Under threat of being kicked out of home without a cent to support her if she didn’t complete her schooling, she’d finished high school. But the kitchen jobs she’d worked during her vacations had only reinforced her desire to become a chef. When she’d got the apprenticeship at the age of seventeen her father had carried out his threat and booted her out of home. It had backfired on him, though. Her mother had finally had enough of his bullying and infidelities. He went. Lizzie stayed. It was a triumph for her but one she hadn’t relished—she’d adored her father and had been heartbroken.
Jesse shook his head in obvious disbelief. ‘Isn’t he proud 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.
CHAPTER SIX
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 of conversation, the clatter of cutlery, the noise of chairs scraping on the tiled floor, she could hear the deep tones of his voice as he made people welcome to Bay Bites and talked up the food while he was at it.
If she had hired an expensive public relations consultant they wouldn’t have done better than Jesse in promoting the new business.
She froze as she saw him bend his dar
k head to chat with Evie, the pretty blonde wife of the dairy farmer Jesse had introduced her to on Thursday. Straight away Lizzie had sensed that the girl was more than a mere acquaintance. Sure enough, it turned out she had dated Jesse in high school.
How many other women in this room had Jesse been involved with? Was involved with right now?
Was he really a player in the worst sense of the word, moving on once he’d made a conquest? Or was he just a natural-born charmer? She suspected the latter. The nurses in the hospital where he’d been born had probably gone gaga over him as he’d lain kicking and gurgling in his crib. And she’d bet he’d been a teacher’s pet all the way through school—with the female teachers, anyway.
Evie had come to the taste-testing without her husband; rather she was accompanied by a curvy auburn-haired girl who was a friend visiting from Sydney. Lizzie gripped tight onto the edge of the counter as Evie’s companion laughed up at Jesse. She schooled her face to show no reaction. He could talk and laugh with whatever woman he pleased. It was nothing to her.
That uncomfortable twinge of jealousy she felt as she watched them was further reason to keep Jesse at a distance.
Jealousy. She had battled hard with herself to overcome what she saw as a serious character flaw. As a child she’d been jealous of Sandy, not just for her toys or pretty dresses, but also because she’d been convinced her father loved Sandy more than he’d loved her. Thankfully, her mother had identified what was going on and made sure no rift ever developed between the sisters. She’d helped the young Lizzie learn to handle jealousy of other kids at school and later jealousy when she’d thought people at work had been favoured over her. As an adult, Lizzie had thought the demon had been well and truly vanquished. Until she’d met Philippe.
She’d been just twenty-one and working at an upmarket resort in Port Douglas in tropical far northern Queensland. She had worked hard and played hard with talented young chefs from around the world on working holidays. Good-looking, charming Philippe had been way out of her league. But he’d made a play for her and she’d fallen hard for his French accent and his live-for-the-moment ways. It hadn’t mattered that other girls never stopped flirting with him because he had assured her he loved only her. She’d followed him to France without a moment’s hesitation.
But the jealousy demon had reared back into full flaming life after she’d given birth to Amy. For the first six months she’d been stuck at home living with his parents while he’d continued the work-hard-play-hard lifestyle they’d formerly enjoyed together. And Philippe had not been the type of man to do without feminine attention.
Just like Jesse, she thought now as he smiled at the auburn-haired girl who was hanging onto his every word. Who could blame the girl for being dazzled by his movie-star looks and genuine charm? She couldn’t let it get to her. Women of all ages gravitated to Jesse and he gravitated to them. That was the way he was and it wasn’t likely to change. It was the reason above all others that she could never be more than passing friendly with him.
If Jesse had been more than a friend, she would by now be racked with jealousy. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed. She had hated the jealous, suspicious person she had become towards the end of her marriage; she never wanted to go there again.
Jesse must have felt her gaze on him because he said something to the two women, turned and headed towards her. He indicated his near-empty tray where a lone piece of chicken sat in a pile of baby spinach leaves. ‘Want some?’
She shook her head. ‘Can’t eat. Too concerned with feeding all of this lot.’
‘You’re sure? You need to keep your energy up. It’s delicious. Made with free-range chicken breast stuffed with organic caramelised tomato and locally produced goat’s cheese and wrapped in Italian prosciutto.’
She smiled. ‘You’re doing a good job of selling it to me, but no thanks all the same.’
‘Can’t let it go to waste,’ he said, popping it into his mouth.
‘Glad you approve,’ she said as he ate the chicken with evident relish. A similar dish had been one of the most popular items in the Sydney restaurant she’d worked in when she’d first come back from France. Served with a salad for lunch, she hoped it would be popular here too.
‘The slow-cooked lamb was a huge success,’ he said. ‘Although some people said they’d prefer an onion relish to the beetroot relish.’
‘Some people,’ she said, arching her brow. ‘How many people? One person in particular, perhaps?’
‘One in particular has never much liked beetroot. He’d like the onion.’
‘So maybe the chef was correct in her guess that that particular person would like the slow-cooked lamb?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You refuse to admit I was right about what you’d like best?’
‘I haven’t finished tasting everything yet. I’ll let you know at the end. By the way, the asparagus and feta frittata was a big hit with the ladies. I told them it was low calorie, though I don’t know whether that’s actually true.’
Was 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 agen
cy. 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—
A Diamond in Her Stocking Page 7
