Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [46]
I’ll call you on my break. There’s plenty of food in the refrigerator.
It was signed with a large scrawled C.
Angela peeled a large orange and sat at the table to nibble on a segment. She really wasn’t hungry. A cup of not-great coffee finished off her meager meal. When she was through, she rinsed the glass coffeepot. Perhaps later she would make a fresh pot. She wondered what time Charlie’s break was. What would she say to him when he called? She hoped he would open up a little. Trying to make conversation with Charlie Roman was hard. She still didn’t want to tell him that she worked at the mall. He might be insulted if she told the truth, that she might have seen him before that time that she’d bumped into him, but just didn’t remember his face.
Maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe he didn’t have anything to say because he never did anything but work. What a shame. She smiled, remembering the light touch on her cheek when he thought she was asleep. He was probably just bashful around girls he didn’t know.
The kitchen floor was dirty. That was something she could tackle. She’d grown up with housekeepers and maids, but if she had to, she could run a house as efficiently as Martha Stewart. Call it domestic therapy. She would clean out the refrigerator, scrub the floor, and make a cake. And of course she would cook dinner for Charlie. Just the two of them. Real cozy. If she had it all ready he could come home for his supper break and still get back to the mall on time.
She wanted to return his kindness. He might trust her more if she did. She had no idea.
Angela had just finished mopping the kitchen floor when the phone in the hallway rang. Cautiously, she answered it. “Hello.”
“This is Charlie.”
“I know. I just scrubbed your kitchen floor,” Angela blurted.
“Thank you.” Charlie was nonplussed at Angela’s statement.
“Um, what time is your supper hour? I thought I would cook dinner and have it ready for you. That way you could come home, eat, and still get back on time for your evening shift.”
“That sounds good. Yes, that’s fine. Why don’t you do that? I can be home by six fifteen,” Charlie said happily. “What else did you do?”
“Not much,” Angela said, warming up to the voice on the other end of the phone. “I got up kind of late and then I rocked for a while in the rocking chair upstairs. I took a shower and made the beds and then I ate part of an orange and scrubbed the floor.”
“Oranges are good for you, especially if you have low blood sugar,” Charlie volunteered.
“I didn’t know that. Is there anything in particular you would like for dinner?”
“I’m not fussy, but I would like some hot coffee to go with whatever you make.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll see you later then. Good-bye, Charlie.”
“Good-bye, Angela,” Charlie said, a wide smile splitting his face. He’d been right. It was a good day and it was going to get better.
Angela danced her way around the kitchen as she set a package of chicken breasts out to thaw. She wiped down the stove and refrigerator with a solution of baking soda and vinegar and was pleased with the high shine her efforts produced. She wondered if Charlie would notice. She scrubbed two oversized yams and deftly cut up vegetables for a salad. She found some fresh string beans that were limp but still useable, cleaned them, and set them to soak in a bowl of ice water. They’d crisp up in an hour or so.
Now for the cake. She looked around, pushing jars and boxes to the back of the cabinet as she searched for the ingredients. Charlie looked like the chocolate type.
Everything in front of her, Angela dusted her hands together dramatically in preparation for her first homemade cake. The cake batter prepared and in the oven, she set the timer she’d found in a drawer and then settled herself to watch soap operas. An hour later she was disgusted. The scheming older heroine reminded her of someone she would rather forget.
The overheated daily drama gave way to the 4:30 movie. Before long Angela became engrossed in the story. She raced to the kitchen during the commercial break to set the table and mix