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But he’d done nothing to dispel it. In fact it had been a convenient shield against ever having to explain why he’d closed his heart off against a committed relationship. Why he dated fun-for-now, unchallenging girls and always stayed in control of where the relationship went.
Camilla’s words haunted him. ‘You won’t miss me for a minute; a guy as good-looking as you can get any woman you want just by snapping your fingers—there’ll always be another one waiting in line.’ It wasn’t true, as she herself had proven. He had wanted her. Badly. And she had gutted and filleted his heart as surely as his father did the fish he caught. He would never expose himself to that kind of pain again.
‘I didn’t need to be warned,’ Lizzie said. ‘I figured it out for myself. You and Kate Parker, Sandy’s other bridesmaid, were the talk of the wedding. How you’d come back from your travels and hooked up with her. How Kate wouldn’t have more luck with getting you to commit than any other of the long line of girlfriends before her.’
As he’d suspected, the Dolphin Bay gossips had struck again. Didn’t the women in this town have anything better to do with their time? Though for all their poking their noses into other people’s business, they’d never come close to ferreting out the reasons why he’d stayed so resolutely single.
Kate had been his childhood friend. There’d been a long-standing joke between their families that if they hadn’t met anyone else by the time they were aged thirty they’d settle down with each other.
‘Not true. We kissed. Once. To see if there was anything more than friendship between us. There wasn’t. We were just friends. Still are friends.’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘I realised that. I soon sussed out she only had eyes for the other groomsman, your friend Sam Lancaster.’
‘True. It seemed like one minute Kate was organising Ben and Sandy’s wedding, the next minute she was planning her own.’
‘I heard they eloped and got married at some fabulous Indian palace hotel.’
‘You heard right. I was Sam’s best man. It turned out great for them,’ he said.
He was really happy for his old friends. But if he was honest with himself, there had been an awkward moment when Kate had made it very clear the kiss had been a disaster for her. Coming on top of what had happened with Camilla it had struck a serious blow to his male pride. By the time of the wedding he’d been in a real funk, questioning things about himself he’d never before had cause to question.
Meeting Lizzie had done a lot to help soothe his bruised ego—until she’d walked away without a word of explanation.
But that had been six months ago. He’d moved on. Now his circumstances were very different. He’d come to a real turning point in his career and the path he chose was crucial to his future. The recent encounter with Camilla had made him realise it could be time to move on from his work with the charity. He’d told his boss there was a good chance he wouldn’t return after his shoulder healed. He would not turn his back on it completely but would remain involved as a volunteer and as a fund-raiser.
A new direction had opened with the offer of a fast-track job with a multinational construction company based in Houston, Texas. It would be a challenging, demanding role in a ruthlessly competitive commercial environment. But living in the United States would mean he’d rarely make it home to Dolphin Bay.
As far as Lizzie went, he just wanted to clear up a misunderstanding that had left her resentful of him and him disappointed in her. They’d missed their chance to be any kind of couple, even the most casual. Once the misunderstanding was sorted, they could work together without awkwardness. After all, she was part of the family now and would always be around. They had to come to some sort of mutual good terms.
‘Weddings have a lot to answer for,’ she said. ‘All that romance and emotion floating around makes people do things they really shouldn’t. Fool around when they shouldn’t. Behave in ways they later regret.’
‘Just for the record, I wasn’t just fooling around with you at the wedding,’ he said.
She flushed redder. ‘Maybe I was just fooling around with you.’
‘Maybe you were.’
‘Maybe I’m the player,’ she said. There was a return of that teasing spirit he’d liked so much, a spark that warmed her cool grey eyes. He found himself wanting her to smile.
Jesse only vaguely remembered Lizzie from her first visit to Dolphin Bay. She’d been sixteen, beanpole-thin and flat-chested. He’d been sixteen, too. But testosterone had well and truly kicked in and he’d considered himself a man.
He wasn’t ashamed to admit he hadn’t found her attractive then. He’d been a typical teenage boy who’d looked to the more obvious.
That summer, his brother Ben had been busy falling in love with Sandy. Jesse had been busy trying to decide between three curvaceous older girls who’d made their interest in him more than clear. He hadn’t chosen any of them. Even then he hadn’t valued what came to him too easily.
When he’d met Lizzie again, more than twelve years later, he’d been knocked over at the woman she’d become. Elegant; sensual without being blatantly sexy; classy. Now she wore simple narrow-legged jeans and a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was tied back off her face in a plait. She looked sensational without even trying.
‘Are you a player?’ he asked. ‘I somehow doubt that.’
Her eyes dimmed and it was as if that hint of party-girl Lizzie had been extinguished again. ‘No. I’m a divorced single mum with a social life on hold indefinitely. I’m here to work hard at making this café a success and to devote myself to Amy.’
‘I get that,’ he said. ‘Being a lone parent must be one of the toughest gigs around.’
‘Tougher than I could have imagined,’ she said. ‘But it’s worth it. Amy is the best thing that ever happened to me.’
‘You were young when you had her.’
‘Becoming a mother at age twenty-three wasn’t part of my game plan, I can assure you. But I don’t regret it even for a second.’
He frowned. ‘Where is Amy? Didn’t she drive down with you from Sydney?’
Lizzie’s daughter was a cute kid; she’d been the flower girl at the wedding and charmed everyone. He’d been sorry he hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to her too.
‘She’s spending the school vacation in France with her father and his parents. They love her and want her to grow up French. That’s another reason I have to make a success of this café. Philippe would like sole custody and is just waiting for me to fail.’
Sandy had told Jesse a bit of Lizzie’s background. The domineering father. The early marriage. The break-up with the French husband. She hadn’t had it easy. Just as well nothing more had happened with them at the wedding. He wouldn’t want to have added to her burden of hurt. He knew what that felt like.
‘You’ll have a lot of support here,’ he said. ‘Sandy’s a Morgan now and the Morgans look after their own.’
‘I know that. And I’m grateful. But I’ll still have to work, work, work.’ She took a deep breath, looked directly up at him. ‘I’m truly sorry I misread the situation with your cousin. But what happened between us at the wedding can’t happen again; you know that, don’t you?’
Relief flooded through him that she had no expectations of him. She was lovely, quite possibly the loveliest woman he knew. But right now he didn’t want to date anyone either. Not seriously. And Lizzie was the type of person who would expect serious.
‘Lizzie, I—’ he started, but she spoke over him.
‘I told you my social life is on hold. That means no dating. Not you. Not anyone.’
‘I get that,’ he said.
His life was so far removed from Lizzie’s. His job took him to all the points of the earth for extended periods of time. If he ever committed to a woman it would have to be someone without ties. Camilla would have been ideal—a freelance photojournalist with no kids, feisty, independent. But what had happened with Camilla had soured him against getting close to her type of woman.
‘Good,’ Lizzie said, rather more vehemently than his ego would have liked.
‘I hope you can remember what we had at the wedding as no-strings fun that I certainly don’t regret,’ he said.
She nodded. He didn’t know whether he should be insulted, the way she was so eager to agree.
‘But it—’ he started to say.
‘Can’t happen again,’ she joined in so they chorused the words.
He extended his hand to her over the counter. ‘Friends?’
She hesitated and didn’t take his hand. ‘I’m not sure about “friends”—we hardly know each other. I don’t call someone a friend lightly.’
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘Yep.’
Her eyes widened at his abrupt reply. ‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she said. ‘Just honest about what I feel.’
Yeah. She was. But her honesty had a sharp edge. All in all, it made him wonder why he’d want to be friends with her anyway. Especially when he knew she was off-limits to anything more than friendship. It would be difficult to be ‘just friends’ with someone he found so attractive. That two-hour limit he’d set himself on the time he spent with her might just be two hours too much.
‘So “just acquaintances” or “just strangers stuck with each other’s company” might be more to the point?’ he said.
She gasped. ‘That sounds dreadful, doesn’t it?’ Then she disarmed him with a smile—the kind of open, appealing smile that had drawn him to her in the first place. ‘Too honest, even for me. After all, we can try to be friends, can’t we?’
‘We can try to be friends,’ he agreed. Two hours at a time. Any more time than that with her each day and he might find himself wanting more than either of them was prepared to give. And that was dangerous.
‘Okay,’ she said, this time taking his hand in hers in a firm grip, shaking it and letting it go after the minimum contact required to seal the deal.
CHAPTER FOUR
LIZZIE LEANED BACK from the last of the artworks they’d rewrapped to send back to the artist, kneading with fisted hands the small of her back where it ached. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘All done, thank goodness. That was harder work than I’d thought it would be.’
‘But worth it,’ said Jesse from beside her.
‘Absolutely worth it. The paintings add to the atmosphere of the café like nothing else could. I hope the artists come in so I can thank them with a coffee.’
But Lizzie felt exhausted. Not just from the effort of unpacking, holding the paintings up against the wall and then repacking the unwanted pictures. But from the strain of working alongside Jesse.
In theory, learning to be ‘just friends’ with him should have been easy. He was personable, smart, and seemed determined to put their history behind them. Gentlemanly, too—in spite of his shoulder injury he insisted on doing any heavy lifting.
Trouble was, she found it impossible to relax around him. She had to consider every word before she uttered it, which made her sound stilted and awkward. The odd uncharacteristic nervous giggle kept bubbling into her conversation.
Could you ever be just friends with a man you’d kissed, wanted, cried over? Especially when that man was so heart-stoppingly attractive. Could you pretend that time together had never happened?
She would have to try.
If it were up to her, she would choose never to see Jesse Morgan again. Even though they’d cleared up the misunderstanding about his cousin, it was hard to be around someone she’d fancied, kissed, liked...when nothing would—or could—ever happen between them. But with the family situation being the way it was, she had to make a real effort to nurture a friendship with him—be pals, buddies, good mates. Future family occasions could be incredibly awkward if she didn’t.
Right now, Jesse stood beside her as they both surveyed the arrangement of paintings on the wall. He was not so close that their shoulders were in danger of nudging but close enough so she was aware of his scent, an intoxicating blend of spicy sandalwood and fresh male sweat. It was too close. Being anywhere within touching distance of Jesse Morgan was too close. Memories of how wonderful it had felt to be in his arms were resurfacing.
She leaned forward to straighten the small painting of the manta rays and used the movement to edge away, hoping he didn’t notice.
‘They look good,’ Jesse said. ‘You chose well.’
She thought about a friend-type thing to say. ‘To be fair, we both made the final selection.’
‘You exercised your power of veto more often than not.’
‘Is that another way of saying I’m a control freak?’ she said without thinking at all.
‘I didn’t say that,’ he said, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. ‘But...’
If he was a real friend, she would have punched him lightly on the arm for that and laughed. She wished it could be that way. But there would be no casual jesting and certainly no touching with Jesse. It was too much of a risk.
Instead she made a show of sighing. ‘The success or failure of Bay Bites rests on my shoulders and I’m only too aware of that.’
‘That’s not true,’ he said. ‘You do have help. Sandy. Ben. The staff she’s hired for you. Me.’
She turned to face him. ‘You?’
‘I can work with you for two hours a day.’
‘Two hours?’ That seemed an arbitrary amount of time to allocate. Maybe it was all he could manage with his shoulder. But she couldn’t help wondering what other commitments Jesse had in Dolphin Bay. And if they were of the female kind.
He nodded. ‘Whatever help you need, I’m there for two hours every day.’
That was the trouble with denying attraction when that attraction was an ever-present tension, underlying every word, every glance. The air seemed thick with words better left unspoken. At a different time, in a different life, she could think of some exciting ways to spend two hours alone with Jesse Morgan in her bedroom. But not now.
She cleared her throat. Think neutral, friend-type chat. ‘I appreciate the help with the paintings. Though I’m the one who will be looking at them all day and—call me a control freak—but I really couldn’t say yes to the one of the bronze whaler sharks, no matter how skilfully it was done.’
He’d argued hard for the sharks and he continued to argue. ‘Sharks are part of the ocean. As a surfer I learned to respect them. They’re magnificent creatures. That painting captured them perfectly.’
She shuddered. ‘They’re predators. And I don’t like predators. Also, remember people will be eating in this place. They don’t want to look up and see pictures of creatures that might eat them.’
Jesse grinned, his perfect teeth white against his tan, those blue, blue eyes glinting with good humour. A woman could forget all caution and common sense to win a smile like that.
Again she found herself wishing things could be different, that they could take up from where they’d left off out on that balcony. She had to suppress a sigh at the memory of how exciting his kisses had been.
‘Good point,’ he said. ‘But I still think there are too many wussy pictures of flowers.’
‘So we agree to disagree,’ she said with an upward tilt of her chin.
‘Wussy versus brave?’ he challenged, still with that grin hovering on his so-sexy mouth.
‘If by brave you mean you want to swim with the sharks, then go for it. I’ll stick with dolphins, thanks.’
‘I’ve always liked a challenge,’ he said.
The challenge of the chase? Was that what he meant? Lizzie really didn’t want to know. Or to think too much about how it would feel to be caught up again in Jesse’s arms. She’d just steer clear of him as much as she could. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him not to overstep the boundaries of a new friendship—it was herself she didn’t trust.
‘I do love the painting of the dolphins surfing,’ she said. ‘If I could afford the price tag, I’d buy it myself.’
He sobered. ‘You’ll have to make sure you don’t get too attached to any of the paintings. You want to sell as many as you can. It’s an added revenue stream for the café.’
‘You’re right. I’ll just get heartbroken when that particular one goes.’
‘Just think of the commission on the sale,’ he said. ‘The quicker the café gets in the black, the better it will be for all concerned.’
She was surprised at how hard-headed and businesslike he sounded. But of course Jesse would be used to not getting attached to pretty things. And that was when she had to bite down on any smart remarks. Not if they were going to try to be friends.
‘Thanks again for your help,’ she said. ‘I’d offer you some lunch but, as you can see, I’m not set up for food just yet.’
‘I hear you’re still finalising the menu. I’m looking forward to being an official food taster on Saturday.’
Lizzie stared. ‘You’re coming to the taste test?’
‘Sandy rounded up all the family to help you try out the recipes.’
‘Oh,’ she said, disconcerted. If she’d thought she’d only be seeing Jesse occasionally during his time back home in Dolphin Bay, she was obviously mistaken. Talking herself out of her attraction to him was going to get even more difficult.
‘When it comes to taste-testing good food, I’m your man,’ he said.
She remembered the game they’d had such fun playing together at the wedding, predicting the favourite foods of the guests. He’d been such good company she’d forgotten all the worries that plagued her that night. Good company and something more that had had her aching for him to kiss her out on that balcony.
‘Let me guess,’ she said, resting her chin on her hand, making a play of thinking hard. ‘The other volunteers will have to fight you for the slow-roasted lamb with beetroot relish. And maybe the caramelised apple pie with vanilla bean ice cream?’
He folded his arms in front of his chest. ‘I’m not going to tell you if you’re right or wrong about what I like. You’ll have to wait for the taste night to see.’
‘Tease,’ she said.
‘You don’t like being made to wait, do you?’ he said, that slow smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.
‘There are some things that are worth waiting for,’ she said, unable to resist a slow smile of her own in return.
For a long moment her eyes met his until she dropped her gaze. She had to stop this. It would be only too easy to flirt with Jesse, to fall back into his arms and that way could lead to disaster. She had to keep their conversations purely on a business level.
She glanced through the connecting doorway and into the bookshop. Sandy was due to see her at any time and there was only a small moment of opportunity left with Jesse.
She lowered her voice. ‘Can I ask you something in confidence?’
His dark brows rose. ‘Sure. Ask away.’
‘I’m concerned about the food I’ve got to work with.’
‘Concerned?’
‘It...it might not be up to scratch.’
He frowned. ‘I’m not sure what you mean. Aren’t the food supplies being ordered through the Hotel Harbourside restaurant? Ben’s hotel is one of the best places to eat in town.’
Ben had built the modern hotel on the site of the old guest house. Alongside, he’d built a row of shops, including Bay Books and Bay Bites.
She winced at Jesse’s understandably defensive tone. But who else could she ask? ‘That’s the problem. I have to tread carefully. But I have to be blunt. The Harbourside is good pub grub. Nothing more. Nothing less. And it’s not up to the standard I want. Not for Bay Bites.’
* * *
Lizzie did tend to be blunt. Jesse had noticed that six months ago. Personally, he appreciated her straightforward manner. But not everyone in Dolphin Bay would. No way could the café succeed if Lizzie was going to look down her straight, narrow little nose at the locals. Could she really fit in here?
‘But isn’t it just a café?’ he said.
‘Just a café? How can you say that?’ Her voice rose with indignation. ‘Because it’s a café doesn’t mean it can’t serve the best food I can possibly offer. Whether I’m cooking in a high-end restaurant or a café, my food will be the best.’ She gave a proud toss to her head that he doubted she even realised she’d made.
There was a passion and an energy to her that he couldn’t help but admire. But he also feared for her. Small country towns could be brutal on newcomers they thought were too big for their boots.
‘You’re not in France now, Lizzie.’
‘More small town wisdom for me?’ Her half-smile took the snarkiness out of the comment.
‘Some advice—you don’t want to make things too fancy. Not a good idea around here to give the impression you think everything is better in France. Or in Sydney.’
Her response was somewhere between a laugh and a snort. ‘You seriously think I’m going to transplant fancy French dining to a south coast café and expect it to work? I might have lived in France for years, but I’m still an Aussie girl and I think I’ve got a good idea of what my customers will like.’
He knew she had a reputation as a talented chef who had established her credentials at a very young age—he wasn’t sure she had the business sense to go with them.
‘And that would be?’ he asked.
‘The very best ingredients served simply.’ She gave another toss of her head that sent her blonde plait swishing across her back. ‘That’s what I learned in France. Not necessarily at the fine-dining establishments in Paris but in the cafés and markets of Lyon and from the home cooking of Amy’s French grandparents. You know they say the heart of France is Paris, but its stomach is Lyon?’
‘I didn’t know that.’ He’d raced through a see-Europe-in-two-weeks type backpacker tour when he was a student that had included Paris and Versailles but that was as far as his knowledge of the country went. ‘My journeys have mainly been of the have-disaster-will-travel type. And the food...well, you wouldn’t want to know about the food.’
‘Of course,’ she said, nodding. ‘I remember now you told me about some of the out-of-the-way places you’ve been sent to.’
She’d seemed so genuinely interested in the work he was doing to rebuild communities. Not once had she voiced concern that he had veered off the career track to big bucks and business success. Other girls had been more vocal. He hadn’t seen the need to explain to them that he’d been fortunate in the land he’d inherited from his grandparents and the investments he’d made. He could afford to work for a charity for as long as it suited him and not have to justify it to anyone.
Though that might be about to change. The Houston company wanted his expertise and their offer came with a salary that had stunned him with the amount of zeroes.
‘So what’s your problem with ordering through the hotel?’ he asked.
‘Their suppliers will be fine for the basics and the hotel gives us better buying power. It’s the organic and artisan produce I worked with in Sydney I need to source. Farm to plate stuff. I don’t know where to get it here.’
‘Farm to plate? That sounds expensive. Do you really want expensive for the café?’ He looked around at the fresh white décor, the round tables and bentwood chairs, the way the layout had been designed for customers to wander in from the bookshop. It said casual and relaxed to him.
‘Actually, farm to plate can be less expensive because you cut out the middle man.’
‘That’s a point,’ he said.
‘I know ridiculously high prices would be the kiss of death to a café serving breakfast and lunch,’ she said with that combative tilt to her chin that was starting to get familiar in an endearing kind of way.
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