“There’s a difference between people looking out for you and people looking at you.”
“So? If it bothers you, we’ll tell them we were scoping out the competition. That’s if anyone sees us. Which I doubt they will.”
She wished she could be as relaxed. “It isn’t only other people that are the problem. We’re colleagues. It could be awkward.”
“We work in the same hotel, but not the same area. Technically we’re separate. I don’t see how it will be awkward. If it turns out we bore each other, it’s not going to affect our work. Enough excuses. Try the sandwich. You’re hungry. No one can make good decisions when they’re hungry.”
She bit into the chicken and closed her eyes. Everything he made tasted better than the last thing. “This is incredible.”
“I know. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. It has a secret ingredient. Say yes to dinner and I’ll consider sharing the secret with you.”
“I’d rather you made it for me.” She finished the sandwich and immediately ate another. “Your grandmother taught you to cook?”
She realised she knew virtually nothing about him apart from his professional credentials.
He smiled and stood up. “I only answer personal questions away from the workplace. I’ll see you at seven thirty tomorrow.”
He said it as if it was a sure thing and she felt her willpower melt away under the warmth of his gaze. “All right. But just this once. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His smile widened. “Life is no fun if you don’t take a few risks. It’s important to live in the moment. And talking of moments, try the prawn and lemon next.” He pushed the plate closer to her and his fingertips brushed hers. “You can let me know what you think tomorrow night. Seven thirty. Don’t be late, and don’t waste the rest of the day thinking of reasons why you should cancel because I’m going to be there anyway, and you don’t want to stand me up.”
She watched him go, rubbed the edge of her fingertips where he’d touched them, and then ate the prawn and lemon. It was every bit as delicious as the chicken.
What did she think? That the man was a genius in the kitchen. Also fun. And cute, obviously. That part went without saying. And she wasn’t going to deny there was chemistry, although if Donna or Mandy had been standing in the room she absolutely would have denied it, just as she would have denied the fact that she felt all fluttery inside when he smiled at her.
Tomorrow she was having dinner with Luca, and tonight she was going for a run with Abby.
She ate the last sandwich and reached for the cannoli.
A new friend and a flirtation. Maybe life was looking up.
9
Abby
She’d had the best day at work she could ever remember having. And she could see the funny side of that because her best day had been spent clearing up someone else’s mess, mopping stains the origin of which she didn’t want to think about, and picking shards of glass out of soft furnishings. It had been surprisingly satisfying, transforming mess into order. And then there had been the children’s party, which meant transforming more mess into order. And that had been satisfying, too. It had also felt a bit unsettling because being in that room with all those balloons had triggered a hazy memory which she couldn’t pin down.
Had she been to a party here when she’d lived here as a young child?
Yet another question that only her mother could answer.
And even with that weird flashback that she didn’t understand, it had been a good day.
Her head was buzzing. Her back ached and her arms ached from the physical demands of the job, and her ribs ached from laughing at Mandy’s outrageous stories.
She’d never felt like part of a team before, but today she’d felt like part of a team. They’d treated her as if she was one of them. Mandy had talked freely and painted an interesting picture of the changes in the hotel over the years. The team running the children’s party had made her laugh with their stories, none of which had encouraged her to apply for a job as a children’s party planner.
And then there was Edward, who had been generous with his advice and help.
Would they have been so warm and welcoming if they knew who she really was?
Probably not. In that respect she was no better than the man Evie called the weasel.
Unsettled, she walked to the window of her room. She’d kept it open from the moment she’d arrived. The air was clean and smelled of salt and sea, and she enjoyed listening to the sounds. She’d woken that morning to the call of seagulls, the clink of masts, and the shouts of fishermen as they hauled in their catch at dawn.
Now she watched the tourists milling on the cobbled street below, gazing into shop windows and taking photos of the quaint cottages and the boats in the harbour. Everywhere you looked there was potential for the perfect photo. Flowers spilled from window boxes, baskets of seashells gleamed in shop windows, fishing nets and plastic swords were stacked in colourful buckets by doorways to entice children inside to spend money. The place was almost too pretty.
Edward had told her something of its history, from the smugglers centuries ago to more recent stories of daring lifeboat rescues. She’d been captivated, as were the guests he’d talked to as she’d worked alongside him.
