Page 21 of Room for Improvement

He took a few more steps into the café then stopped. A deep intake of breath confirmed what his eyes were telling him was sadly lacking. There was no enticing aroma of eggs or freshly cooked bacon. No hint of herbed mushrooms.

“Where is the breakfast buffet?” he muttered under his breath.

Everyone knew that holidays and hotel retreats meant a large plate and several trips to the various tables and bain-maries with their warm and delicious delights. Every single resort he had ever managed had prided itself on offering an extensive breakfast menu. If guests didn’t go home having put on a pound or two, he was failing at his job as a hotelier.

Bryce caught the attention of a passing waiter. “Excuse me, is this where I come for breakfast?”

Perhaps he had it wrong and the main dining room was where crispy hashbrowns and roasted tomatoes could be found. Where mountains of freshly baked muffins rose high into the sky.

“Yes sir.” The harried looking waiter pointed at a chalk board pinned high on the wall. “That’s the breakfast menu. If you join the queue at the counter, you should be able to order, then find yourself a seat.”

“What about table service?”

The waiter half snorted, half laughed in response. “There is no table service, sir. We only have three staff rostered for breakfast each morning, and I’m barely keeping up with clearing away plates.”

Bryce’s fingers itched to grab his phone, hit speed dial, and call his brother. What the devil did Jordan think he was doing having guests lining up to order breakfast? And why were only three people working?

What part of luxury resorts did Jordan not understand?

Getting angry on an empty stomach wasn’t a good idea. He joined the end of the queue. The café was busy. Bryce dreaded to think what this place would look like on a long weekend or during the holiday season. It would be chaos.

Just add it to the report for the board.

A tap on his shoulder had Bryce turning round. His gaze landed on the top of a mop of light brown hair. The owner of the golden locks lifted her face, and his heart gave a happy leap of joy. It was the woman from the beach last night. She of the nice pasta and the unfinished drink.

My barefoot, sunset admiring, twin.

“Good morning,” she said, offering him a cheery greeting. Her bright face spoke of someone who had slept well. Whose life wasn’t beset with half the troubles he had to contend with today.

Maybe her subdued mood last night really was just fatigue.

“Good morning to you, too. Did you manage to get down to the beach and see the sunrise?”

She laughed. “You have got to be kidding. I watched the sunrise from the comfort of my bed. I only volunteer to do super early starts if there is a vacation flight involved or I have partied through to the dawn.”

He drank in her delight. “And how often do you party through to the morning?”

She slowly shook her head. “Not in a long time. Once you hit twenty seven, your body starts punishing you for alcohol and sleep deprived transgressions.”

A smile found its way to his lips. It wasn’t just her khaki shorts and pale pink t-shirt which were cute.

This woman is lovely. The day is looking up.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Vivian wasn’t about to admit to anyone, least of all a stranger, that the last time she had pulled an all-nighter was for an old job at a gaming magazine who needed someone to cover the New York Comic Con. Mister Hottie in his couture resort wear didn’t seem the type to appreciate the attention to detail which went into the fine art of cosplay.

She nodded toward the chalkboard menu. “I’m thinking the breakfast burrito, what about you?”

His brows knitted in confusion, then he softly chuckled. “A burrito for breakfast. Tell me we are in America without telling me we are in America.”

The gentle throb which had pulsed in her sex when she first spotted this handsome man, returned. She had encountered this friendly stranger only a couple of times, but he certainly had an effect on her. The memory of what she had done with her little battery operated friend just thinking about this guy late last night had heat burning on her cheeks.

I think I might be about to test the theory as to whether you can actually die of embarrassment.

He held out his hand. “Bryce Jones, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Vivian shyly took his hand. “Vivian Holte.”

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