Page 111 of What Happens in Paradise

‘En serio?’ I raised my eyebrow. I was not averse to the idea, though. I loved Jasmine so much, I would do anything for her.

‘I was joking… sort of! I don’t know how, but think of a way to win her back. It’s not too late.’

Maybe there was still a chance.

I had never been one to give up easily, and I was not going to start now.

Right then, I decided I was going to find a way to win Jasmine over.

I loved her and did not want to let her go.

But first, I needed to get her job back.

42

JASMINE

The oven timer sounded, interrupting the music playing in the background. I’d lost count of how often I’d listened to this playlist today.

After what happened, I’d stopped playing it because it brought back too many memories of my time in Jamaica. But today was a new day. I didn’t want to forget those memories. I wanted to look back on them fondly, no matter how painful it was to be reminded of what I’d lost.

As I opened the door and slid the baking tin out, I held my breath.

This was my fourth attempt at trying to bake the pineapple and coconut cake. Because I didn’t have a recipe, I had to try and guess the ingredients and quantities.

I used too much oil in the first one. The second one tasted awful Ithinkbecause I was over enthusiastic with the amount of flour and I burned the third one, so I had everything crossed that it’d be fourth time lucky.

It actually didn’t look too bad and the scent of pineapple and coconut flooded my kitchen, which looked like a bomb had hit it.

Although I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning up, as I rested the tin on the hob, I felt a sense of pride. Baking a cake wouldn’t be a big achievement for most people. But for someone who’d been repeatedly told for years that they were rubbish at anything cooking-related, it felt good.

I knew I was supposed to wait for it to cool down, but I was anxious to know if it was any good, so I sliced a small piece off the edge.

Fingers crossed…

That actually tasted really good!

Alejandro would be proud of me. At least I hoped he would, seeing as I’d baked it for him.

It’d been an interesting week. After my chat with Stella, I’d showered, gone shopping, prepared some pasta and cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. Then I’d started working on my email to Celine: the founder of the Love Hotel.

I explained everything. How apprehensive I was about being sent away with Alejandro to Jamaica knowing I had feelings for him. How determined I was to keep things professional. How hard we both fought to keep our distance. And how much I’d fallen in love with him.

I’d also stressed that whilst battling through all of those emotions, I’d still delivered what was asked of me and gone above and beyond the call of duty. Like I’d always done at the Love Hotel.

As well as pleading my own case, I’d spent hours creating a separate presentation on Alejandro. I detailed all the hard work he’d done on the trip, spoken about how much the guests raved about his food and why he was an asset to the Love Hotel brand. I’d even included a gallery of photos I’d taken of his food.

I inserted screenshots and photos of the many messages and cards I’d received from happy guests, plus listed dozens of testimonials.

And I also added a document on our experiences with Bob and why I felt he was worthy of a permanent role at the Jamaican resort.

I threw everything at that email. Poured my heart and soul into it. I’d lost count of how many hours I’d spent overall, but when I’d hit send at three in the morning, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

I’d sent it a week ago and hadn’t received a reply yet, but I wasn’t going to give up. If I hadn’t heard from her in a few more days, I’d visit the head office and try and set up a face-to-face appointment. I’d met Celine before and she seemed lovely and down to earth, so I was sure I could find a way to get her to see me. And if I couldn’t, I’d try another approach. I wasn’t giving up until I’d exhausted every possible avenue.

After pouring the pineapple juice over the cake, I picked up my attempt at a peace-making sign which readI’m so sorryin big, red letters. I’d drawn it out onto some card earlier, coloured it in, cut it out, then attached it to two toothpicks ready to insert into the cake.

All week, I’d been wracking my brain, trying to think of a way to get in touch with Alejandro to apologise and the idea finally hit me last night.

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