The clearing of a throat ripped him from his thoughts. Alma stood there, arms folded, eyes sharp.
“You make sure you treat her right, Mister Justin. That one” — she tapped a fist against her chest — “she carries a heavy hurt here. She’s been alone too long. As much as we’ll be sad to see her leave, we’ll be even gladder to see her happy.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “And when she tries — because she is going to try — you do not let her push you away. You hear?”
Justin swallowed and nodded. “I hear you,” he said quietly. “And I’ll treat her right. I don’t want to take her away from anything. I just want to be part of her world.”
Alma, younger than him by at least a decade, gave him a long, measuring look. “This place gave her peace,” she said softly. “Butwith the right man loving her, she won’t need these walls to feel safe.”
And with that, she stomped off, already barking instructions at someone across the kitchen.
Justin stared after her, a wave of gratitude washing through him. Suzette had strong women in her corner — Miem and Alma would close ranks around her in a heartbeat if things went sideways.
In the meantime, he had several more papayas to peel and slice.
18
He received a few pensive stares, but no one called him out. Then again, who in their right mind would expect to findJK Kenziebehind a buffet table, ready to place a slice of gammon or a lobster tail on their plate? He was dressed like every other server — khaki shorts, a hotel-branded white golf shirt, a blue apron, and a paper Christmas hat perched on his head.
And strangely enough, he was enjoying himself. Who wouldn’t? A mild shore-breeze took the sting out of the summer heat. A local quartet played easy, drifting melodies with only the occasional Christmas tune tossed in. And he had an uninterrupted view of the woman who held his heart.
She looked exquisite today. He wondered if she’d worn that dress just to tease him. More than once, he’d had to shut down the very real urge to toss her over his shoulder and disappear into her office for a very long while.
His heart damn near skipped a beat when her hand came to rest in the middle of his lower back.
“You know,” she murmured, “you really don’t need to be serving food.”
Her eyes had lost the sadness from earlier — clear blue now, full of humor and completely unguarded.
“If you’re working, so am I,” he said lightly. “Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve been behind a buffet table.”
“Let me guess — deep immersion for a role.”
“Nope. Soup kitchen.”
For a beat, her expression went still … then warmth bloomed across her face. Approval. From Suzette.
Damn, that felt good.
“Do you do it often?” she asked softly. “Serve in soup kitchens?”
“Not nearly enough.”
Her fingers grazed the leather thong bracelet — the one she’d tied around his wrist that morning. “Are you sure you like this?” she murmured, touching the abalone shell whale fins bracketed by brass beads. “You don’t have to wear it.”
There it was again — that quiet thread of uncertainty slipping through her confidence, tugging at something deep inside him.
He set the tongs down and caught both her hands, lifting them to his mouth. He kissed the back of one, then the other, lingering just enough for her to feel it. “You made it, sweet Suze,” he said. “With these beautiful hands of yours. No one has ever made me a gift before.” His voice roughened. “It meanseverythingto me.”
“Just as it should.”
A sharp-eyed, red-haired woman stared at them from the other side of the table.
Suzette immediately slipped her hand from his grip and turned toward her. “Mrs. Harmon, merry Christmas to you,” she murmured.
The woman — elegant in her seventies, dressed in a green as bright as her eyes — flashed a wide red smile. “And to you too, my dear. A wonderful buffet, as always.” Her piercing gaze slid back to him. “I see you’ve snagged yourself a bit of a celebrity.”
Thankfully, the woman lowered her voice for the last part.
