Luca smirked the smirk of a guy who’d been up all night but still looked fresh as a frigging daisy. “You Brits are all tucked up in bed by midnight back home, huh?”
“Not all of us.” Just those with responsibilities. “When are you off?”
Luca checked his watch. “Another couple of hours. Then a short rest before hitting the bars. You out again tonight?”
Connor shook his head, then winced as his brain bounced off the side of his skull. “Working the bar.” He was here to learn to be a better chef, but as a temporary hire, one whose boss back home was good friends with the head chef, Connor worked where he was told. And at least behind the bar, he felt useful, having put in a good few years as a barman back home before transferring to the kitchen. “Maybe after.” Though he had a feeling he’d want to hit the sack more than he’d want to drink.
“Are you doing the hen party the day after tomorrow?” Luca asked as he pulled a battered box of cigarettes from his back pocket. “The boat trip?”
“Yep.” Reluctantly Connor shook his head at Luca’s proffered cigarette. Much as he needed the nicotine hit, he’d given it up eight years ago. Given up a lot eight years ago, though he wouldn’t change it for the world.
“Me too.” Luca grinned. “Let’s hope the hen has a couple of single friends, eh?”
Connor shook his head. “You know the rule about mixing with guests.” He was definitely up for some female company, though. The chance to mix, flirt if he was lucky, would be one hell of a treat. And if there was sex on the table too, fan-fucking-tastic.
When his kitchen shift ended, Connor headed out past the dining terrace and toward the footpath that led into town. The hotel was built right on the harbor, and the views across the water... fucking stunning. His English teacher wouldn’t be proud of that description, though she’d probably have expected nothing less from the guy who’d spent most of her lesson larking about at the back. Still, he took a moment to appreciate the deep blue of the water, the boats bobbing up and down on their moorings along the hotel jetty.
His gaze fell on a group of women sunning themselves on wicker loungers on the grass facing the harbor. A young blonde was protesting at the sash being put over her tiny pink bikini. The hen party he was in charge of day after tomorrow, he guessed, given that the sash saidBride-to-Bein large sparkly silver letters. But it wasn’t her or her similarly bikini-clad friends who piqued his interest. It was the brunette in the plain black swimsuit, legs... yeah, exquisitely slender legs stretched out in front of her on the lounger, a large-brimmed hat settled low over her face. Classy. Composed.
At that moment she looked up, and though sunglasses covered her eyes, he felt like she was staring straight at him.
Probably wondering who the perv ogling her is.
Shaking his head at his own lack of class, he set off across the grass to the footpath. It was a short walk to the place he shared with Luca and two other guys who, like Luca, were from overseas and in their early twenties. All of them employed temporarily by the hotel for the busy summer season. The guys were fine to live with, mostly keeping themselves to themselves, but Connor was already fed up with tidying up after them all. And keeping the place stocked with essentials, which they clearly thought magically appeared just when needed. Speaking of which... he diverted to the supermarket to buy milk, bread, eggs, and toilet paper.
Finally, he climbed the steps to the cedar-clad house he currently called home. The weathered gray strips were known locally as shingles and pretty much every building was covered with them. And just like pretty much every building, this one was well maintained, with freshly painted white woodwork around the doors and windows, the tidy garden full of roses and hydrangeas. West London it most definitely wasn’t.
After pushing his purchases into their places, he glanced at his watch. With a smile to himself he headed to his room, a basic double with an old-fashioned wooden bed and a dark wood dresser. He scooted onto the lumpy mattress, dug out his phone, found the right contact, and hit Video Call.
“Hi, Maggie.”
The trim silver-blond woman on the screen smiled. “Good timing. She’s just finished her tea. Hang on a sec.”
His heart swelled as the familiar brown curls came into view a moment later. And almost burst when she shot him a dimpled grin.
“Hi, Dad. I caught eight crabs today. Pops showed me how to hold them so they wouldn’t pinch me.”
Gratitude and a wave of sadness hit at the same time. Gratitude that Ellie looked happy. Sadness that he hadn’t been there to see the delight on her face when she’d caught a crab and hadn’t been the one to show her how to hold it. There weren’t many things he could teach her now, she was growing up too fast, but how to hold a crab... yeah, he could have managed that. “How big were they?”
“Huge.” She grinned again. “Like, as big as my foot.”
“Now I know you’re lying. No crab is that big. You’ve got monster feet.”
Her giggles floated over to him. “No,youhave monster feet.” It was a joke between them, ever since she’d tried to walk around in his size 12 trainers when she was four.
“Did you swim today?” He’d taught her that, he reminded himself.
“A bit, but it was too wavy. Pops says tomorrow will be better.”
“And when are you going horse riding?”
“Um.” She turned away and he heard her shout something to Maggie. “Gran says on Sunday,” she answered a moment later. “We went to see the horse I’m gonna ride and she’s really pretty. Brown with a white splodge on her nose. Gran says it’s called a blaze.”
It was thanks to Gran that his daughter was obsessed with horses. Somehow, he now had to find the money to pay for the lessons she was itching for. Not that he’d begrudge her—fuck, he’d do anything for her—but what he earned from this month in Nantucket was only going to go so far. “What’s the horse called?”
“Nutmeg. Am I still gonna have lessons when I’m home?”
“Sure you are.” He just didn’t know how many.
