Page 95

“No, this is good, thank you.”

She nods and turns to me. “May I get you an Earl Grey latte, Catherine?” she asks.

“No, I can get that, but thank you,” I say. I never take advantage of our waitstaff like that. They are here for the high-end members of our team, not to serve Caleb’s administrative assistant on her weekend off.

“All right,” she says, walking away.

I rise from my seat. “I’ll be right back.” Then I look over at Paloma. “And if you have any questions at any point this weekend about Caleb’s schedule, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

She tucks a lock of her brown hair behind one ear. “I do have one question.”

“Sure,” I say, nodding at her.

“Where did you get that T-shirt? I’m obsessed!” she says. “I have to have one!”

I cannot even explain the joy I feel in this moment. I knew I was right about a women’s line. I knew it!

“I had it made,” I say, smiling back at her. “But if you’d be interested in seeing a shirt like this for women, would you mind telling them at the online store? There’s a contact us form at the bottom of the web page.”

“Subtle,” Caleb says under his breath before taking a sip of coffee.

I ignore him. This is business. I’m going to be ruthless in my campaign to get this item online.

“I will,” Paloma says.

I turn and look at Mason, whose eyes are shining at me. There’s a soft smile on his face, and I can’t help but feel so good knowing how proud he is of everything I’m trying to do to carve out a new path for myself.

I head to the buffet, and this time, the chef has added some locally inspired breakfast items, like Pomidor çığırtması—the sign next to it says it’s slow-cooked eggs with tomatoes. I take a good helping of that, and flaky tandir bread, then put some clotted cream on my plate next to it, with a drizzle of honey over the cream.

Perfect.

Then I swing by the barista station, where Sydney smiles at me. “The usual? Coffee or tea?”

“You are a gem,” I tell her. “Coffee, please. I’ll come back and get it in a few minutes.”

She laughs. “I’ve got you.”

Sydney truly does. She is grace under pressure, remembers orders, and always has a smile on her face. She makes the motorhome a brighter place.

I make my way back to the table, taking my seat across from Mason.

“What’s that?” he asks, inclining his head towards my plate.

“Slow-cooked eggs and tomatoes,” I say. “It’s from the locally inspired section of the buffet.” I go on to explain the rest of the items on my plate.

“Let me have some of those eggs,” Mason says.

I pick up my fork and put them on the edge of his plate. We both try them at the same time, and oh my God, this is so good. The slow-roasted tomatoes are delicious, bursting with flavour, and I taste butter, too. The eggs are soft and fluffy. I’m going to have to learn to make this at home.

“Mmm, that is good,” Mason says after he finishes his bite.

“Right?” I’m about to slather my bread with the clotted cream when Caleb speaks.

“Your mum’s here,” he says to Mason.

I freeze, my eyes instinctively going to the entrance of the motorhome. Sure enough, Sarah Clark is here.

Mason looks over his shoulder, spots her, and puts his hand up in a wave. When she sees us, her whole face lights up, and she begins to make her way over to where we are sitting. Mason turns back around and looks at me. “You can’t break up with me no matter what she says,” he deadpans.