Caribbean Christmas (3 page)

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 into 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.

He had as much reason to be wary of her intentions as she had of his, but everything seemed to dissolve by the second bottle of the Ramseys’ delicious champagne. She tipped back her glass and let the bubbles dance down her throat.

“This place belongs in heaven.”

Della smiled wide, as if life had remained simple, charmed even. “Anguilla is heaven, honey. Why do you think we live here?”

“I’m not even going to argue with you.” She slipped off the barstool, finding her legs a little looser than she expected as she carried her plate to the giant sinks. She knew Joe followed right behind her, though she didn’t see him until she turned around.

“Then maybe you should move back home.” Della snapped a towel her way. “Your dad would love it. And he could use—”

“Dutch would love for you to visit more often,” Joe’s rich baritone rolled through her like music. He stood so close heat arced between them.

“I think I will.” She looked up at his pale-blue eyes, so light against his tanned face they seemed impossibly bright. And beautiful. Did he want to see more of her as well?

Della snapped her fingers, breaking the spell. “Where is Doug? We need another bottle of champagne for a toast.”

She wasn’t sure more champagne was a good idea, but it wasn’t as if she had to drive anywhere, or be up early tomorrow. And she felt like celebrating. She’d never felt as at home as she did here, surrounded by people who’d known her forever and wanted nothing more than to be with her.

Joe’s warm hand on the small of her back as they returned to their stools set off her libido like a string of firecrackers. Having a few days on the island with him watching her every move sounded better all the time.

“I know,” Doug said as he opened the bottle with barely a pop. “You can sell your string bikinis at the marketplace here the way you do in Miami. Then we can keep you with us full-time.”

She laughed, loving that they wanted her to stay. “What is it my father has told you I do?”

“Make bikinis for the beach bums in Miami. He showed pictures. Nothing to them.” Doug waggled his gray brows.

She wondered which pictures her dad had shared, and when. “I made crocheted swimwear, but I recently sold the brand. Now my designs will be mass produced and distributed by the company I signed things over to.”

Doug and Della exchanged a glance and she felt Joe pulling away from her. She wanted to turn and bring him closer, figure out his reaction, but before she could move Doug lifted her off her feet in an embrace.

“That’s our girl. Congratulations.” He spun her around before passing her off to the hug train.

Making the deal had been worth a girl’s night out with her friends, but this level of excitement hadn’t been on offer. Even her roommate and partner Holly hadn’t been this thrilled. But then, Holly had been the one to broker the deal. Hard to get too worked up about something that made more work for you.

“Dutch was so modest. He never mentioned you were a big-deal fashion designer.” Della’s attention was back to the orders coming in, reminding Saskia that she’d only meant to stay a short while, not half the night. “I can’t wait to tell Declan his bride is famous.”

Joe coughed and sputtered behind her. “Bride?”

Saskia sidled up next to him and placed a hand on his strong shoulder. “Yes, I am betrothed to Declan Ramsey, have been since before I was even born. But he ended our engagement over multiplication tables.” The muscle beneath her hand relaxed so she gave him a squeeze. “He’d fallen in love with Desiree George. I was relieved. The wedding planning was getting to be too much pressure.”