A Holiday Romance. Carrie Alexander

      “That’s what I suspected. I mean, he was flirting. With me. ”

      Chloe’s brows went up. “Why not you?”

      “I’m not really the kind of woman men flirt with all that often.”

      “I don’t see why not. You’re cute.”

      Alice did feel as if she’d at least made it onto the “cute” scale, even if she was hovering at the low end. The new clothing she’d bought for the trip was a minor factor. Shedding her Osprey Island persona as everyone’s favorite pal and all-around substitute worker was major. She was not nearly as drab and used-up as she’d been feeling the past few years.

      Even her mother would have approved. Dorothy Potter had fretted over her youngest daughter’s lack of a social life, but she’d wanted Alice close. The small sum she’d set aside in her will as Alice’s “mad money” had been a total surprise.

      Alice decided to confide. “I did have a drink with Kyle Jarreau last night.”

      “Kyle Jarreau?” Chloe opened and closed her mouth, emitting only a faint squawk. She leaned over the table. “You’re serious? Kyle Jarreau? ”

      “Is that so strange?”

      “Hell, yeah. He doesn’t…um, well, he just doesn’t. ”

      “It was only a friendly gesture.” But they’d flirted, or at least Alice had. Unless she’d built their twenty minutes together into a legend in her own mind. “He wanted to welcome me to the resort.”

      “Ohhh, then, that’s different.” Chloe still seemed puzzled.

      Alice dropped her gaze. “He was nice.”

      “Mmm. I don’t think of him that way, but then, he’s my superior. And I’m only a cog in the wheel, far beneath his notice. It’s just that I’ve heard how he’s very strict about…”

      Alice waited. Chloe’s hesitation seemed uncharacteristic.

      The young woman blinked. “About everything, I suppose.”

      Alice was oddly let down. “I sort of had that impression.”

      “See,” Chloe went on, lowering her voice, “it’s that Prince Montez has this policy, all spelled out in the employee handbook actually, about how employees are not to ‘associate’ with the resort guests. Socially, that is. When I came aboard, I was told that engaging in hanky-panky would get me fired. No exceptions. Jarreau’s edict. Except for…”

      Alice’s pulse picked up. Her lips felt strangely tender.

      “…workers like Denver, for instance…” Chloe continued with a small grimace, and Alice’s expectations sank. They’d been absurd, anyway. Had she really expected Kyle to make an exception for her?

      “He flirts very openly. And no one says a thing. He’s practically encouraged, because the female guests like it. Or the servers, for instance, and the pool attendants. They depend on tips, so of course some of them use what they’ve got to act extrafriendly with guests.” Chloe sat back. “But of course no one crosses the line. Not without consequences.”

      Alice traced a finger along the edge of the waxed pine table. “I see.”

      “I’ve said too much.”

      “No, I’m glad I know. Not that I was taking Denver seriously. He was pretty obvious.” Alice flicked her bangs out of her eyes. Kyle was another matter. “But I suppose I did like it. I was flattered.”

      “Sure, why not?” Chloe’s smile was a bit strained. “Enjoy the heck out of it. You’re on vacation!”

       The cowboy tradition is alive and well in the American Southwest. Visit the authentic frontier town, Rawhide, at Wildhorse Pass.

      July 22

      Dear Jay,

      Well, your big sister made it through her first full day of vacation relatively intact, except for sweating away about five pounds in the heat and suffering a bruised ego after a fall—my first attempt at horseback riding. It’s not as easy as it looks to “cowboy up.” Tomorrow they’re setting me loose in the desert for a nature hike. Watch out, cacti and scorpions!

      XOXO,

       Alice

       CHAPTER FOUR

       “I NCOMPETENTS .” Chef Rodrigo Chavez’s florid face was the same pinkish-purple as the sugar flower on the tip of his finger. “I am surrounded by incompetents!”

      The resort’s catering manager and wedding coordinator exchanged wary looks. Stumbling over each other’s words, they tried to salve the chef’s legendary temper, which was matched in size only by his towering ego.

      A flick of his meaty hand sent the offending sugar flower zinging past the manager’s head. It splatted against the kitchen wall. “Puce!” he roared. “I could vomit out a better wedding cake than the tripe you’re giving me.”

      Behind him stood two of his staff, eyes downcast, looking defeated in their aprons and white hats. On the steel surface before them was the product of countless hours of work—the various layers and decorations that would become a wedding cake. Trays of meticulously handmade sugar flowers had been laid out in preparation for the final assembly.

      “Puce!” Chavez repeatedly smashed the fragile creations, flattening them to pancakes. “I ask for lavender and these idiots insult me with puce. ”

      The chef failed to notice that Kyle, summoned by the catering manager, had arrived through the secondary service entrance.

      For once, Kyle had been grateful for the interruption. He’d had trouble concentrating on his work. Two nights in a row now—almost a habit. Dealing with a temperamental chef was a welcome distraction from the idea that he might possibly not be as disciplined as he’d always believed.

      “Chef Chavez,” he said.

      Down went the man’s fist. Bam. Bam. Bam. Trays rattled as they knocked together. One, filled with arched stems of sugar orchids, tipped over the edge of the counter and crashed to the floor. Everyone but Chavez flinched. The man was as oblivious as a toddler in a tantrum.

      Kyle raised his voice. “Chavez.”

      “Who…” The chef swung around, jowls swaying. Seeing Kyle, he snorted and scooped up one of the iced layers of cakes.

      The wedding coordinator covered her eyes.

      Kyle had hoped to save the situation; now he saw there was only one way to go. Quick, clean and direct.

      “Chef Chavez,” he said, “you’re fired.”

      “Fired? Rodrigo Chavez?” the chef sputtered. The cake in his fingers teetered wildly. “I am winner of the Soledad Ecole gold medal two years running. You can’t even think of firing me.”