attempting to have a normal conversation and you keep throwing out these little references to a night I’m trying to forget.”
“Why are you trying to forget?”
“Because it’s over and done and it’s not going to happen again.”
“It seems to me that if forgetting is such an effort, it’s not nearly as over and done as you want to believe.”
She drew in a deep breath, expelled it slowly, deliberately.
“I wanted to say that hosting the wedding in Tesoro del Mar is an incredibly kind and generous thing to do.”
“And you’re surprised that I can be kind and generous?” he couldn’t resist teasing.
“No,” she said. “I’m just trying to thank you for turning what could have been a disaster into a celebration.”
“My motives aren’t entirely noble.”
“No?”
“I want to spend time with you, Molly, and you’ll have a lot fewer excuses to avoid me when we’re in Tesoro del Mar.”
“You made the offer before you even knew I was Fiona’s maid of honor,” she pointed out.
“Guilty,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to take advantage of the fact.”
“I’m flattered by your interest, Eric, really. But I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”
“Why not?”
“My reasons aside, I can’t believe you’re looking to get involved with a bartender.”
“I’m not a snob, Molly.”
“But you’re a prince, and I can’t imagine a foreigner with neither a title nor a fortune would ever be a suitable companion—even temporarily—for a royal.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that. “Both of my sisters-in-law used to think the same way. Lara was an Irish nanny. Jewel was an American horse trainer.”
“And your point?”
“Well, I’m not asking you to marry me.”
She responded to his assurance with a small smile, and he felt another tug inside. It was warmer and softer than desire, but somehow stronger, too. And he realized he would do almost anything to earn another one of those smiles, for more quiet moments like this one.
“But when we get to the island,” he continued, “I might ask to show you around.”
She studied him for a moment, those deep blue eyes considering, before she said, “And if you ask nicely, I just might say yes.” Then she slid out of the booth. “Enjoy your lunch.”
As Eric watched her walk away, appreciating the way worn denim molded to a nicely toned derriere, he was pleased with her response. It was a small step forward, but after so many in retreat, at least it was progress.
Abbey came into the kitchen the next day and sat by the prep counter to watch Molly chop carrots and celery into sticks. For her sister to show up at the restaurant two days in a row was unusual, and Molly found herself wondering if Abbey had come in to see her or hoping to see Eric again—a question that was answered when Abbey said, “Jason came home last night.”
Molly stopped chopping to look at her sister, trying to decide if this was good news, trying not to resent the fact that her sister didn’t see anything wrong with asking for advice about her marriage to the man she’d stolen from Molly.
“Do you want to reconcile?” she asked.
Abbey nodded. “I just want everything back the way it was before he left.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“He said there are changes that need to be made.” Abbey pouted.
“What kind of changes?”
“For starters, he wants me to get a job.”
And the only job Abbey had ever wanted was to be a wife and mother—and Molly suspected it was the unrealized latter part of that desire that was the cause of most of her sister’s marital problems.
“It’s not that I’m opposed to working,” Abbey said. “I’ve just never been really good at anything.”
“You’ve never tried to be good at anything,” Molly corrected. “Except shopping.”
Her sister brightened at that. “I could get a job as a personal shopper.”
“At least then you’d be spending other people’s money.”
“Do you really think I’m qualified?”
“I have no doubt you’re qualified, but I’m not sure there’s much demand for personal shoppers outside the big cities.”
Abbey sighed. “You’re probably right.”
Another few minutes passed, during which Molly tried to discard the thought that popped into her mind, but it refused to go away until finally, with more resignation than enthusiasm, she said, “You could work here.”
Abbey stared at her as if she’d suggested that she dance naked on the tables instead of serve meals to the customers seated at them.
“Work?” she echoed. “Here?”
“I know it’s an odd concept, but there are several of us who actually do so. The pay’s not great,” Molly admitted. “But the tips are pretty good.” And after the abrupt and unexpected departure of one of her waitresses, Molly was desperate for another pair of hands to work the dinner shift. She’d been doing everything she could to help out herself, but she was already feeling the effects of the extra hours on her feet, and knew that couldn’t continue.
“Tips?”
“Of course, you’d have to learn to smile instead of scowl if you wanted to earn any.”
Abbey sighed. “When can I start?”
“Four o’clock.”
Molly wasn’t surprised that Abbey showed up less than five minutes before her shift was scheduled to begin, but she was pleased that her sister apparently remembered the routine from when she’d waited tables through high school. Abbey caught on to the routine quickly and managed to take orders and deliver meals with little mishap. She finished her first shift with sore feet and a pocketful of tips that, when added up, elicited a weary smile.
Abbey worked again the
