Chapter 7 #2
Mercy me. Turning so the ladies could not see her face, Victoria began rearranging napkins and signs that did not need her attention. Somehow she had to save Uncle Vinny from this embarrassment.
The bubble lights on the tree went into one of their blinking cycles. Victoria rubbed her forehead. The ladies paid Darla and left. Gradually, the place emptied out.
“What do you think of that conversation about your uncle?” Maisy cast her a doleful glance.
“I think I’d better do something.”
But right now she had other things on her mind. She looked over the delicacies in her case, from the potato bacon salad to the orzo. The meals were certainly different from the food Dr. Darling’s people were serving. Anything that brought her mind back to the clinic made her smile.
She couldn’t decide what to wear for her volunteer work the following morning. Nervous energy sent her into the kitchen. Emily had given her some cookie recipes. Opening the top drawer, Victoria snapped them up. How hard could this be? She was about to find out.
When she came through the door of the Open Hearth Clinic the following morning, every eye in the place turned to watch.
She’d gone to great lengths to fit in. Okay, her jeans were from a well known designer and so were her smoking hot black boots and a white, long-sleeved t-shirt.
The day was cool so she’d grabbed a Michael Kors black leather jacket on the way out.
But no one cared about her clothes. The huge bakery box was the center of attention. Well, for most of them. Dr. D. stood in the office door, his eyes focusing on her jeans.
“Lookie here, Dr. D.,” one gentleman called over, sniffing as she passed. “This nice lady’s brought us a present.”
“Sure smells good.” Big Mac drew closer, with Friskie dancing at his heels.
“Think you can give this to Phyllis?” She held out the box. “I don’t see her.”
“She’s in the kitchen.” Giving her one of his smiles, Big Mac said, “I sure will give this to her.”
Aw. That man melted her heart. Looking everywhere but at Dr. D.
, she surrendered the cookies to Big Mac.
The samples she’d brought were her own baking efforts.
Last night she’d eaten a couple and didn’t get sick.
The sand tarts and chocolate thinsies must be okay.
Phyllis bustled in from the kitchen. “So you came back. Nice to see you again, Miss Victoria.”
“I’m here to volunteer. You know, for the article I’m writing.” Victoria felt so darn nervous. Good thing Big Mac had taken the cookies or she would have dropped the box.
Eyes twinkling, Phyllis nodded. “Follow me. Let's get you an apron.”
Happy to escape the main room, she followed Phyllis into the kitchen.
Snagging an apron from one of the hooks on the wall, she handed it to Victoria.
This old thing wasn’t at all like the pretty green aprons she wore at her shop.
Maybe they needed some branding. Something color-coordinated.
But glancing around, she couldn’t tell what the color scheme was here.
Slipping off her leather jacket, Victoria hung it on the hook. Then she pulled the apron over her head, being careful not to destroy her hairdo. After all she wanted to look her best. She’d taken time with a French braid in back so she could sweep it into her hair net.
“What’s going on?” Dr. Darling poked his head in the door.
Looking cuter than ever, he was wearing a blue oxford cloth shirt rolled up on strong forearms. That white lab coat had been hiding way too much.
There was something about the way he wore those jeans that told her he might be athletic. But maybe she was just crazed.
Was she imagining that quick but thorough sweep of his eyes? Did he give her jeans a second look? This simple outfit probably looked like something she’d thrown on, but it had taken her hours to decide and she’d changed twice.
“Miss Victoria brought us some cookies. Isn't that nice?” Phyllis got busy arranging the cookies on a plate.
Coming closer, Dr. Darling peeked at the cookies. “Did you make these?”
“Of course. They’re from my shop in Sweetwater Creek. Victoria’s Pantry.”
The curious way he tilted his head kept her babbling. “Leftovers. I mean, they might be a little stale.” She’d better hedge her bets in case he didn’t like them.
Whisking one from the tray, he bit down.
The sand tart broke easily. Smiling, he chewed and swallowed.
“Doesn't taste stale to me.” Powdered sugar had caught in the corners of his lips.
Her fingertips tingled to brush it away, but his tongue made short work of it.
Victoria steadied herself against the counter.
Then he eyed her apron. “What’s with the apron?”
“We’re going to put Miss Victoria to work,” Phyllis offered.
“Sure thing. I’ll be a server.”
“Uh, huh.” His square jar shifted. “Are you willing to work wherever you’re needed?”
“Of course.” Was he thinking of his office, where he saw patients? Maybe she should get a nurse’s uniform. She’d have to look into that.
But Dr. Darling pointed to the heaps of dishes piled next to the sink. “Have at it. We’re running behind and need clean plates.”
Behind her, Phyllis gave a soft gasp. Were Dr. Darling’s shoulders shaking as he pivoted and headed for the door? For a second she was tempted to throw a wet sponge after him.
But no way would she let him get her down. “Where’s the dishwasher, Phyllis?” Victoria scanned the kitchen.
“We don’t have one.”
What? The floor seemed to shift under her. “No dishwasher? How do you manage?”
“Elbow grease, Miss Victoria.” Shaking her head, Phyllis pointed to a bottle of blue soap. “That man. I don't know what's gotten into him.”
“Don’t worry.” She could hardly push the words through her numb lips. “I can handle it.”
“Do what you can, Miss Victoria.” Was Phyllis doubting her ability to wash dishes? “Stack them to the side. If I get a chance, I'll come in and help you dry. The clean plates go over there.” She nodded to a long table where three clean plates sat.
With that, Phyllis left. Looking around, Victoria shook her head. Man, and here she’d thought her kitchen in her apartment was outdated. This place with prehistoric. No wonder they needed donors.
The heap of dishes looked disgusting. Had she ever washed a dish in her life? Maribelle had taken care of all that.
A wave of indecision left her uneasy. For just a second, she was so tempted to scoot out the back door. Why did she need to please Dr. Darling?
But this wasn’t about him. Not anymore. This was about her staying power.
Sure she’d dropped out of Speech class in college because she didn’t want to talk in front of a group of people.
But later, she’d felt terrible when the other kids asked why she wasn’t in class anymore.
Words like “prima donna” and “spoiled rotten” had been said behind her back but not out of earshot. Those words hurt.
So she was staying. No way was she walking out and she tied her apron tighter.
Victoria was not going to see that smile of satisfaction on Derek Darling’s face.
No, she was going to prove him wrong. When she squirted soap into the sink, some splashed and hit her right in her good eye.
Blinking fiercely didn’t help a bit. The darn soap stung.
She just kept blinking. Gradually, the stinging eased while she was poking around looking for rubber gloves.
Anytime she’d seen Maribelle washing pans or platters, she was wearing gloves.
No such luck. Onward. She grabbed the sponge.
The dishes were disgusting. Dried potatoes and eggs clung to them. Of course there was no garbage disposal. But there was a tall trash can. She pulled it over and began to scrape to the tune of “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas.”
Before too long she had a system going, washing dishes one dozen at a time.
First she washed twelve plates. Then she dried them.
Because they were so darn heavy, she had to take them over to the side table in groups of four.
She laughed, picturing the horror on her mother's face if she saw her daughter heaving dishes around.
“How are you doing?” Phyllis poked her head in a little bit later. Although it might be cool outside, this kitchen was burning up. Wiping one arm over her face, Victoria had gotten makeup on her white shirt. Stray curls had escaped her French braid. She was a mess.
“Not to worry. Everything’s going fine.”
Phyllis glanced toward the stacks of plates. “Great job. We need these dishes bad.” Grabbing a few, she hustled back out. Watching her leave, Victoria felt a curious sense of satisfaction. Her daddy hadn't bought his way into this one for her. Maybe that was what was making her feel so darn good.
That light-headed giddiness didn’t last long.
Her shoulders and neck began to ache. Maybe she’d have to book a massage with Kim on her way home.
She hated to think of what this hot water was doing to her manicure.
Once in a while she pulled out a dripping hand and held out her fingers.
Cindy, her nail tech, would be horrified.
The silverware was something else, and she’d left that until last. “You have to use one of the scrubbers,” Phyllis told her, pointing under the sink during one of her trips into the kitchen.
Seizing the scouring pad she attacked the silverware. On one of her trips back into the kitchen, Phyllis discovered her singing to “Jingle Bell Rock.” The older woman smiled. “It’s nice to have some young folks around here. You’ve got a lot of spirit. I’ll give you that.”
Warmth unfurled inside Victoria. Phyllis left. Turning up the radio, Victoria went back to dancing and singing.
“What’s going on?” The unmistakable deep voice made her whirl around. Dr. Darling was smiling? Really? A blush heated her cheeks.
“Am I making too much noise?” She’d never been known for her singing. “I’m just scrubbing dishes.”
That stinker. He had the nerve to laugh. “Victoria Pomeroy washing dishes,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “Maybe we should take a picture for the Sweetwater Gazette.”
Irritated beyond belief by the tone, she stabbed a soapy finger his way. “Don't you dare, Dr. D.”
He dipped his head. “Call me Derek.”
“Derek Darling?” She kind of liked the sound of that.
“Just Derek.”
When he pinned her with his eyes, she didn't know who had the redder face––her or “Just Derek.”
The kitchen got even warmer when he came closer, as if someone had opened an oven door and the broiler was on. “Is your eye bothering you again?”
She blinked. “No. Well, yes. I got soap in it.” Whirling around, she found no mirror on the wall. “This place needs a few improvements.”
“You think?” he said in the sassiest way ever. Putting his mug on the sink, he lifted his arms. “Stand still. Please.” The last was an afterthought and they both knew it.
“I’m fine really. Well, almost.” It wasn’t bad having Dr. Darling fuss over her. His fingers were gentle on her cheek. Should she be worried that she felt that soft touch dip down into her tummy and twist? Maybe she should see a reflexologist.
“Look up. Look down. Turn around.”
Like an idiot, she turned around and came back to find him laughing. “Are you messing with me?” The man was exasperating.
“Yes, I’m messing with you. Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.” His gray eyes had flecks of blue in them.
So he was out of control around her? She liked that idea. “When are you going to get a dishwasher? Is this place that...deprived?”
“Deprived?” With a disgusted shake of his head, Derek picked up his mug. “We’re on a tight budget. This is a clinic, not a property on some house tour.”
The old Dr. D. was back. His disgust brought a quick chill to the room. She felt terrible and it must have shown.
“Sorry, Victoria. That was uncalled for. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Raking one hand through his hair, he was actually apologizing. Wow. That was a new one. “We need more donors. Someone who can drum up money for equipment, medicine...and just about everything in between.”
“I guess so.” She felt his frustration. Throwing the towel on the sink, she whisked the apron off over her head.
He watched her hang the apron on a hook. “Didn’t mean to chase you away.”
She glanced at the clock. “I have to get back to my shop. The lunch hour gets busy.”
“Of course.” Dr. D. looked off balance. “How’s that article coming?”
“Article?” Her mind blanked and his expression changed. The cautious respect thinned into frustration.
Oh, no, Dr. D. Don’t throw me under the bus so fast. “Working on it. I’ll let you know before they run it.” She had some serious work to do.
“Right. Sure.”
He didn’t believe her. And he was leaving. While disappointment and anger churned inside Victoria, he tipped his head to one side. That morning scruff on his chin was a good look. “You planning on coming back again?”
Not on your life. But that was the old Victoria. The Victoria who would run in another direction if things didn't turn out the way she planned.
“Of course I am. What do you think?” That was her anger speaking and he knew it.
“Okay, then.” He managed a hesitant smile. “See you later.”
On the radio, José Feliciano was wailing away on “Feliz Navidad.” Pulling on her leather jacket, she moved to the music. Maybe she should try to learn Spanish some time.
That seemed as possible as getting her article in the paper.
When she finally made it to her car fifteen minutes later, she adjusted her rearview mirror and got a glimpse of her eyes. Holy Mascara, Batman. She was a total mess.
But she’d had a great morning.
Washing dishes. Go figure.
And flirting with Dr. Darling, aka, Just Derek.
Ho–ho–ho.