Chapter 8
Victoria’s high spirits lasted until she reached Sweetwater Creek.
Pulling in behind the building, she took a breath.
She cracked open the door and got out. Every muscle in her body ached––her neck, her back and even her legs felt sore from bending over that sink.
She felt like the Tin Man who needed more oil.
Whoever heard of a kitchen without a dishwasher?
But as she stood there under the liveoaks with dry leaves rustling overhead and a cool breeze wafting up from the bay, she felt good.
Satisfied. She liked Phyllis a lot. Big Mac had come in to check on her a couple of times.
Friskie even checked on her, sniffing around like he was searching for more green beans.
When she pushed open the back door of her shop, the sound of Christmas music carried from the front.
Her achy muscles eased. Hanging her black leather jacket up in her office, she went out front.
The sweet smell of pine tickled the back of her throat.
Maisy stood chatting with Miss Charlotte and her friends. The other tables were filled as well.
“Where have you been?” Maisy gave her a curious glance.
Self conscious, she ran a hand over her slacks. She must looked a mess. “Just helping out at the clinic in Amblebury.”
Maisy’s curiosity turned to disbelief, as if Victoria had just announced she’d become a snake charmer in the carnival. “What did you do over there?”
“Whatever needs doing.” Oh, wasn’t that brave? The truth was, she’d felt totally out of her comfort zone. And Dr. Darling knew that so of course she couldn’t fail. She would not let him get that satisfaction. “You know, doing dishes in the back.”
“You washed dishes?” Maisy’s jaw dropped. “But not by hand, right?”
“Of course, by hand. The place is old. No budget to speak of so they don't have a dishwasher. Some places don’t, you know.”
“Of course I know that. But I didn’t realize you did.”
Victoria felt proud of herself. To avoid Maisy’s scrutiny she took quick inventory of the cookies and trotted to the back for some refills, with Maisy trailing behind.
This morning had been a revelation. When she thought about her kitchen here at the pantry or in her apartment above, she almost laughed.
She owned every gleaming gadget a kitchen could have.
Knowing how to work them was another thing entirely.
“The Open Hearth Clinic operates on a shoestring budget.” Her notes came back to her.
“You amaze me sometimes, Victoria.” That was all Maisy could say?
“I hope that’s a good thing.” The comment brought a grin from her employee. “Did you find the cookies I baked?”
“You mean the ones with all the powdered sugar? You made those?”
“Yes, I did and don’t sound so surprised.” She was enjoying this.
“Darla and I thought Santa had left them.” Maisy nodded to some boxes piled on the counter. “A shipment came in with some of your Christmas items.”
“Thank goodness. Next year I'll have to order all that stuff way in advance. Can you put that on your Christmas list?” Delegate, delegate.
“Sure thing. I’m ready to label them if you give me the pricing.” Maisy grinned.
“Done. I’ll get the sheet to you.”
The longer they worked together, the more admiration Victoria had for Maisy. Seeing the group at the Open Hearth Clinic and how they joked together and got along had inspired her. Her time at the sink gave her greater appreciation for the worker bees of the world.
She checked the few cookie sheets left in the racks.
Their stock was selling fast. “Would you double the order for gingerbread men, the Santas and maybe some extra spritz cookies? Whatever people like the most. If I have time, I’ll probably be baking more.
I enjoyed it.” Her voice lifted with surprise.
Maisy grabbed a pad of paper. But as she wrote, Victoria didn't miss the astonishment on her face. “Are you thinking sales will double as we get closer to Christmas?”
“These are for the clinic.” Maybe she was turning into a do-gooder after all.
“The clinic, huh?” Surprise sparked in Maisy’s eyes.
“Yeah, I know. What the heck am I doing, right? But it's all a tax write off. At least, that’s what my daddy would say.” Victoria laughed. Daddy would never believe it if he saw her at that sink.
“You amaze me.” Scooping up the boxes, Maisy disappeared.
Glancing at the clock, Victoria realized she was famished.
Must have been all that hard work this morning.
Rubbing her sore right shoulder, she wished she had time for a massage this week.
Slapping together a ham and cheese sandwich on rye, she couldn’t help but look around her kitchen with new respect.
The stove that was designed for restaurants.
The huge double-door refrigerator. And the farmer’s sink that could fit large baking sheets.
What a laugh compared to the plain shelf sink in the back of the clinic.
She couldn’t help but compare them. As she rubbed cream on her hands, she made a note to buy some rubber gloves.
Why was she doing this? Every time she thought of Derek’s gray eyes that turned smoky blue when he was serious or laughing, shivers made their way down to the soles of her feet. She wasn’t giving up. Her trips to the Open Hearth Clinic were becoming important to her.
Time to check email. Taking the rest of her sandwich into her office, she set it on the desk and flipped open her laptop.
Nothing new and nothing from Dr. D. What did she expect?
A thank you for washing the dishes that morning?
Phyllis’ grateful smile had been thanks enough.
Going into the invoice for the Christmas stock, she quickly fired off a note to Maisy with the pricing.
What a morning she’d had. Exhaustion rolled over her.
She meant to lay her head down for a few minutes but nodded off.
In her dreams, Dr. Darling was massaging her hands, every single finger, as he talked to her about the needs of the clinic.
His therapeutic touch turned her to liquid.
His words stoked other fires. Warm to the point of uncomfortable.
When she woke up with a start, her neck ached and she’d drooled all over the papers on her desk.
Sitting up straight, she winced from a twinge in her back.
Ibuprofen might be called for here. Or maybe another trip to the urgent care?
But she was through with that. Pulling herself from that dream, she smiled as she rubbed cream into her sore neck.
Everything seemed so quiet out front. What time was it anyway?
Her wall clock couldn’t be right. Why, it was almost closing time.
Springing up, she went to her door and peeked down into the store.
Evening came so quickly in December. All the lights were on in the shop and it looked as if outside the street lamps had come on.
Giving a stretch that only reminded her of the work she rarely did, she went out front. Maisy and Darla were cleaning the cases. The Christmas mugs, teapot cozies and other seasonal gifts were arranged neatly on the shelves.
Picking up a mug with Victoria’s Pantry scripted below a jolly Santa, Victoria smiled. “Nice job, you two.” The tree still needed a little help, but the pantry definitely had a seasonal appeal now.
“Are you coming to the lighting of the Advent wreath this Sunday?” Maisy asked. “A crew has been getting everything ready on the square.”
“No kidding.” Going to the window, she peered out.
Her parents rarely attended events on the square.
Her mother preferred private parties. But now Victoria lived here in her own apartment.
Every night she looked out her window at the square.
The lights strung through the trees created a fairyland, or so it seemed to her.
Greenery topped by a huge red bow cascaded from each glowing gaslight.
White reindeer lit by tiny lights had been placed throughout the trees and bushes.
Last night, she’d seen workmen putting together the manger that would sit empty until Christmas Day.
She thought ahead. “Do we want to donate refreshments for the first night they appear? People come and sing Christmas carols, right?”
“Of course they do,” Darla said.
“I haven’t been around much before Christmas,” Victoria offered, with an apology in her voice. “We’re usually in Palm Beach.”
“Do you know when you’re leaving?” Maisy asked.
“Um, haven’t decided yet.” Now, where did that come from? A few days ago she’d been counting on their yearly trip. Right now she wasn’t sure. Her mother had left a message that gowns had arrived for her to try on. But she hadn’t had time to stop back at the house.
“Palm Beach,” Darla said, stars in her eyes.
“Trust me. It sounds a lot more glamorous than it is.” Really? Did she feel like that?
Maybe it was the pull of Victoria's Pantry and all the responsibilities, but those gala affairs that her parents enjoyed so much in Palm Beach? Maybe she was over them. This year she didn’t feel like schmoozing with the rich and famous.
The decorations would be over the top. There would be enough food to feed everyone in the city, but the women picked at their steak tartare, fresh shrimp and bruschetta appetizers and hardly touched the main courses of lobster or steak.
Food that the patients at the clinic would wolf down.
Or maybe they wouldn’t. The food served there was plain and nourishing.
And everyone would be drinking way too much champagne imported for the occasion. Some of her father’s friends would be giving her hugs that were a little too tight, their boozy breath on her face. Maybe she had to rethink her yearly holiday trip.
This fire in her heart felt new. She pressed a hand to her chest. Was she getting all I-am-woman-hear-me-roar because of her new shop? Or did this have something to do with a ridiculously hot doc and the sweet clients at his clinic?