One Winter's Day: A Diamond in Her Stocking / Christmas Where They Belong / Snowed in at the Ranch

And then there was the Jesse effect. A number of these people were the wedding guests who had discovered her and Jesse kissing on the balcony. She was, and always would be in their eyes, one of ‘Jesse’s girls’ and included in their general affection towards him. Who would have thought it?

From her corner behind the counter, she watched Jesse as he worked the room, towering head and shoulders above most of the guests. Was he aware of how many female eyes followed him? Her eyes were among them. No matter where he was in the café she was conscious of him. It was as if he had some built-in magnet that drew female attention. She was no more immune than the rest of them. She just had to continue to fight it if she was going to be able to work with him.

He’d insisted on wearing the same blue jeans, white T-shirt and butcher-striped full apron in sea tones of blue and aqua as the wait staff. How could a guy look so hot in such pedestrian work-wear? But then a guy as handsome and well-built as Jesse would look good in anything. Or nothing. She shook her head to rid both her brain and her libido of such subversive thoughts. Jesse was off-limits—even to her imagination.

He’d arrived this morning before anyone else. ‘I’m here to help,’ he’d said. ‘If I wear the uniform, people will know it.’

‘I thought you were here to taste the food,’ she’d protested as he’d tied on the apron, succeeding in looking utterly masculine as he did so. The colours of the stripes made his impossibly blue eyes look even bluer.

‘I can do both,’ he’d said in a tone that brooked no argument.

She’d let it go at that, in truth grateful for the extra help. And he had excelled himself. It appeared he knew most of the guests—and if he didn’t he very soon did. Through the hum of conversation, the clatter of cutlery, the noise of chairs scraping on the tiled floor, she could hear the deep tones of his voice as he made people welcome to Bay Bites and talked up the food while he was at it.

If she had hired an expensive public relations consultant they wouldn’t have done better than Jesse in promoting the new business.

She froze as she saw him bend his dark head to chat with Evie, the pretty blonde wife of the dairy farmer Jesse had introduced her to on Thursday. Straight away Lizzie had sensed that the girl was more than a mere acquaintance. Sure enough, it turned out she had dated Jesse in high school.

How many other women in this room had Jesse been involved with? Was involved with right now?

Was he really a player in the worst sense of the word, moving on once he’d made a conquest? Or was he just a natural-born charmer? She suspected the latter. The nurses in the hospital where he’d been born had probably gone gaga over him as he’d lain kicking and gurgling in his crib. And she’d bet he’d been a teacher’s pet all the way through school—with the female teachers, anyway.

Evie had come to the taste-testing without her husband; rather she was accompanied by a curvy auburn-haired girl who was a friend visiting from Sydney. Lizzie gripped tight onto the edge of the counter as Evie’s companion laughed up at Jesse. She schooled her face to show no reaction. He could talk and laugh with whatever woman he pleased. It was nothing to her.

That uncomfortable twinge of jealousy she felt as she watched them was further reason to keep Jesse at a distance.

Jealousy. She had battled hard with herself to overcome what she saw as a serious character flaw. As a child she’d been jealous of Sandy, not just for her toys or pretty dresses, but also because she’d been convinced her father loved Sandy more than he’d loved her. Thankfully, her mother had identified what was going on and made sure no rift ever developed between the sisters. She’d helped the young Lizzie learn to handle jealousy of other kids at school and later jealousy when she’d thought people at work had been favoured over her. As an adult, Lizzie had thought the demon had been well and truly vanquished. Until she’d met Philippe.

She’d been just twenty-one and working at an upmarket resort in Port Douglas in tropical far northern Queensland. She had worked hard and played hard with talented young chefs from around the world on working holidays. Good-looking, charming Philippe had been way out of her league. But he’d made a play for her and she’d fallen hard for his French accent and his live-for-the-moment ways. It hadn’t mattered that other girls never stopped flirting with him because he had assured her he loved only her. She’d followed him to France without a moment’s hesitation.

But the jealousy demon had reared back into full flaming life after she’d given birth to Amy. For the first six months she’d been stuck at home living with his parents while he’d continued the work-hard-play-hard lifestyle they’d formerly enjoyed together. And Philippe had not been the type of man to do without feminine attention.

Just like Jesse, she thought now as he smiled at the auburn-haired girl who was hanging onto his every word. Who could blame the girl for being dazzled by his movie-star looks and genuine charm? She couldn’t let it get to her. Women of all ages gravitated to Jesse and he gravitated to them. That was the way he was and it wasn’t likely to change. It was the reason above all others that she could never be more than passing friendly with him.

If Jesse had been more than a friend, she would by now be racked with jealousy. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed. She had hated the jealous, suspicious person she had become towards the end of her marriage; she never wanted to go there again.

Jesse must have felt her gaze on him because he said something to the two women, turned and headed towards her. He indicated his near-empty tray where a lone piece of chicken sat in a pile of baby spinach leaves. ‘Want some?’

She shook her head. ‘Can’t eat. Too concerned with feeding all of this lot.’

‘You’re sure? You need to keep your energy up. It’s delicious. Made with free-range chicken breast stuffed with organic caramelised tomato and locally produced goat’s cheese and wrapped in Italian prosciutto.’

She smiled. ‘You’re doing a good job of selling it to me, but no thanks all the same.’

‘Can’t let it go to waste,’ he said, popping it into his mouth.

‘Glad you approve,’ she said as he ate the chicken with evident relish. A similar dish had been one of the most popular items in the Sydney restaurant she’d worked in when she’d first come back from France. Served with a salad for lunch, she hoped it would be popular here too.

‘The slow-cooked lamb was a huge success,’ he said. ‘Although some people said they’d prefer an onion relish to the beetroot relish.’

‘Some people,’ she said, arching her brow. ‘How many people? One person in particular, perhaps?’

‘One in particular has never much liked beetroot. He’d like the onion.’

‘So maybe the chef was correct in her guess that that particular person would like the slow-cooked lamb?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You refuse to admit I was right about what you’d like best?’

‘I haven’t finished tasting everything yet. I’ll let you know at the end. By the way, the asparagus and feta frittata was a big hit with the ladies. I told them it was low calorie, though I don’t know whether that’s actually true.’

Was he born with an innate knowledge of what appealed to women? Or was it some masculine dark art he practised to enchant and ensnare them? She could not let herself fall under his spell—it would be only too easy.

‘Make sure you don’t miss out on the apple pie, I’m sure you’ll love it,’ she said. ‘But don’t even think of telling anyone it’s low calorie. I might get sued when my customers start stacking on the weight.’

He put down the tray, leaned across the counter towards her and spoke in a low voice, his eyes warm with what seemed like genuine concern. ‘Seriously, are you pleased how it’s going?’

She nodded. ‘Really pleased. I don’t want to jinx myself but people are booking already for our opening day on Thursday.’

‘The buzz is good. I was on door duty a while ago and had to turn passers-by away. Lucky we put the “Closed for Private Function” sign on the door or I reckon we’d have been invaded.’

‘I’ve handed out a lot of leaflets letting people know about the opening hours and menu.’

‘So everything is going as planned?’

‘I’m happy but—’

‘You’re not happy with the staff.’

Again, she was surprised at how easily he read her. Especially when he scarcely knew her. ‘No. Yes. I mean I’m really happy with the sous chef. He’s excellent. In fact he’s too good for a café and I doubt we’ll keep him.’ She glanced back at the kitchen. But with the noise level of the café there was no way the chef could hear her.

‘You’ll keep him. He’s already got one kid and another on the way. He can’t afford to leave Dolphin Bay.’

‘I don’t know whether to be glad for us or sad for him.’

‘Try glad for him. He’s happy to have a job in his home town. What about the others?’

‘The kitchen hand is great with both prep and clearing up and the waitresses are enthusiastic and friendly, which is just what I want.’

‘I can hear a “but” coming.’

‘The waitress who is also the barista—Nikki. She’s a nice girl but not nearly as experienced with making coffee as she said and I’m worried how she’ll work under pressure.’

‘You know what I said. With a small staff and a reputation to establish you can’t afford any weak links.’

‘I know. And...thanks for the advice.’

He picked up the tray again, swivelling it on one hand. ‘The kitchen is calling.’