A Forever Christmas - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,53

is it all right? The chicken,” she prompted, realizing that her question had sounded a little vague.

“All right?” Rick echoed with a grin as he dug into the container she’d brought. It was practically empty. “It’s so far above ‘all right’ I don’t think they’ve even invented a word for it yet.” He paused as he took the first bite of the latest piece he’d just scored. “How did you learn how to cook like this?” he marveled.

Angel shook her head, a helpless, mystified expression on her face. “I have absolutely no idea,” she admitted.

For a second, he’d forgotten that she still had amnesia. She’d become such a fixture in the town so quickly, it was easy at times to forget how she’d come to be here in the first place. “Right. Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to—”

Angel wouldn’t allow him to finish. She knew he hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable. If anything, everyone had gone out of their way to make her feel comfortable here, as if she belonged. As far as she was concerned, she belonged here far more than she did wherever it was that she came from.

“That’s okay,” she interrupted. “I know what you mean.” She glanced at the swiftly depleting supply of food she’d brought. “Well, there was enough here for seconds and maybe thirds. If you want any more once that’s empty, just give Miss Joan a call. I think there’s still a little leftover at the diner.”

Joe laughed softly, shaking his head. “Not if Harry’s there,” he commented, mentioning Miss Joan’s husband. “The man really loves his fried chicken.”

“Can’t imagine anyone not loving this,” Alma chimed it, indicating the all-but-denuded leg she was holding. “So, I take it that Miss Joan’s hiring you to take Eduardo’s place,” she asked in between bites to polish off what was left of the piece—her third—she was holding.

To the surprise of all of them, Angel shook her head. “Actually, Eduardo changed his mind. He’s decided to stay on a little longer.”

Gabe had seen how happy she was, going to work at the diner every day. She really enjoyed cooking. This news had to have devastated her. “Well, he can’t do that,” he declared, feeling indignant for her.

“He can and he did. But it’s all right,” she assured Gabe, placing a calming hand on his arm, which no one in the office missed. “Miss Joan decided that since business has picked up so much lately, there’s more than enough work for both of us.”

She seemed oblivious to the little detail that she was the reason why it had picked up so much, Gabe thought.

She leaned forward now, as if sharing a secret even though she said it loud enough for all three deputies and the sheriff to hear. “She said having me there will keep Eduardo in his place.”

Rick laughed. “I bet it will at that.” Miss Joan, they all knew, was nothing if not extremely sharp in her dealings with the customers and her staff. Rick held up his latest finished piece as if it was exhibit “A.” “This is really fantastic,” he enthused. “Maybe you could give my wife some lessons.”

“Olivia might take offense at you suggesting that she needs lessons,” Alma pointed out tactfully.

Rick looked at her. “Olivia is the first one to admit that she can’t cook.”

Alma rolled her eyes, a pitying smile on her lips. “God but men are thick.” She looked pointedly at her boss. “There’s a big difference between her admitting it and you actually agreeing with her on that point.”

“So agreeing with her is a bad thing?” Rick asked, confused.

“In this case, a very bad thing,” Alma said. “You’re supposed to tell her that you like her cooking.”

It was Rick’s turn to roll his eyes—and hold his stomach in mock agony. “I tell her that and she’s liable to do more of it,” he pointed out. The remark was followed by a shiver.

“Well, whatever you do, don’t suggest she take cooking lessons,” Alma advised.

Angel did her best not to laugh at the disappointed expression on Rick’s face. Turning toward Gabe, she asked, “Are you about ready to go home?” She assumed he couldn’t eat more than the four pieces he’d already consumed.

Wiping his fingers on the edge of his napkin, Gabe nodded. His shift was over and he just had to put something away. Rising from his chair, he told her, “Give me a couple of minutes and—”

Just then, the front door flew opened and a wild-eyed, maternal-looking