A Holiday Romance. Carrie Alexander

he surveyed the area.

      The air in the room became electric, the employees galvanized. Alice rubbed her palms over the goose bumps on her arms. She swiveled toward the bar. The back of her head and neck tingled as if he’d looked her way.

      “Uh-oh,” Chloe said without moving her lips. “He’s seen me.”

      Alice exhaled. Not me. Of course, not me. “You’d better go on, then. I don’t want to keep you from your job.”

      Chloe slid off the stool. “Have a nice dinner.” She laid her hand on Alice’s arm. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow and we’ll plan your schedule.”

      Alice watched obliquely as Chloe passed the boss with a nodding bounce of her ponytail and a perky, “Good evening, Mr. Jarreau.”

      He returned the nod without smiling.

      He was solemn, but young for such a position of authority. Probably no more than forty, tops. Not that Alice knew much about the ins and outs of resort management, her only experience being the cakes she’d delivered to the White Gull Inn from her best friend Susan’s bakery.

      She tipped forward and caught the straw between her teeth. The tingles returned, but when she flicked her gaze at Mr. Jarreau, he wasn’t looking her way. She wished he’d move. Go away. Prove that there was no cat-and-mouse awareness except in her overheated imagination.

      Suddenly he appeared beside her, leaning past Chloe’s abandoned stool with his hands on the edge of the granite slab of the bar. He pressed forward, flexing tanned forearms beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. “Busy night, Ramon?”

      Loose tie, no cuff links, Alice noted with a shiver. Only a chunky platinum watch around one thick wrist. Chloe had got it wrong.

      The bartender smiled, revealing his white teeth. “The usual, sir. The conference attendees drained five gallons of margarita mix in twenty minutes flat. Chef Chavez is causing a ruckus in the kitchens. Can I get you anything, Mr. Jarreau?”

      “No.” He pushed away from the bar, ran his dangling tie between two fingers. “Yes. I’ll have a whiskey sour. Light on the whiskey. I have an empty stomach.”

      While Ramon busied himself, Jarreau’s glance rested on Alice for a second. She felt overly conscious of her elbows pressed to her ribs and her tongue against her teeth.

       I’m nothing to him. Just another guest. One face among hundreds.

      The thought rankled her. Why was she so dismissive of herself? Had her status as everybody’s helpmate become that ingrained?

      “It’s a beautiful hotel,” she said. Her voice seemed too eager, too bright, if only to herself. “That is, from what I’ve seen so far. I just arrived a few hours ago. Chloe Weston was showing me around.” Now I’m talking too much. “She was very kind and welcoming. A real credit to the resort.”

      “Excellent.” Mr. Jarreau took his drink from the bartender, and Alice didn’t know which of them he was addressing until he raised his glass to her. “Enjoy your stay.”

      “Thanks.” Deep breath. “I’m Alice Potter. From Osprey Island, Maine.”

      “Kyle Jarreau. Pleased to meet you.”

      There was a moment of awkward silence. She felt compelled to fill it. “I know what you’re thinking.” She was plucking words from the whirl of her brain. “Alice Potter is such a nursery rhyme kind of name.”

      “Huh,” he said, half a chuckle.

      The maître d’had appeared at her other elbow. “Your table is ready, Miss Potter.”

      She shot an amused glance at Mr. Jarreau as she disembarked. “You see what I mean?”

      His mouth moved without quite reaching a smile. “Good evening.” One eyebrow tilted. “Miss Potter.”

      Alice laughed and walked away. The swish of her full skirt no longer felt gaudy. It was festive.

      

       K YLE STAYED at the bar in the Manzanita Lounge, ordering a turkey club sandwich from the grill. He chatted with Ramon about hoops and colleges and then college hoops during the bartender’s few quiet moments. That’d show Lani, he thought to himself at one point, even though the gibe felt immature when she was only thinking of his goodwill. His own mother had never been the type to monitor his social progress. She’d rarely even remembered to tell him to eat his vegetables.

      From his position, he could see into the neighboring restaurant. At a distant table, a small one tucked in a corner beside a window, sat Miss Potter. Solo. His eyes returned to her again and again throughout the hour, watching as she alternately stared dreamily out the window and scribbled in a small notebook she set aside only when her dinner was served.

       Alice Potter of Osprey Island, Maine. She was nothing extraordinary. Mild, affable, a little awkward. And yet something about her had engaged his interest.

      Her gentle brown eyes…her tremulous attempt at witty conversation?

      He considered, watching a smile light her face when a waiter arrived with her dessert, a miniature tower of cake drizzled with fruit and chocolate sauce. She studied the plate for a moment, then picked up a fork, pausing only to look around the room with an expectant smile that went unreturned. Her pleasure dimmed as she focused on the dessert.

      Kyle gritted his teeth. Perhaps it was her loneliness that drew him.

      He glanced away, fully aware that his continuing presence had put the lounge employees on edge. They hurried back and forth, giving their patrons one level above the usual top-notch service. None had taken a break to dally at the bar and shoot the breeze with Ramon the way they usually might.

      They would be dying for Kyle to leave already. Not a single one of them would believe that the pressure on him to deliver far outweighed theirs. Some days—and some solitary middle-of-the-nights—he felt as though an elephant sat on his chest.

      He lifted a finger to the bartender, who reacted instantly. The attentiveness meant everything to Kyle. He had command. He’d instilled in the staff a discipline that matched his own. Those things were more important than fleeting gratification or needy personal relationships that only caused trouble.

      Ramon parked his fists on his hips. “Can I get you another, boss?”

      The plate from Kyle’s meal had been removed, but a small pool of alcohol remained in his glass. “No, thanks. One’s my limit.” He crooked a finger. “Tell me…”

      The bartender leaned in.

      “When I leave, will the entire staff go on break at once?”

      After a startled moment, Ramon smiled. “They’ll wait five minutes to be sure you’re gone.”

      Kyle nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He pushed aside a crumpled cocktail napkin, dropped his feet to the floor. “Prepare for the mass exodus.”

      He stood and turned, catching sight of Alice Potter again. A waiter was taking away her dessert plate. She glanced at the other diners, catching her bottom lip with her teeth.

      “I changed my mind,” he said to the young bartender. “Give me two glasses of champagne, please.”

      “Right away.”

      Kyle saw that all charges were added to his account, along with a hefty tip for Ramon, then carried the fine crystal into the restaurant. It had begun to empty out, but a number of patrons lingered over drinks to enjoy the Old World atmosphere.

      Alice Potter was leaning forward on stiff arms as she gazed out the window at the twinkle of the patio lights and the dark sky beyond. She looked up with surprise when Kyle set the champagne flute in front of her.

      “Miss Potter,” he said. “Your first night here deserves to be toasted with champagne. May I join you?”

      Her fingers fluttered to