The One Winter Collection. Rebecca Winters

lowered her voice. ‘Can I ask you something in confidence?’

      His dark brows rose. ‘Sure. Ask away.’

      ‘I’m concerned about the food I’ve got to work with.’

      ‘Concerned?’

      ‘It...it might not be up to scratch.’

      He frowned. ‘I’m not sure what you mean. Aren’t the food supplies being ordered through the Hotel Harbourside restaurant? Ben’s hotel is one of the best places to eat in town.’

      Ben had built the modern hotel on the site of the old guest house. Alongside, he’d built a row of shops, including Bay Books and Bay Bites.

      She winced at Jesse’s understandably defensive tone. But who else could she ask? ‘That’s the problem. I have to tread carefully. But I have to be blunt. The Harbourside is good pub grub. Nothing more. Nothing less. And it’s not up to the standard I want. Not for Bay Bites.’

      * * *

      Lizzie did tend to be blunt. Jesse had noticed that six months ago. Personally, he appreciated her straightforward manner. But not everyone in Dolphin Bay would. No way could the café succeed if Lizzie was going to look down her straight, narrow little nose at the locals. Could she really fit in here?

      ‘But isn’t it just a café?’ he said.

      ‘Just a café? How can you say that?’ Her voice rose with indignation. ‘Because it’s a café doesn’t mean it can’t serve the best food I can possibly offer. Whether I’m cooking in a high-end restaurant or a café, my food will be the best.’ She gave a proud toss to her head that he doubted she even realised she’d made.

      There was a passion and an energy to her that he couldn’t help but admire. But he also feared for her. Small country towns could be brutal on newcomers they thought were too big for their boots.

      ‘You’re not in France now, Lizzie.’

      ‘More small town wisdom for me?’ Her half-smile took the snarkiness out of the comment.

      ‘Some advice—you don’t want to make things too fancy. Not a good idea around here to give the impression you think everything is better in France. Or in Sydney.’

      Her response was somewhere between a laugh and a snort. ‘You seriously think I’m going to transplant fancy French dining to a south coast café and expect it to work? I might have lived in France for years, but I’m still an Aussie girl and I think I’ve got a good idea of what my customers will like.’

      He knew she had a reputation as a talented chef who had established her credentials at a very young age—he wasn’t sure she had the business sense to go with them.

      ‘And that would be?’ he asked.

      ‘The very best ingredients served simply.’ She gave another toss of her head that sent her blonde plait swishing across her back. ‘That’s what I learned in France. Not necessarily at the fine-dining establishments in Paris but in the cafés and markets of Lyon and from the home cooking of Amy’s French grandparents. You know they say the heart of France is Paris, but its stomach is Lyon?’

      ‘I didn’t know that.’ He’d raced through a see-Europe-in-two-weeks type backpacker tour when he was a student that had included Paris and Versailles but that was as far as his knowledge of the country went. ‘My journeys have mainly been of the have-disaster-will-travel type. And the food...well, you wouldn’t want to know about the food.’

      ‘Of course,’ she said, nodding. ‘I remember now you told me about some of the out-of-the-way places you’ve been sent to.’

      She’d seemed so genuinely interested in the work he was doing to rebuild communities. Not once had she voiced concern that he had veered off the career track to big bucks and business success. Other girls had been more vocal. He hadn’t seen the need to explain to them that he’d been fortunate in the land he’d inherited from his grandparents and the investments he’d made. He could afford to work for a charity for as long as it suited him and not have to justify it to anyone.

      Though that might be about to change. The Houston company wanted his expertise and their offer came with a salary that had stunned him with the amount of zeroes.

      ‘So what’s your problem with ordering through the hotel?’ he asked.

      ‘Their suppliers will be fine for the basics and the hotel gives us better buying power. It’s the organic and artisan produce I worked with in Sydney I need to source. Farm to plate stuff. I don’t know where to get it here.’

      ‘Farm to plate? That sounds expensive. Do you really want expensive for the café?’ He looked around at the fresh white décor, the round tables and bentwood chairs, the way the layout had been designed for customers to wander in from the bookshop. It said casual and relaxed to him.

      ‘Actually, farm to plate can be less expensive because you cut out the middle man.’

      ‘That’s a point,’ he said.

      ‘I know ridiculously high prices would be the kiss of death to a café serving breakfast and lunch,’ she said with that combative tilt to her chin that was starting to get familiar in an endearing kind of way.

      ‘It’s good we agree on that one,’ he said.

      ‘But if Bay Bites is to succeed it has to be so much better than the existing cafés around here. What would you prefer—a cheap burger made with a mass-produced beef patty or pay a dollar or two extra for free-range, hand-ground beef? Frozen fries or hand cut fries with home-made mayo?’

      ‘That’s a no-brainer,’ he said, his stomach becoming aware it was lunchtime and rumbling at the thought of the burger. Though the slow-roasted lamb might give it some competition. ‘So you are talking café food, not fancy-schmantzy stuff?’

      ‘Of course I am,’ she said, not hiding her exasperation. ‘I know people will expect the basics.’

      ‘Egg and bacon roll?’ he said hopefully.

      ‘The best you’ve ever tasted. But there will be some more creative options too, depending on seasonal ingredients. And wonderful desserts every day, of course. We’ll do morning and afternoon tea as well as breakfast and lunch.’

      ‘You mentioned apple pie?’ The longing crept into his voice, in spite of himself.

      She nodded with a knowing smile. He’d given himself away. There was no dessert he liked better than apple pie. She’d guessed right again.

      ‘What I’m asking you is how I source that produce without offending Sandy and Ben,’ she said.

      ‘How long is it since you’ve spent any time in Dolphin Bay?’

      ‘There was the wedding. And I drove down to see the building when Sandy first approached me about the café.’

      ‘So basically your memories of the food here are based on when you were sixteen?’ Back when there’d been a fish and chip shop, a short-lived pizza place and the best food in town had been from his mother’s kitchen.

      ‘Well, yes.’

      ‘Better get yourself up to date. This area has become somewhat of a foodie haven.’

      ‘Dolphin Bay?’ Disbelief underscored her words.

      ‘Maybe not the actual town,’ he conceded. ‘But certainly the areas surrounding it. Didn’t you look into that when you did your business plan?’

      She pulled a face that made him want to smile but she was so serious he kept his expression neutral.

      ‘Sandy and Ben did the business plan,’ she said. ‘And they’re dead certain there’s a market for a bookshop café with a harbour view. But I had to finish a work contract in Sydney and didn’t have time to do as much research into the local area as I would have liked.’

      ‘If