“How long have you been here?”
“On Anguilla? Three years come New Year’s. Harm came over a year later.”
She tried her best to suppress a shudder. “Is he still mean? I’ll never forget how he locked me in the basement storage closet.”
Joe laughed. “Hey, I let you out. Harmannus has always had his own agenda. We’re all basically the same age so we had no idea what to do with a little sprout getting all up in our business.”
“You mean cockblocking your adolescent hormones. I may have been young, but I knew you only came to visit to check out bikinis on the beaches.”
He coughed. Was he blushing? “Well, people wear a lot more clothes in Holland.”
“So is that why you stayed with my father? So you could spend the rest of your days in board shorts?” Not that any hot-blooded woman would ever complain. She felt as aware of him as he must have been ogling tan lines as a teen.
He looked around the picture-perfect interior of the house so she followed his gaze. They’d even replaced the small galley kitchen with a stainless steel version. She spied the door off the kitchen and wondered if anything was left of her childhood bedroom.
Joe cleared his throat. “I’m going to let you get settled in for a bit. I’ll bring something up for dinner when I am done at the shop.”
“You don’t have to keep me company. I’m sure I can find my way around, even if the floor plan has changed.” She grinned at him and decided that as childhood crushes went, she’d done pretty well for herself. He still had that regal look of a fairy-tale prince, the smiling eyes and perfect profile. But now his body had been honed for a woman’s fantasies.
“It’s not a problem. I have to come home with dinner for myself anyway.”
“Wait, are you saying you live here?” Her awareness of him spiked, the aftershocks left her reaching for the back of the white sofa. Three nights under the same roof without her father to chaperone. She’d have to rein in her attraction, and there was no fun in that.
If the hotels didn’t cost as much a night as her first car and book up two years in advance, she might opt to stay elsewhere. The very last thing she needed was an awkward conversation when Joe caught her ogling him. Who knew what he’d tell her dad.
Joe nodded slowly, looking at her like she was some special breed of idiot. “Dutch never mentioned that?”
She shook her head. “He never connected any dots for me. There was a Joe, a retired guy who kept buying up property on the island as investments and was interested in learning more about sailing so he put some money into the business.”
“All true.” He walked back to the still-open door. “Maybe when you talk to Dutch, you should listen.” His expression hardened as he stared at her.
His clipped words took her so off-guard it took a moment before she could manage to ask what right he had to tell her anything about her own father. And by then, he’d slammed the door behind him.
Saskia sank down onto the soft mattress, her fingers spreading along the coverlet she’d crocheted herself the last time she’d spent the full summer on the island. Deep-red, dusty-orange and a ridiculous electric-pink that could have seemed like a good idea to only her ten-year-old mind. Color choices of yarn had been limited, but not that much.
Her dad had told her it was beautiful and she’d believed him. He’d told her she had a talent for crochet, and she loved the freedom of it so much she’d turned it into a business. Ugh, how she hated the business side of things. If not for her roommate Holly handling all that, the brand never would have grown large enough to garner the attention of magazine stylists, and now the retail offer.
Well, it wasn’t really an offer anymore. She’d agreed to hand over her designs as often as possible so they could be mass produced and sold for exorbitant prices. So why did she feel lost instead of successful? Selling the company had been Holly’s plan all along, but Saskia had never given much thought to it actually happening. She’d been happy to earn a living making beautiful crocheted bathing suits. She’d been happy.
Now how was she supposed to fill up her days? She didn’t want to be stuck in an office trying to micromanage the day-to-day operations of Sassy V Beachwear. She felt like a child’s doll left behind from summer camp.
She wished her father was here for guidance. Three more days of trying to figure it out for herself and she might go crazy. Holly thought she’d lost it completely when she’d suggested starting over with children’s hats. Or headbands. Or little girls’ dresses. Scarves, booties, stuffed toys.
The feeling of now what echoed against the walls of her childhood bedroom. Her father had changed every single thing about the house, but not her room. It had to be cleaner than she’d left it, but it felt like home. The maps of Europe and the US she’d embroidered still hung on the wall beside framed photos of her and her father on their adventures. Scuba, snorkel, sail, kayak—if it was on the water, they’d done it together.
She rose from the bed to get a closer look at the group photo from her father’s fiftieth birthday party. Friendly faces from the island surrounded them, but next to her father stood Sebastian Prinsen, actually smiling. Behind him loomed his three taller sons.
She racked her mind for memories of the family. Their visits hadn’t usually coincided with hers, so she had vague recollections of Harmannus teasing and taunting, Antonnis ignoring her as best he could, and Johannes trying to keep them all out of trouble. Including her. She’d been able to be even more daring than usual when he was around, knowing he would rescue her if she needed it.
Why hadn’t she thought to connect him to the friend her father spoke so fondly of? She’d imagined an Americanized version of her father, letting her assumptions keep her from needing to ask any questions of her father’s new partner.
One thing was for certain. She wasn’t leaving this island until she’d made sure the young businessman wasn’t taking advantage of her father’s generous spirit.
Chapter Four
She’d changed her clothes. Joe froze with his hand on the key still in the door. He stood on the deck of the now-deserted shop and watched Saskia carefully pick her way down the hill, avoiding the sea grapes and shooing a handful of goats out of her way with a tangle of sea-bean vines.
He’d hoped she’d stay put at the house where he could control who told her what, but he hadn’t exactly expected her to. What little he remembered of her didn’t jive with doing as she was told.
The cutoffs and tank were replaced by a dress that seemed to be little more than a scarf knotted on one shoulder. The way the blue material clung to her lithe frame meant there was more to it than the knot, but he had no idea how it stayed in place. The soft breeze should have been able to lift it away and showcase her body to the sun.
He cleared his throat, locked the door and put his libido firmly in check. He’d let a woman’s beauty distract him from her true nature before, and it had nearly destroyed his family. Then he could claim he was blindsided, but this time he knew what was coming. It was no coincidence that Dutch had denied his wife’s latest demand for money and their daughter had arrived a week later.
He shifted his mind back to that frustration and disgust. How could Dutch’s own family not see how kind and capable he was, instead constantly reducing him to a bank balance?
Saskia made her way to a deserted strip of beach north of the harbor, and he headed there. She didn’t seem to have a plan, just wandering across the sugar-white sand and pausing to examine the beach-stone sculptures. With miles of beach on the island, large coral formations sometimes washed ashore and locals tended to collect and stack them into creations that seemed more modern art than ocean waste. He caught up with her on the soft beach, slipping out of his sandals to join her.
“Headed anywhere in particular?” he asked as he fell into step beside her.
“I’m trying to get a lay of the land. I was thinking of borrowing a sloop and sailing around the island to see what’s changed.”
&
nbsp; Perfect. Keeping her offshore would keep her from any island gossip. “That sounds like a great idea for tomorrow. We can pack a lunch and stop at Seal Island. Or we can rig up the schooner if you’re willing to help and surprise Dutch on Sombrero.”
She stopped their progress with a hand on his arm, looking up at him through her blonde lashes. “I don’t expect you to take me sailing. It is not as if I need a babysitter. I’ll just take a sloop and make my own way around. Besides, I don’t want to bother my dad while he is working. He’ll be home soon enough.”
“He’d have my head if I sent you off in a boat alone.” He tried to focus on her face, not the freckles dusting the creamy skin of her bare shoulder, the way her breasts filled out her barely there dress, but then he seemed fixated on the tasty peach of her lips as they spoke.
“My dad? He had me racing when I was six. I’ll be fine.”
“I insist.” He turned to face the sea, the rippling water of the bay deceptively calm. Anguilla hosted sailing regattas because of the strong winds. He wasn’t about to set Saskia loose on that no matter how proficient she claimed to be. “Have any requests for dinner?”
“You’re really intent on babysitting me. I don’t think you watched me this closely when I needed tending. What is it you think I’m going to do? Disappear before my dad comes back?”
“Having you here for Christmas is going to make Dutch’s decade.” Which was why he had to make sure she had good intentions, and that he kept thinking with the head above his shoulders.
He had half a mind to write Susan a check just so Dutch could have a holiday with his daughter. Did Saskia know what her absence from her father’s life had done to the man? Everything he’d done, built, achieved was to make Saskia proud. Not that she seemed to care, not when it had been a commanding enterprise or a shattered venture.
Maybe if he showed her how the hurricane had decimated the island, flattened businesses and altered the shoreline forever. Would she even remember the coasts enough to notice the difference?
Life on Anguilla had gone on after she and her mother left, and it hadn’t always been pretty, no matter how much money her father sent back.
“This is the high season, Saskia. Beachside is the most exclusive restaurant on Anguilla. It has been booked up for a year,” Joe grumbled as he stopped his shiny black pick-up.
She ignored his warning, climbed down from the truck and made her way through the gardens of her favorite restaurant in the entire world. “Trust me. I’m having honey lobster tonight.”
He pulled on a polo shirt from his backseat and caught up with her just in time to hold open the door. She paused outside, noticing the windows seemed larger than before, the ceilings higher. As she remembered it, only better. Inside felt bigger, like the walls had been pushed out to make more room.
An older gentleman approached, his white linen shirt perfectly tailored to his tall frame. He looked at Joe, but as he neared his gaze moved to her. She nearly clapped as he smiled in recognition.
“Sassy?” Doug Ramsey spread his arms to embrace her and she leapt into them. He spun her around as she soaked in the feeling of belonging. “Girl, it has been too long. Dutch didn’t tell us you were coming. Let me look at you.”
She held on to his strong arms as he pulled back and shone approval down on her. She’d always felt at home with the Ramseys and the Beachside team. Her mother had crafted the desserts there every morning while the rest of the staff prepped the kitchen for dinner.
“You got the best of both of them. I’m so glad you’re back. Where’s Dutch?”
“Would you believe Sombrero? He’s chasing sea turtles with biologists as if it’s more important than my Christmas surprise.”
“He doesn’t know you’re here?” Doug tilted his head back and laughed loud enough to garner the attention of the busy dining room. He took her hand. “This is rich. Come, girl. Della will insist you dine in the kitchen so she can catch up with you. You don’t mind, do you? I’d give you a table if—”
“Please, I’d love to be in the back like I was as a kid. I promise to be less underfoot now.” She reached her hand back for Joe. Somehow the slide of his palm against hers sent a powerful surge of awareness through her body. If not for Doug propelling her forward, she might have frozen on the spot.
She lost his hand in the bustle of hugs and hellos as they were settled on stools along the long, steel prep tables against the back wall. Her mother had used the space to roll elaborate pastries and shape breads into palm trees and birds.
The industrial kitchen seemed much the same. Maybe a little sleeker, but the warmth and excitement of the crew were what made Beachside special. What she’d missed.
“How’s your mother?” Della Ramsey asked as the sauté pan in front of her burst with flame. A few shakes of the handle and she reached for a plate. “Cupcakes still all the rage?”
“She thinks pie is the new cupcake. She’s been working on lining up the financing to open up a new shop.” She thought of her mother, spending her holiday in Aspen trying to convince some friends with deep pockets that pie on a stick could make them even more money.
“Does she still make that quince pie?” Delbert asked as he set giant white bowls filled with gazpacho in front of them. He’d been the dishwasher when she’d left, and by the apron and towel, she guessed he still loved his job. The work ethic on the island had always inspired her. Here, people kept jobs forever, often working at two or three things at a time.
“She’s best at the less popular fruits like Guiana chestnuts or durian. Do you remember the cashew fruit tarts she used to make? She’s never been able to replicate anything close. It drives her mad.” She dipped her spoon into the chunks of tomato and peppers.
Della laughed. “We might not be able to get our hands on everything on Anguilla, but what we grow ourselves is divine. I wish she’d come back for a visit. We southern belles need to stick together.”
“I’ll let her know. But you know how she feels about the storms.”
“Good thing she wasn’t here when the big one hit. Took out our entire dining room and half the island.”
Chapter Five
Joe cleared his throat to interrupt before his favorite chef ruined his appetite. This was what he’d been afraid of. People knew Saskia, treated her as if she’d been gone weeks instead of years.
“The remodel on this place is great. All the room must make it easier to handle weddings and parties.”
“Most events want to use the garden or the beach.” Della worked a touch-screen that he guessed organized the orders. Two servers showed up almost immediately to whisk plates away. “Upgrading the order system was one of the blessings of having to re-do everything. We might have been out of commission for a year, but we’re much more efficient now.”
“An entire year? That must have been devastating.” Saskia set her spoon in her now-empty bowl.
“There was a lot of work to be done.” Della looked like she was going to say more, but her grill man spoke up.
“You want lobster, Sassy? Still the best you ever have.” White teeth shone bright against the man’s dark skin.
“Of course, Alan. That’s why I came here. Honey lobster and friendly conversation.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “This one wanted me to stay in a house with no food, and thinks he can stop me from sailing by myself.”
Della turned towards them, her features pulled into a mock scowl. “Now you listen here, young lady, we just got you back. We don’t want you getting into any trouble. At least not until after your father gets home. Joe’s a good egg, even if he always orders the same thing.”
“Are you crazy?” She twisted on the barstool so she faced him, her playful features brightening. “Everything here is amazeballs. Especially whatever they’ve put on special. Why would you stick with one thing?”
He leaned closer, trying to pull her into conversation with him instead of the gossip gallery. “Aren’t you the same girl that just walked i
nto this restaurant after a decade away and everyone remembered your addiction to honey lobster?”
“That’s different. What do you think is so great you order it every time?”
“Mosselen-friet, Heineken, kersenvlaai.” His mouth began to water just thinking of it. Caribbean food was great, but sometimes you needed a taste of home.
“You can take the boy out of Holland… I suppose you eat herring raw too?” Saskia’s musical laugh lilted throughout the bustling kitchen, creating a melody for the clanging pans and sizzling grill. “The vlaai is my mother’s recipe. I’ll make you an entire tart as your Christmas present. I need to hit the store for supplies to make Dad speculaas poppen.”
Christmas cookies? He hadn’t had them since his mother died and boarding school had become his way of life. Dutch treats weren’t prevalent in upstate New York, and the gingerbread men never felt right to him.
“You can bake here if you’d like,” Della offered, reminding him their conversation wasn’t as private as he thought. “We could catch up properly.”
Just what he didn’t need. Tomorrow’s sailing adventure would have to be longer than he planned.
“I’d like that,” Saskia said as she turned back to the kitchen. “But I thought it might be fun for my dad to come home to the house smelling like Christmas. And then I’ll jump out and yell surprise.” She laid her fingers atop his hand on the counter and turned her face to his. “You might want to brush up on your CPR in case I give him a heart attack.”
Everyone laughed, but his own heart squeezed at her hand resting lightly on his. She must have forgotten they were touching, but for him the casual touch seemed intense, intimate even. He tried to picture Dutch’s face to tamp down the reaction. But for the life of him, Saskia was the only thing he could see.
He liked her. She could tell. The giddy rush swept through her, making her body tingle. When she’d arrived, she was sure he found her as annoying as ever, but as they laughed and ate and talked in the Beachside kitchen she felt his attentions shift like sand on the dunes at Rendezvous Bay.
Caribbean Christmas Page 2