~ Follow That Dream ~

by

Shelley Munro

“The applicants have started to arrive.”

Rose paused in her task of preparing a cheese board and glanced over at her waitress.

“What do they look like, Susan? Any good ones?” She mentally crossed her fingers then added her toes to the equation--she felt that desperate. There was no way she could ask her existing staff to work more hours or work longer herself. It just wasn’t possible.

“There are three.”

The finger crossing had failed. Rose sighed as she added the finishing garnish and handed the platter to Susan. She didn’t care if the applicants were male or female. All she wanted was a person capable of doing the job. One who turned up on time and intended to stay at least until Rose left for Paris early next year. Julie’s problem after that, Rose acknowledged, with a wry twist of lips. Not too much to ask, surely? Unfortunately, pickings were slim during the months leading up to Christmas.

“Susan, after you’ve delivered the cheese to table three, can you show the applicants to the booths near my office? Tell them I’ll be ready in about ten minutes. Oh, and get them to fill out an application form for me. There’s a pile in the top drawer in my desk.”

Susan nodded. “Okay.”

“Thanks,” Rose murmured, and she wondered what the applicants looked like. The suspense proved too much. The minute Susan left, Rose peeked through the door to check out her prospective kitchen hands cum dishwashers. Fudge, she thought. Too slow. They were already following Susan out to the back dining area, and all she caught was a glimpse of denim blue. She turned back to work, plating up an antipasto.

Chef grimaced a facsimile of a smile in her direction. “Susan didn’t say much.”

And she had an opinion about everything, Rose ended Chef’s sentence silently. Rose shrugged and then toted up the bill for table seven without comment. She delivered it with a smile and a few laughing words for her guests then hurried back to the kitchen to help Chef finish the clean up for the lunch session.

The bare bones of the situation. She had to employ one of these applicants and hang onto them like grim death until the holiday season ended. Somehow. They were booked solid with pre-Christmas functions.

Susan sashayed into the kitchen and grinned at both Rose and Chef. “Another applicant has turned up. And he’s a real babe!” Susan crowed her eyes alight with anticipation.

Oh-oh, Rose thought. She aimed a smile at the university student who worked for her part-time. “Guess I’d better cross his name off the list. He’d be too much of a distraction. If this is your reaction then I’d hate to see Bridget’s.” She was only half-joking, having learnt from experience that disaster lurked in romance between staff members, especially when the flame went out as it invariably did. Applicant number four had a black mark against his name before she even eyeballed him herself.

“Oh, boss! Live a little, will you?” She handed Rose the four application forms.

Rose’s mouth set in annoyance, and her thoughts wandered to Mark and his rocket of an announcement. Live a little! She was trying to, but everyone around her seemed determined to conspire against her dreams of living a little. A grandmother at forty! She shook her head, memories of Mark’s announcement still packing a punch. “I’ll interview the applicants in the same order they arrived,” she said. “Which is number one?”

“This one,” Susan said, and she arranged the application forms in order of arrival. “Have fun, Rose,” she said, one eye closing in a playful wink. “Boy, are you in for a treat.”

The babe, Rose surmised. Another black mark. “I’ll be in my office, if you need me,” she said to Chef. “Susan, send the first one through, please.”

In her office, Rose rearranged the papers littering the top of her desk. A thump sounded on her door, and Rose glanced down at the top application form to check the man’s name. “Come in,” she said. She looked up and watched the man shuffle through the door.

“George?” Rose asked with one brow arched. “George Washington?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

Rose bit her lip to stem the urgent need to laugh. “Right. Have a seat, George.”

The stooped, gray-haired man shuffled further into her office and dropped into the seat Rose indicated. Once seated, he leaned back and grinned at her. A glint of gold sparkled from one front tooth. “My Mama liked the way the names went together. Said they sounded just right, you know? Like they fitted.”

This time suppressing the smile proved more difficult. “Um, yes,” Rose said. “Quite. Tell me a bit about yourself, Mr. Washington. Do you have experience as a kitchen hand?”

“Call me Washy, Miss. All my friends do. I used to be in the Navy. Retired now but I worked in the galley. Traveled the world, I have. Sailed the Pacific, the Atlantic, been across the Tasman more times than I can recall. Originally from Sydney but haven’t lived there for years now. I--”

“That’s a lot of travel.” Rose fought down the feeling of envy and inserted a quick question while he took a breath. “Where did you work last? Do you have references?”

“The Goat Tavern in Kensington High Street. That’s London, Miss. Did the dishes there.” He pulled several rumpled sheets from his shirt pocket and handed them to Rose, continuing his running commentary at the same time on his work history.

Rose rubbed at her temple as she skimmed through his references. They looked okay but she knew Washy and Chef would develop a personality conflict. Washy would drive Chef mad in one short session if this chatter proved characteristic.

Rose interrupted Washy mid-spiel. “Thank you, Mr. Washington. These look fine. I have a few applicants to interview this afternoon. I’ll ring you tomorrow and let you know if you have the job.”

“Right you are, Miss.” He shuffled out.

The second applicant had pink and green hair, sculpted in peaks and valleys that should have defied gravity. Rose had difficulty keeping her mind on the interview as she contemplated the strength of gel her second applicant would need to maintain that fashionable look in a busy, steamy-hot kitchen.

Hallelujah! Rose thought as she glimpsed her third applicant. Someone normal. Young enough to fit in with the rest of her team. Rose read through his references. Polite, well spoken, with good references. Who could ask for more? She felt the urge to hug him on the spot. Exuberant, she showed him out and promised to ring him the next morning.

Susan sent in the last applicant. Number four... Rose blinked. Tall, blond, bronzed--he paused for a moment in the doorway and smiled. The smile hiked her pulse rate and sent her stomach swooping. Their gazes caught and held. The world stopped spinning. Her heart stalled, missing a beat before taking off with the speed of a Formula One racecar. Good grief, woman. Rose ripped her gaze away and worked at controlling her sudden attack of nerves.

“Good afternoon,” he said in a low husky voice that strummed along her exposed nerve endings.

Her gaze shot to his again, but she saw nothing but the friendly smile. And glowing brown eyes that she’d like to drown in... Rose stiffened, biased against him further even though she knew she shouldn’t judge by appearances.

“Take a seat,” she said, her tone clipped, impatient almost. Get a grip, she warned herself. You aren’t being fair. She sat and looked down at the application to hide her reaction. This would never do. If he caused this surge in her pulse then what havoc would he unleash on her female staff?

Rose glanced at him, screening her disapproval with lowered lashes. He lounged, comfortable with the silence and her covert observation. Ruthlessly short blond hair highlighted his well-shaped head while brown eyes sparkled with intelligence. The strong chiseled planes of his face saved him from looking too pretty, she decided. His nose was straight, maybe a little on the large side, if she wanted to be picky. His mouth wreathed in a polite smile and highlighted a set of distracting dimples.

The smile widened, and Rose’s perusal of his charms ground to an abrupt halt. For once, she agreed with Susan. She gave herself a quick lecture. Best she get on with this interview instead of mooning at him like a teenage girl in the throes of a crush.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said. Rose felt pleased with the firm tone of her voice. At least to all external appearances, she sounded in total control. Inside, to her astonishment, nerves jangled with the desperate need to run and hide. As if this man endangered her life. Or her dream, a little voice whispered inside her head.

“My name is Sean MacNamara. I’m twenty nine, nearly thirty...”

The accent struck a chord, reminding her of the man in the park. Not another American, she thought, pushing aside her guilt at the way she had behaved in the park. What was this? An epidemic? Rose glanced at his application. “Do you have a visa to work in New Zealand?”

“I have a New Zealand passport,” he said. “My father was born in New Zealand.”

Another one. It was an outbreak. Rose nodded and fired a couple more questions about work experience. As he replied in a deep smoky voice, she couldn’t help but stare at his mouth and let her thoughts wonder, what if?

Aware of a sudden silence, Rose jerked her head up and saw, to her chagrin, he’d caught her in the act. Her face flamed, turning hot enough to fry eggs, and quick smart, she directed her gaze at the application form on her desk instead. Rose had no doubts the man was qualified--in more ways than she wanted to know, she thought darkly.

“Thank you, Mr. MacNamara. I’ll contact you tomorrow to let you know if your application is successful.”

“Thank you.” He flashed a quick smile, stood, and closed the door after him.

The jeans looked just as good from the rear. The ache in her lungs reminded her to breathe. “Wow,” she muttered, feeling dazed by the memory seared in her mind. Talk about temptation on two legs. The man had a body that matched his memorable face. No wonder she’d experienced the moment of pure panic. Marriage to Tony had taught her a valuable lesson about good-looking men. They believed the world owed them. They weren’t to be trusted! She breathed a sigh of relief. The panicked sensation was caused by her internal alarm system sounding a warning against drop-dead gorgeous men. Nothing more.

Susan burst through the door. “Rose, have you decided?”

“Number three,” Rose declared.

Susan’s face fell. “Oh, but--”

“Number three.”

“Oh, well.” Susan sighed loudly. “Number four probably has a girlfriend anyway.”