SEVEN

“Burger, medium-rare, caramelized onions, no tomato. And blue cheese.” Jasper pushed the larger plate closer to Sadie before placing a second one on the table. “And a side of pomme frites.”

“You can call them fries, Jasper. She doesn’t care.”

“Grace is right,” Sadie managed to mutter around a huge bite of burger. “I don’t care. As long as they are good. And they come with a side of mayo.”

“Ladies,” Jasper chided them, “no reason to harass a man for doing his job well. Chef calls them pomme frites, so that’s what they are. Just sticking to the script.” He pointed to a small dish next to the fries, “and it’s remoulade. Not mayo.”

Sadie flashed him a grin before taking another bite of her dinner. After nothing but cheese, fruit and wine the night before, and a potentially lethal amount of coffee and cucumber water earlier in the day, the burger was exactly what she needed.

“We just want to keep you grounded, Jasper,” Grace teased. “Between the reverence that the male guests show you over your knowledge of all things scotch, and the attention the women show you for that,” Grace waved her hand in the general direction of his well-defined chest, dimpled chin, and deliciously disheveled golden hair, “we’re afraid you might get such a big head that you’ll simply drift away. And I love your cocktails too much to let you float off into the sunset. So just accept that we’re here to keep those well-proportioned feet of yours on the ground. And remind you of the proper name of a fried string of potato.”

Jasper’s wide mouth was bent into an exaggerated scowl by the time Grace had finished, but his eyes sparked with pure mischief as he absorbed her teasing words. And the blatant attraction that underlined them.

Her eyes dancing between the two of them, Sadie rattled the ice in her empty glass, watching as Jasper slowly slid his gaze from Grace to meet hers.

“She’s right, Jasper. Your cocktails are too good to give up. And since you take such pride in your job, perhaps you can whip up another one for me? Before your fan club demands you return to the bar?”

“Sadie, sweetheart. It would be my pleasure.” Sadie met Jasper’s chuckle with a laugh of her own and flashed him a gleeful smile.

“Wait,” Grace protested. “Why is she allowed to tease you, but I’m not.”

“Simple.” Jasper ducked his head quickly in Sadie’s direction. “She’s a guest. You,” he pointed an accusing finger at Grace, “are not.”

“I’m not, though.”

Sadie’s response was drowned out by Grace’s more adamant, “but she’s really not.” Sadie jabbed a finger into Grace’s ribs and the woman jumped, but carried on. “She’s in the staff lounge,” she stated, quite obviously, to Jasper. Leaning back towards Sadie, she whispered, “you are in the staff lounge, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Of course Sadie had noticed. The mismatched furniture salvaged from guest rooms before the hotel’s most recent renovation. The local radio station that filtered in from the kitchen. The utterly relaxed atmosphere in which she could eat a burger and down a cocktail without anyone watching, assessing. And the swinging door – windowless – that separated them from all of the guests mingling on the other side. Sadie had noticed, and she loved it. Forget the island. This was her little oasis. Away from Marcus, who never deigned to mingle with staff. Away from work. And, most importantly, away from Jack.

“And you are welcome any time.” Jasper winked at her before pushing his way back into the din of the bar. Grace muttered something under her breath, before glancing up at Sadie.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Sadie shook her head at her friend before popping some fries into her mouth. “Absolutely nothing.”

***

Not long after Sadie finished her dinner, and another of Jasper’s delicious Dark n’ Stormy’s, Grace was called back to her office to help the night manager deal with a disgruntled guest. Through the lounge door Sadie could hear Jasper’s muted tones as he tried to moderate a surprisingly heated argument between two guests about whether a Manhattan must be made with rye instead of bourbon. Based on the raised voices Sadie thought that one of the men was trying to prove his point by force-feeding his opponent one of the drinks in question, and it wasn’t going over well. Before she was tempted to see if either of the guests belonged to her, Sadie snuck out of the lounge using the rear exit, thankful that it deposited her on a path leading to the ground floor rooms, below and out of the way of the bar and terrace that sprawled off the hotel’s elevated lobby.

Slipping off her shoes, Sadie wiggled her toes in relief before scooping up her sandals and weaving her way along the path to her room. One of the resort’s several pools was centered beneath the lobby bar, providing the lunchtime cocktail set with enticing scenery and the impetus to linger longer and drink more. The pool’s patio served as a shortcut to her room and Sadie was winding her way through the empty chaises when a boisterous greeting from above caught her attention.

It wasn’t directed at her. The booming voice spoke to someone else, someone standing above her on the terrace. Sadie could hear only hints of the other person’s response, most of their voice drowned out by the ocean waves breaking on the nearby beach. But the exchange had been enough to catch Sadie’s attention and direct her gaze up to the terrace. It was glowing with soft light, just enough to see by, but not enough to compete with the night sky. But it was bright enough that Sadie could see two men talking, a rotund man, the louder of the two, gesturing wildly as he spoke. The second, tall, lean, propped up on the railing by his elbows. Their conversation was over as quickly as it had started, the rounder man waving as he disappeared into the bar.

The second man stayed. And turned, resuming his stance looking out to the ocean. Or, at least, that is where Sadie had expected him to look. Instead, he looked down at her. Directly. No random scanning of ground below him, no relaxed perusal of the view. Nope. He looked at her. Boldly. And kept looking. Without comment or gesture. Just stood there, his hands clasped in front of him, his elbows on the railing, his eyes – or at least the space where she knew they were – fixed on her. And Sadie knew without a doubt who it was.