Roxanne Claire - Barefoot by the Sea

She looked down at her khaki work shorts and boots and a T-shirt streaked with dirt. She had to interview a potential chef smelling like the compost bin?

Taking only the time she needed to wash her hands, she jogged across the western border of the gardens, past Rockrose, one of the prettiest and most secluded villas at Casa Blanca, and straight to the beach.

As she hustled along the walkway that cut through the property parallel to the shore, she looked out to the Gulf, noticing that the drier winds brought a slight wave to the usually calm swells. That meant the best shell-hunting possible.

Could this be the day she’d find a junonia?

She crossed a quaint bridge to the sand to take a faster route to the resort. Keeping her eyes down, she scanned the shell-laden beach, looking for the one. The rarest shell in the Atlantic would be a coup even for a seasoned sheller, but for a freshman hobbyist like Tessa, it would be a stroke of pure luck. And hope.

She was a practical and sensible woman who knew her secret game was flat-out silly. Finding a junonia didn’t really mean she’d find her lifelong dream. It wasn’t some imaginary “sign.” What she wanted didn’t come from a seashell, for God’s sake. But it was fun to play this game even as she bounded down the beach.

She paused at the sight of a chipped giant cockle, the brownish color close to the giraffe-like spots of the junonia, but she wasn’t fooled. She looked up to check how close she was to Casa Blanca’s picturesque hotel building, taking a minute to admire the view. The resort’s khaki-colored barrel-tile roof angled over creamy Moroccan-style archways always reminded her more of a sandcastle built on the shores of northern Africa than a typical Florida resort.

In a couple of minutes, she was close enough to see the upstairs pool deck peppered with a few guests enjoying a late breakfast. Very few. She moved a little faster, spurred by how much they really needed a great chef to rebound from the scathing review they’d suffered shortly after the soft opening. For weeks they’d been running ads and reviewing resumes, but the real talent was either out of their price range or had no interest in working or living on the unpretentious barrier island of Mimosa Key.

So who was Lacey interviewing?

As she approached the employee entrance, Tessa took one more glance at the sand, slowing when she caught a glimpse of brown about ten feet away. Was that a jun—

“Tessa!” The back door popped open and Lacey’s coppery hair appeared in the sunlight, along with her not-so-thrilled expression. “I thought you’d never get here. Why don’t you answer your cell?”

Because it was probably under a pile of seed invoices in the greenhouse.

“Gosh, I’m sorry.” Tessa squinted at the shell, then Lacey. “I didn’t know we were interviewing anyone.”

Lacey didn’t say anything in response. Whoa, was she mad? Maybe. She leaned on the door, arms crossed over a pretty white sweater that hung down to her hips and showed off the figure she’d been working so hard to get back to pre-baby weight. Her expression was tight, and strange.

“Sorry,” Tessa said again, the dry sand kicking up under her work boots. As she reached Lacey, she took one more look, peering at the tiny brown shell a few inches from an empty chaise. She had to check. “One second, Lace.”

Lacey snagged her arm. “Now.”

“Lacey, that’s a…” How could she explain this silliness? A shell I think will mean I’m going to have a baby. “Can I just…”

Lacey shook her head and tugged her inside. “Listen to me.”

“I know I’m late, but…” She stole one more look over her shoulder, memorizing the shell’s location. Not that there was a chance in hell a junonia wouldn’t be snatched up by the first person who saw it. “I need to get—”

“No.”

At the harsh syllable, Tessa turned from the sunny beach to look at her friend, a woman who rarely spoke a word that wasn’t encouraging, warm, and selfless. “What’s the matter, Lace?”

Lacey blinked her brownish-gold eyes, her expression balanced precariously between excitement and dread. “Nothing. Everything. Maybe something.”

Tessa laughed softly. “Does not compute, boss.”

Lacey let out a slow, exasperated sigh, then gave Tessa a once-over. “You really should answer your cell phone.”

“I’m sorry. Am I too filthy to interview a chef?”

“This chef.”

Tessa frowned. “Why?”

“Listen, I have good news and I have…other news.”

“Good news first,” Tessa said instantly.

“I found a chef, I mean, I found the chef.”

“Really?” What a relief that would be. “You’re sure?”

“So sure. He’s brilliant, talented, fast, creative, cheap, and can start tomorrow.”

“That’s awesome.” She reached out to squeeze Lacey’s arm. “What’s the other news?”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Walker?”

Tessa turned at the low voice that came from the hall, the sound oddly…familiar. She knew that voice.

“I’ve got the prosciutto eggs Benedict…” His words faded as their eyes met and locked, his as crazy ice blue as she remembered, hers no doubt widening in speechless shock.

“That would be the other news,” Lacey whispered.

Ian suspected he might run into the sperm-hunting gardener. When the talkative old lady in the convenience store mentioned that the local resort was probably going out of business if they didn’t find a chef, he remembered that the dishy woman he’d met in the bar had said she worked at a resort.

And that had almost kept him from making the drive up the beach road to check it out, but he wanted the job too much to let one little encounter stop him. Except that, based on the way she was staring at him like he was the ax murderer she’d feared the other night, perhaps staying put might have been smart. No doubt she was still pissed he’d blown her off.

“Prosciutto eggs Benedict?” she asked, finally tearing her gaze from him to Lacey Walker, who’d been interviewing him while he cooked in the kitchen for the last hour. “That’s not on our menu.”

“It could be. John, this is Tessa Galloway, but…I believe you two have already met.” Lacey could barely hide the amusement in her voice, but Tessa didn’t look too amused.

“Hello again, Tessa.”

“Hi.” She gave him a not-too-friendly smile, brushing some hair off her face that revealed a smudge of dirt on her cheekbone. She crossed her arms as if she didn’t want to be forced to shake his hand. Or maybe she was covering up more dirt on her shirt.

Woman needed a shower. And just the thought of that made him need one, too. Ice-cold.

“Um, Tess.” Lacey gave a quick brush to her own cheek to silently tell her friend about the dirt.

“Oh, oh.” Tessa wiped her face, then glanced down self-consciously, giving him a chance to check out her long, tanned legs and clunky work boots. Damn if they weren’t cute as hell on her. “I didn’t know we were interviewing.”

He shrugged. “No big deal.”

An unreadable response crossed her face as she took a step closer, the light of the kitchen hall catching the golden threads woven into her chestnut-colored hair and highlighting the rise of color under her sun-warmed complexion.

“No, it’s not,” she agreed quickly. “Absolutely no big deal.”

Except, by the look on her face, it was a huge fucking deal and no doubt his disappearing act in the bar would cost him the job. Damn it.

“Tessa runs our on-site farmette,” Lacey said quickly, trying to fill the gaping silence between them. “So she’s always involved with what goes on in the kitchen.”

Which meant she could put a freeze on his hire right this minute. Unless he won her over, which might take some doing, but he needed this job.

Lacey nudged her closer, and he silently thanked this enabler who was on his side.

“So you can consider me a supplier,” Tessa said, her color returning to normal and her voice finally finding some volume. “For the kitchen. And food. And…stuff.”

More nervous than normal, then, which he’d use to his advantage. As she came closer, he dipped his head slightly. “I love working directly with a supplier.”

“Good, that’s good.” Lacey put a hand on her friend’s shoulder and urged her even closer. “That’s why I’ve asked Tessa to be part of this hiring decision.”

“I don’t remember you saying you were a chef,” she said.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But I can cook.”

“He’s being modest,” Lacey said. “He can more than cook and you’ll never guess who sent him our way.”

Tessa raised an eyebrow that said she had lots of ideas—the devil, perhaps?—but didn’t answer.

“Charity Grambling,” Lacey said.

“Really?” Tessa seemed surprised, a smile pulling. “Then maybe you’re a spy or planning to poison our guests.”

He shook his head. “Neither. Is the local shopkeep an enemy of the state?”

“She didn’t want me to build this resort,” Lacey said as they all walked toward the kitchen. “She thought it was competition for her daughter’s motel, the Fourway.”

He snorted. “Hardly. And I say that as a paying guest.”

“You’re at the Fourway?” Tessa asked.

“We’ll have to do something about that,” Lacey said confidently.

He turned in time to catch Tessa give a wide-eyed “What the hell” look to Lacey, who shook her head quickly.

Screw it, he didn’t have time to dick around. If he couldn’t work here, he needed to move on. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said, pausing at the kitchen door. “But if you’re going to kick me to the curb, then let’s not waste anyone’s time.”