She’d met Philippe when she was twenty-one and had only had one serious boyfriend before him and none after him. Truth was, she didn’t have a lot of man mileage on the clock and not a lot of experience on which to make judgements.
Delicious smells wafted into the café, reminding her she needed to be back in that kitchen. Tension was mounting. There had been raised voices, tears, the odd thrown utensil but now all was calm efficiency again.
By seven-twenty a.m. there was a line-up outside the door. By seven forty-five she was so run off her feet she didn’t have time to worry about missing Jesse. By eight-thirty young Nikki was in such a fluster managing the constant orders for coffee, Lizzie could see customers tapping impatiently on table tops waiting for their cappuccino, skinny lattes, flat whites and so on. Nightmare!
As she plated an order for French toast with caramelised bananas and blueberries she tried to think what to do. Ask Sandy if she could borrow another waitress from the Hotel Harbourside? Make coffees herself? She’d run through the machine a few times to familiarise herself with it and could probably churn out a halfway acceptable beverage.
Whatever she did, she had to keep calm—if she didn’t the whole place would fall apart. She’d have to expect teething problems, Jesse had said. But paying customers were harsh critics. A café would live or die on the reputation of its coffee—if she didn’t fix the coffee problem Bay Bites would be going backwards on its first day.
Then, at eight thirty-five, Jesse was there. In the kitchen beside her, tying on his blue-striped apron, joking to the staff that he’d be in trouble with the boss for being tardy.
Her breath caught in her throat and her heart started to hammer so fast she felt giddy. Jesse. She ached to throw her arms around him and tell him how glad she was to see him. How she’d felt as though part of her was missing when he wasn’t here. But that couldn’t happen. They were friends. And he was talking to her as if she were the boss and he was the volunteer helper who was late for work. As it should be, of course. She swallowed down hard on a wave of irrational disappointment.
‘I got caught up so couldn’t get here until now,’ he explained with nothing more than courtesy.
She didn’t care where he’d been, just so long as he was with her now. She forced her voice to sound professional and boss-like. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Nikki isn’t coping with the coffee. If I can ask—’
‘I’ll take over the coffee machine.’
‘What do you mean? How can you do that?’
‘I worked a coffee machine when I was a student. Got quite good at it.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘Thought I’d be too rusty to be of any use to you. While I was in Sydney I did a barista course to get me up to speed.’
‘You what?’
He pulled out a folded up sheet of paper from one pocket then a glasses case from the other. He put on black-framed glasses and unfolded the paper. ‘It’s a certificate proving I’m officially accredited as a barista. Turns out since I last did this, I first had to do a course in kitchen hygiene so I’ve got that qualification there too.’ He added the last sentence in his mock modest, self-deprecating way she liked so much.
Lizzie didn’t know what shocked her most—the fact Jesse had gone to Sydney to train as a barista or how hot he looked in glasses. It added a whole extra layer of hotness to his appeal—not that he actually needed any extra layers.
She lowered her voice so the chef and the kitchen hand who were working nearby couldn’t overhear her. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘I knew you were worried about Nikki. I wanted to help. But I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be more hindrance than help if I’d forgotten how to froth the milk. Turns out I hadn’t. And I got a good score for my coffee art, too.’
She stared at him. ‘You can do coffee art?’
‘Rosettes, hearts. I need some more practice to do a dolphin but I’ll get there,’ he said, deadpan.
‘I’m seriously impressed,’ she said. He’d done it for her and her heart skipped a beat at the thought.
‘It’s just steamed milk on espresso, not difficult really.’
As a chef, she knew presentation was a big part of customer appreciation. These days, people had very high expectations of their coffee; they wanted it to look good as well as taste good.
‘There’s more than that to it; I didn’t know you were an artist.’ Then she remembered he’d studied art in high school. She was beginning to realise she still had a lot to learn about Jesse. What other surprises were waiting to be discovered?
He shrugged and then winced. ‘Your shoulder? What did the doctor say?’ she asked.
‘It’s healing much better than expected,’ he said. ‘I can probably go back to work soon.’
Her heart plummeted to the level of her clogs.
‘That’s good,’ she said, forcing her voice to be level.
At the back of her mind she’d thought she’d at least have a few more weeks with him around. But there was no time to ask what he intended to do. It would have to wait. Even in the few minutes she’d been speaking to him the orders were piling up.
Jesse got down to business. ‘Give Nikki a break from the coffee machine. I’ll take over. Let her wait tables. Later I’ll spend some time training her and we’ll see if she’s good enough to stay.’
Lizzie was too darn grateful that Jesse was back to ask him if he was only going to be there for the two hours he’d defined as his time with her.
* * *
The last thing Jesse had thought he’d ever be doing again was making coffee for customers. He was a highly regarded engineer, considered an expert in the quick construction of mass pre-fabricated housing, who had a major corporation jockeying for his skills. He’d had a teleconference with the CEO of the company while he was in Sydney and again they had expressed their keenness in having him on board. They were, in fact, pressuring him to make a decision.
But he also wanted to prove to Lizzie he was not the shallow womaniser she seemed to believe he was. The player label she’d been only too ready to tag him with was really beginning to irk him.
The gratitude and relief on Lizzie’s face when he’d told her about the barista course was enough to justify his decision. He’d sensed there’d be trouble with Nikki and had taken the steps that would enable him to help Lizzie achieve her aim of a wrinkle-free launch.
But he’d missed her while he’d been in Sydney. Missed her so much his future—be it in Texas or Asia or wherever he might end up—had seemed somehow bleak without her in it in some way. Never had a hotel room seemed so lonely. The way he’d felt raised questions he wasn’t sure of the answers to. He forced himself not to think about it and focused his attention on making coffee.
Flat white, cappuccino, espresso, soy latte, decaf—the orders kept on coming and he kept on filling them. He knew half the customers and had to put up with a lot of good-natured banter.
His answer to the inevitable, ‘Hey, Jesse, why the new career path?’ was always, ‘To help out Sandy and Ben while I’m on leave.’
No way would he admit to anyone that he was doing it with the aim of proving to Lizzie that he was not the guy she thought he was.
But there were customers he didn’t know too, total strangers who’d found their way to Bay Bites. People with no connection to the family would be the lifeblood of the new business. Those and the tourists who would eat here a few times, recommend it to their friends, come back next time. He’d noticed lots of empty plates and contented faces. He’d also seen customers photographing their meals with their phones. Free Wi-Fi in the café would pretty much guarantee there would be online reviews up by evening.
He looked up to see Evie’s redhead friend he’d met at the taste-test had settled herself at a table and was perusing a menu. She caught his eye and waved
. What was her name? Dell, that was right, Dell.
She came up to the counter to say hello. ‘Nothing like a handsome barista to bring in business,’ she said with her easy, friendly manner.
He smiled. ‘I’m also on the front line if they don’t like the coffee. But I haven’t had any thrown back at me yet.’
Dell smiled back. ‘So far, so good, huh? The menu is impressive.’
‘All Lizzie’s work; I’m just the help.’
‘Evie told me Lizzie is a chef who worked in some top restaurants in France and then in Sydney too.’
‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘She’s highly regarded and has won all sorts of awards.’ He felt a swell of unexpected pride in recounting Lizzie’s achievements.
‘So what brings her to Dolphin Bay?’
‘Family,’ he said firmly. He was protective of Lizzie’s personal life when it came to discussing it with strangers. No one needed to know about her broken marriage, her ongoing custody issues. The Morgans looked after their own.
Dell nodded. ‘I hope it all goes well for her.’
Just then Lizzie came out of the kitchen. Immediately Jesse felt her gaze go from him to Dell and back to him. Was that jealousy he saw glinting in her narrowed grey eyes? If so, there wasn’t much he could do about it but reassure her she had nothing to worry about. Women liked him. He liked women. But he was not flirting with this girl. And Dell was certainly not sending off any flirty vibes. How could he let Lizzie know that?
He beckoned Lizzie over and introduced her to Dell. ‘Dell’s been saying some very nice things about the menu.’
‘Yes,’ said Dell with a friendly smile ‘I was at your taste-test party on Saturday. Everything I tried was superb. Kudos to you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lizzie.
‘And I was saying to your boyfriend that every café needs a handsome barista.’
Lizzie flushed. ‘Jesse’s not my—’
‘We’re friends,’ Jesse was quick to say. ‘Just friends.’
‘My mistake,’ said Dell. ‘I thought... Anyway, I’d better get back to my table and stop holding you guys up. It looks busy.’
‘Nothing the kitchen can’t handle,’ said Lizzie a little stiffly.
Dell rewarded her with a big smile. ‘I’m looking forward to my lunch. Congratulations, the café is awesome. I’ll bring my guy with me next time; I know he’ll love it too.’
Now, at last, Lizzie smiled back. Jesse was puzzled by her sudden change of attitude. Was this some kind of girl talk he wasn’t privy too? Had Dell given her a secret semaphore message to make her thaw?
Whatever, he didn’t have time to worry about it as the lunchtime coffee orders stepped up. He had worked way more than his allocated two hours but who was counting?
CHAPTER NINE
LIZZIE DIDN’T KNOW how she could thank Jesse enough for what he’d done. To train as a barista just to help her out wasn’t something she’d ever imagined Jesse would do. It had caused a radical shift in her opinion of him.
‘You saved the day,’ she said as they shut up shop at four p.m. Everyone else had gone home and they were the last two remaining in the café, empty now but somehow still echoing with the energy of all the meals cooked, eaten and enjoyed. Bay Bites had been well and truly launched. They’d even sold two paintings. She looked up at Jesse. ‘Did I tell you how much I appreciate what you did?’
‘Only about a gazillion times, but you can say it again if you like,’ he said with the laid-back smile that had appealed to her from the get-go.
‘So here’s my “thank you number gazillion and one”,’ she said. ‘No matter how good a job we did with the food, our opening day would have been a fail if we hadn’t had good coffee.’
‘It was far from a fail, Lizzie,’ Jesse said. ‘I think you can chalk up your first day as a success.’
‘Don’t say that,’ she said quickly. ‘We don’t want to jinx ourselves.’
He quirked a dark eyebrow. ‘I didn’t put you down as superstitious.’
‘You know how theatre people are full of superstitions? So are restaurant people. No one would be surprised if I had the building blessed, maybe brought in a feng-shui expert. Or burned sage to get rid of any bad karma from the previous business on this site. Maybe even hung crystals in strategic places. And don’t even think about whistling in the kitchen. Especially a French kitchen.’
‘You’re kidding me?’
She shook her head. ‘A lot happens in restaurants. First dates. Break-ups. Celebrations. Illicit liaisons. They leave energy. We want good energy. Opening day of a new restaurant is rather like the opening night of a new play. The cast. The audience. The need to have butts on seats. So let’s just say I’m cautiously optimistic about how today went and leave it at that.’
He laughed. ‘Okay, I’ll grant you that. But I still say—’
Lizzie swiped her thumb and first finger across her lips to zip it. ‘Don’t say it or I’ll blame you if anything goes wrong.’
Jesse pretended to cower. Lizzie laughed and ushered him through the back door to the car park. She punched in the alarm code, followed him out and locked the door behind them.
For the first time an awkward silence fell between them. The door that led upstairs to her apartment was only a few metres to the left. Did she invite him upstairs? Be alone with him again? She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how exciting his kisses had been. How much she’d missed him. How maybe she had misjudged him. Would it be wise?
She gestured to the door. ‘I can offer you a coffee but I suspect that might be the last thing you want to face right now.’
‘I wouldn’t say no to a beer,’ he said.
‘I’ve got some in the fridge upstairs. I could do with one too.’ She gave a sigh that was halfway to a moan of exhaustion. ‘There’s nothing I want to do more than take off these clogs and kick back.’
The apartment over the café was compact but Sandy had done a wonderful job of refurbishing it for her and Amy. With polished wooden floors throughout, it had been painted in muted neutral tones with white shutters at the windows. Furniture comprised simple, comfortable pieces in whitewashed timber and a plump sofa and easy chairs upholstered in natural linen. The living room window framed a magnificent view of the harbour. The effect was contemporary but cosy and Lizzie’s heart lifted every time she came through the door.
‘You’ve settled in,’ Jesse said as he followed her through to the small but well-equipped kitchen.
‘I just need to get a few more personal touches in place before Amy gets here. Is it “thank you number gazillion and two” if I say how much I appreciate the work you did here?’ she said. ‘Sandy told me how much of this place is due to your efforts.’
‘Enough with the grovelling,’ he said with a grin. ‘Just get me that beer.’
Lizzie grabbed two beers from the fridge and cut lime quarters to press into the bottle necks. She handed one to Jesse and carried her own through into the living room. ‘No food to offer you, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘It’s all downstairs.’
‘I’ve been snacking on stuff all day,’ Jesse said. ‘I don’t need any more. How do you stay so slim working with all that delicious food?’ He cast an appreciative eye over her figure.
‘I learned early on to only have very small servings—just tastes really. Then there’s the fact that cooking is hard physical work. I’m standing all day every day.’
She flopped down onto the sofa and kicked off her clogs. ‘My feet are killing me. They’re always killing me. My feet, my knees, my back. It’s so good to sit down.’
She wiggled her toes, rotated her ankles, but it didn’t do much to ease the deep, throbbing ache in her feet. Damaged feet were an occupational hazard of being a chef.
Jesse sat down on the sofa next to her. �
��Let me rub your feet for you.’
Lizzie’s gaze met his and there was a question in his eyes that asked so much more than she knew how to answer.
She knew saying yes to his suggestion would be going beyond the bounds of their tentative friendship. But she longed to have his strong, capable hands on her feet, stroking and massaging to ease the pain. Stop kidding herself: she longed to have his hands on her body, full stop. She had gone beyond denying her attraction to him. But was this foot massage a good idea?
‘There’s some peppermint lotion in the fridge,’ she said. ‘It’s more soothing when it’s chilled.’
Jesse returned from the kitchen with the peppermint lotion. He sat down on the sofa again, put the container on the coffee table. ‘Swivel around on the sofa and put your feet across my legs.’
It seemed an intimate way to start a foot massage but she didn’t protest. The alternative was to have him kneeling at her feet and that wouldn’t do.
Her feet were so sore that Jesse’s first firm, sure strokes were painful and she yelped. ‘Just getting the knots out,’ he explained. He then settled into an easier rhythm, probing, stroking, squeezing with his strong fingers and thumbs, smoothing in the cool, sharply scented lotion.
She moaned her pleasure and relief. ‘This is heaven, absolute heaven. Where did you learn to massage like this?’
‘Nowhere,’ he said. ‘I’m just giving you what you seem to need.’
‘Oh,’ she said, not meeting his gaze.
She didn’t know what to say to that. What she did know was she had to keep thoughts of other needs, and the way Jesse might meet them, on a very tight rein.
Her whole body thrummed with the pleasure of what his hands were doing to her heels, toes, soles. She’d never thought of feet as sensual zones but what Jesse was doing was nothing short of bliss.
‘I’m just going to lie back and enjoy every minute,’ she said, settling further back into the cushions, shifting her feet to fit more comfortably on his thighs.
A Diamond in Her Stocking Page 10