Page 9 of Moonlit Harbor Nights

Vivian patted her hand. “I might be getting older, but I’ve still got plenty of spring in my step. I love this pub, and I’ve never minded rolling up my sleeves and getting to work here.”

“I know.” Alexis smiled at her mother. “Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay? That’s what teamwork is for.”

“Mm, but the members of my team also have cause for taking a break if they need it. Particularly a certain pregnant waitress I know.”

Alexis laughed. “I’ll take a break if I need to. Right now, I’m doing great. But thanks, Mom.”

Vivian went back out into the dining room, to the beverage and condiments console that was tucked into a corner of the room. She started to marry ketchup bottles, so that the ones they had out on the tables would be full and the empty ones could be refilled from the large ketchup containers that were in storage. She stacked the ketchup bottles on top of each other with the openings touching, so that the ketchup from the top bottle would travel down into the one beneath.

She was doing several at once, and as she turned toward the sink in the console to dampen a paper towel, one of the upper ketchup bottles began to topple and veer toward the floor.

“Oh no!” she cried, but before the bottle had fully tumbled off the counter, it was caught by a man.

“I think you dropped this,” he said, smiling.

She blinked at him, surprised by how attractive she found him. He was a middle-aged man, but he exuded a youthful energy that she found appealing. He had dark blond hair that was flecked with gray, especially at the temples, and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were a light brown, and he was wearing a trim dark brown cashmere sweater that gave him a polished appearance.

She felt herself flush a little and she laughed breathlessly. “Oh my,” she said, shaking her head. “Thank you for catching that.”

He grinned. “You seem to be doing a lot of things at once there. Maybe you should slow down.”

He spoke in a deep voice that had a charming lilt to it. His eyes danced as he spoke to her, and he treated her as though they’d been friends for years, even though she didn’t remember ever having seen him before.

She laughed, wondering why he made her feel a bit giddy. She forced herself to adopt a composed expression, not wanting to let on that her emotions felt a little bit like a Ferris wheel starting to spin around.

“Doing a lot of things at once comes with the territory of being a restaurant owner,” she said, smiling politely. “We have to be able to multitask in order to stay on top of everything.”

“You’re the owner, huh?” He looked impressed. “Well, I have to say that the best type of boss is the kind that doesn’t mind helping out with the side work.”

She laughed. “I think it’s important for owners and managers to be willing to get their hands dirty along with their employees. Besides, it keeps me fit and young.”

“I can see that. It also keeps your reflexes in check.” He winked at her.

“Most of the time.” She winked back at him.

What am I doing?she asked herself in surprise.Am I flirting with him? Oh my goodness.

All at once, she noticed that there was a speck of ketchup on the sleeve of his sweater.

“Oh no, there’s a little ketchup on your sleeve. Just one moment, let me fix it for you.”

“There is?” he asked in surprise as she rushed to dampen the paper towel she’d been holding so that she could clean it off for him.

“Yes,” she said, having to repress a smile. She was shocked by how pleasantly flustered she was still feeling. “Here, I can?—”

“Oh, certainly. Thank you very much.” He held out his arm so that she could clean the ketchup off his sleeve. She dabbed the paper towel against the fabric of the sweater, and the ketchup smear was soon no longer visible.

“There,” she said. “Good as new. It’s a lucky thing you were wearing that nice dark color, and not something like white or light blue.”

She found herself thinking that he would look very nice in light blue, with his light brown eyes and his sandy-colored hair…

“That’s very true. That would have been a disaster.” He chuckled.

“Can I ask your name?” she said, tossing the ketchup-smeared paper towel into the trash can.

“Alan Gifford,” he said, offering his hand for a handshake.

She took it and he shook her hand firmly. “Vivian Owens. Very pleased to meet you. I’d like to offer you lunch—on the house. For your trouble.”

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