybe...maybe it’s time to revive some happy memories of the guest house.’
They both fell silent. Ben’s first wife and baby son had died when the old guest house had burned down. That meant Jesse had lost his sister-in-law and nephew. She wondered how the tragedy had affected him. But it wasn’t the kind of thing she felt she could ask. Not now. Maybe never.
‘Can you ask about the recipes for me?’ she said.
‘Sure. Though I’m sure Mum would love it if you called her and asked her yourself.’
‘I just might do that.’
Jesse glanced at his watch.
‘I know, the two hours,’ she said, resisting the urge to ask him just what catastrophe would befall him if he spent longer than that in her company. ‘We’d better hurry up and get back in the car.’ She walked around to the passenger side, settled into her seat and clicked in her seat belt. ‘We’re heading for a dairy next, right?’
‘Correct,’ said Jesse from the driver’s seat. ‘The farmer and his wife are old schoolfriends of mine. I hear they’ve won swags of awards for their cheeses and yogurts. I thought that might interest you.’
She turned to look at him, teasing. ‘How do you know exactly what I need, Jesse Morgan?’
He held her gaze with a quizzical look of his own. ‘Do I?’ he said in that deep voice that sent a shiver of awareness down her spine.
Shocked at her reaction, she rapidly back-pedalled. ‘In terms of supplies for the café, I meant.’
His dark brows drew together. ‘Of course you did,’ he said. ‘What else would you have meant?’
She kept her gaze straight ahead and didn’t answer.
THE SATURDAY TASTE-TESTING brunch at the café was in full swing. Bay Bites was packed with people, most of whom Lizzie didn’t recognise, all of whom she wanted to impress. She’d spent all of Friday prepping food and working with the staff Sandy had hand-picked for her. They’d bonded well as a team, united by enthusiasm for the new venture. Now it was actually happening and it was exhilarating and scary at the same time.
She took a moment out from supervising her new kitchen staff to stand back behind the dolphin-carved countertop and watch what had turned into a party of sorts.
So far, so good. Her menu choices were getting rave reviews. She’d decided to serve small portions from the basic menu, handed around from trays, so people could try as many options as possible. She’d gone as far as printing feedback sheets to be filled in but the Dolphin Bay taste-testers were proving more informal than that. They simply told her or the wait staff what they thought. She took their suggestions on board with a smile.
‘I’d go easy on the chilli in that warm chicken salad, love,’ Jesse’s seventy-five-year-old great-aunt Ida said. ‘Some of us oldies aren’t keen on too much of the hot stuff.’
‘The only problem with those little burgers was there weren’t enough of them,’ said the bank manager, a friend of Ben. ‘Your other greedy guests emptied the tray.’
‘The triple chocolate brownies? Bliss,’ said one well-dressed thirty-plus woman. ‘I’ll be coming here for my book club meetings—it’s ideal with the bookshop next door.’
Lizzie soon sensed an immense goodwill towards the new venture. Not, she realised, because of any reputation of hers. Because of Ben and Sandy, she was accepted as a member of the well-loved Morgan clan.
And then there was the Jesse effect. A number of these people were the wedding guests who had discovered her and Jesse kissing on the balcony. She was, and always would be in their eyes, one of ‘Jesse’s girls’ and included in their general affection towards him. Who would have thought it?
From her corner behind the counter, she watched Jesse as he worked the room, towering head and shoulders above most of the guests. Was he aware of how many female eyes followed him? Her eyes were among them. No matter where he was in the café she was conscious of him. It was as if he had some built-in magnet that drew female attention. She was no more immune than the rest of them. She just had to continue to fight it if she was going to be able to work with him.
He’d insisted on wearing the same blue jeans, white T-shirt and butcher-striped full apron in sea tones of blue and aqua as the wait staff. How could a guy look so hot in such pedestrian work-wear? But then a guy as handsome and well-built as Jesse would look good in anything. Or nothing. She shook her head to rid both her brain and her libido of such subversive thoughts. Jesse was off-limits—even to her imagination.
He’d arrived this morning before anyone else. ‘I’m here to help,’ he’d said. ‘If I wear the uniform, people will know it.’
‘I thought you were here to taste the food,’ she’d protested as he’d tied on the apron, succeeding in looking utterly masculine as he did so. The colours of the stripes made his impossibly blue eyes look even bluer.
‘I can do both,’ he’d said in a tone that brooked no argument.
She’d let it go at that, in truth grateful for the extra help. And he had excelled himself. It appeared he knew most of the guests—and if he didn’t he very soon did. Through the hum
