"And what would that be?” Marty asked with the air of a man resigned to taking the bait.
"You know, that aerobic stuff,” Earl said. “Get your heart pumping and get to breathing real hard while you work up a sweat. Of course, it's more fun with a little bit of company."
The Sissies giggled in their booth, both their faces a becoming shade of pink while Momma sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Not only is it good for the body, it's good for the heart and mind. Gets you nice and relaxed ... euphoric even."
Pops snorted and shook his head, all the while flipping burgers on the grill.
"Ah, but then you have the complications from such exercise,” the doctor said.
"Like what?"
"Oh, there's the emotional strain if you choose the wrong partner. The broken heart syndrome if one of you decides to find a new partner. And my favorite, ‘he didn't call me in the morning’ complication, which often induces a severe case of guilt and/or bruising to the self-confidence. You may never exercise again after that."
"Ah, that's load of bull,” Earl claimed with a wave of his hand. “You find yourself the right partner and all you have to worry about is making sure she's pleased with the exercise herself. I'm not talking about the wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am stuff, Junior. I'm talking the long haul."
"You just said you were too old and married too long,” Marty reminded him. “What good is the long haul if the exercise loses its appeal?"
"Ah, you know I was just joshin’ about that,” Earl said even as his face turned a little pink. “The long haul is the best part."
With that, he winked at Amy and sent her scurrying off into the back alley off the kitchen. She could hear the chuckles filtering through the air behind her and Momma chastising the men as she told them to knock it off.
Really. Is that all they ever thought about? Sex and food—maybe a sport or two thrown in for good measure—but that seemed to be the basis for their existence. Not that Amy had anything against sex, per se. But she sure had better things to worry about these days. Like how she was going to manage to help take care of Aunt Norma on her meager tips.
She did not need another man messing with her self-esteem. She didn't want to open herself up to one that would take her heart and stomp it into the ground the first chance he got and leave her to cry herself to sleep for months on end.
That wound was still fairly fresh, thanks to the Bryce Danielson Incident. Amy shuddered at the memory of coming home to find Bryce, her fiancé, in the middle of an interesting sexual encounter with her roommate. On the kitchen table. Amy hadn't been able to eat at that table ever again. Although taking the hatchet to it had been rather therapeutic. Too bad they moved out of her way so fast.
"Amy Jo?” Pops called from the doorway. “You okay?"
"Yes, Sir,” Amy replied. “I just needed a bit of fresh air. Mildred's bug must be catching."
He snorted. “The only thing you can catch from Mildred is a severe case of laziness. You've got a couple of orders up—can you take them, or should I ask Momma to pinch hit?"
She smiled at the man, a part of her still a little stunned at how readily the sweet old couple had taken her under their wings. If she could pick her grandparents, she would choose Ray and Joanie Brewster in a heartbeat.
"I'm fine, Pops,” she said as she pulled open the door and stepped back into the heat of the kitchen. Yes, she was fine. She'd be better if she could erase the tantalizing images her brain had conjured of the good doctor—shirtless, passionate, taking her in his arms as a fire roared in the hearth behind them.
Um, okay, so she didn't have a fireplace, but Amy knew Marty Winston could get her hot and bothered in an artic blizzard. She sighed as she hoisted the large round tray laden with plates of steaming food and crisp green salads. Life without a man was less complicated. It was also dull and lonely. The good doctor had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in her, whatsoever. Just as well. He really wasn't her type.
Gorgeous, smart and sexy—nope, not her type in the least.
As she carefully placed the Sissies’ orders on their table, they both thanked her with beaming smiles. “Be careful now, dear,” Sissy Peters cautioned as the remaining plate on the tray slid a bit.
Amy bit her lip. It had to be the doctor's order, didn't it? Why did she always seem to fall apart whenever he came into the diner? But this time the food and drink would be served on the table, not on him. This had to be her lucky day because karma, she knew, paid out eventually. She'd never been that bad ... had she?
She walked toward his table, skirting around the edges of the other unoccupied seats as she went. A hush fell over the diner until all she could hear was her own heavy breath and the faint sounds of dishes clattering in the kitchen. Amy shifted her gaze between the tray where a plate held the huge double cheeseburger, its fragrant aroma adding another dimension to the drama unfolding. Someone whispered and was shushed. A car drove by, the engine humming loudly in the stillness.
One step and another and another until she stood at the doctor's table. Then she made her mistake. Amy looked from the plate to his face. Their gazes met and it felt like someone had set her hair on fire. Goodness, he got better looking every day.
He gave her a hesitant smile and glanced at the tray a little fearfully. “Is that mine?"
Amy swallowed. “Yes. Yes, it is."
She lowered the tray and someone sucked in a gulp of air. Then she picked the first plate up with one hand and set it down on the table. So far, so good. The second plate held the fresh green salad with little baby tomatoes and bright purple cabbage. Another sigh whispered through the diner as that course made it to the table beside the other.
The basket of onion rings came next, its paper lining crinkling as she lifted and then set it down. Last of all, a large glass of icy cold milk. It sloshed over the rim, slid down her fingers and into her palm as she placed it on the table. Amy stared at the food for a moment and then grinned. She'd done it! She managed to serve a complete meal to Doctor Marty Winston without spilling one speck or drop of it on him.
"Hallelujah!” Big Earl shouted from the counter and everyone applauded. Marty blushed a little, but the look in his eyes made her heart flutter.
"Seems we make a great floor-show,” he said softly.
Amy felt her own cheeks warm. “Guess so. Maybe this is the start of something good.” His brows lifted and Amy felt like smacking herself. “I-I mean, maybe I won't be spilling anything on you again."
"Maybe.” He gave her that lopsided grin that made her feel all tingly and achy inside. “But I didn't really mind.” He leaned toward her and she instinctively bent closer to hear his low voice over the ruckus. “I like it when you help me clean up."
His breath was sweet and warm like lollipops melting in the sun. Amy blinked. She weaved. The force of gravity seemed to pull at her, urging her closer to Marty's firm, full mouth. Those deep dark eyes called to her with a whisper of heat, a hint of promise.
"Order up!” Pops shouted.
She stood quickly and went a little off-balance. Amy grabbed the table edge to keep from falling. It would have been fine, really, if the tables at Pops’ Diner were bolted to the floor. But they weren't, Amy realized as the table tilted and dumped her to cold linoleum, followed by Marty's lunch.
Ceramic plates crashed around her; food flew in all directions like shrapnel; the tall cold glass of milk shattered at her left, dousing both her and Marty's pants legs with a healthy serving of moo juice. Amy stared at the ketchup and melted cheese collage that slithered down the front of her bright yellow tee-shirt and wondered if she could get the stain out. A shocked silence filled the room and then pandemonium broke loose as everyone bolted to them, all talking at once.
"You okay?” Marty asked as he leaned over her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Amy glanced around, somewhat dazed, and nodded slightly. “I think so."
She looked up into his dark eyes and
saw the laughter that danced there along with the instant concern. That's when she realized the kind of trouble she'd gotten herself into. Amy Jo had gone and fallen in love with the town doctor—a man who didn't know or care that she existed. But then she remembered what he'd said not two seconds ago ... and the look in his eyes.
Maybe it wasn't such a one-sided attraction after all? Flustered and confused, Amy scrambled to get up from the floor. Glass sliced into her right palm.
"Ow!"
"Amy Jo! Are you all right, dear?’ Momma crooned as she hovered over her.
"Watch the glass,” Marty called as a crowd gathered closer. He reached down to help Amy to her feet. Blood streamed down her arm and dripped on the sleeve of his crisp white shirt.
"I'm sorry,” she muttered, a little dizzy from the commotion, the sight of her own blood and the realization that she was falling in love with Martin Winston. How school-girl crush could you get?
"Hey, it'll wash,” he assured with a smile, once again oblivious to her inner conflicts. “It always does—that's why doctors wear white."
"Are you okay?” Momma asked again.
"Yes,” Amy assured. “I'll be fine.” Sure, a few stitches, a few years of psychotherapy, maybe an anti-love potion whipped up by her slightly crazy Aunt Norma ... she'd be good as new in no time.
Marty cradled her cut hand palm up in his and examined the gash. His skin looked dark against hers; his hand engulfed hers as a tingle spread over her skin. She shook off the silly notion that it was his touch that caused the sensation—that kind of thing only happened in romance novels. In real life, tingles were caused by lack of circulation or severed nerves. Yep, that's all it was—a severed nerve ending would be far more preferable to falling in love.
"You might need a couple of stitches,” the doctor added. “Either way we need to make sure all the glass is removed.” He looked at Momma and offered her one of his warm, honest smiles. “Can you get along without her for an hour or two?"
Momma flapped her hands in the air. “Of course! Amy Jo, you take the rest of the day off and get some rest. I think you've just been working too hard."
"Oh, but—"
"No buts about it!” Momma insisted. “Let the doctor get you fixed up and we'll see how you're feeling tomorrow. Won't be much good, I expect, with your right hand all bandaged up. You haven't had a day off in almost two weeks with all the extra shifts you've been pulling."
Amy wished she could climb into a hole and cover herself up. How could she do something so completely stupid and klutzy?
"I'm sorry,” she murmured. Tears blurred her vision and she stared at her hand as it began to throb.
"Go on folks, sit yourselves down so we can get this mess cleaned up,” Momma ordered as she flapped her hands at the other customers. Just then Mildred wandered out of the back room reserved for breaks.
"What's all the ruckus?” she asked, her eyes going wide as she took in the mess on the floor, the toppled table and people milling about.
Momma frowned and fisted her hands on her hips. “What's going is Amy Jo got hurt because you weren't doing your job again. From now on, you get one break a shift unless you work a double. If you're feeling poorly or just plain old don't want to work, then keep your lazy butt at home. I can find another waitress to take your place but I won't make any of the girls do the work of two."
Mildred's mouth opened and shut like a fish on dry land. She glanced around the diner and found no support.
"Well, I don't need this!” she huffed. “You can just find somebody else to sling hash in this two-bit dump. I quit!” She pulled off her apron, flung it on the floor and stormed out.
"Damn, look at her go!” Big Earl said as he crowded against the plate glass windows beside the Sissies and watched Mildred hustle down the street.
"Yes, indeed,” Sissy Peters observed. “You'd never know her knee was hurting as much as she claimed earlier."
Sissy Hobart shook her head. “She always was one to goldbrick."
Earl grinned at the women as they all moved back to their seats. “Maybe the old gal needs some of that there fiber you two are always praising."
"No,” Sissy Peters replied with a prim shake of her head. “There's not enough fiber in all of creation to cure what ails that old bitty."
Earl let loose a good belly laugh as Pops approached with a broom, dustpan and the mop bucket. “Hey, you want to give me a hand, old man?” Pops asked the mechanic who had been known to pitch in at the diner on more than one occasion.
Earl shrugged. “Sure, Ray, what can I do?"
"Flip burgers or sweep up the mess—take your pick. We're short-handed now till Janie comes in at two."
"Huh, well, I'm not much of a cook,” Earl admitted. “But I do know what to do with a broom and mop. Hand her over."
"Oh, Momma, I've made such mess of things,” Amy groaned. “It wasn't Mildred's fault—"
"May as well have been,” Momma insisted and patted her arm gently. “She should have been taking care of her own station, not making you carry the load again. Besides, I've wanted to get rid of that old battleaxe for years, but you know how I hate to fire people. Now I don't have to worry about it."
"Joanie,” Pops called as he went back to the kitchen. “Let Junior get the girl to his office so she can stop bleeding all over his shirt."
"Oh, of course,” Momma said. “Go on now, and let us know how you're doing later.” She turned and waved a hand at Big Earl as he tried to steer the big bucket through the rows of tables. “Come on now, Earl, the milk is running everywhere!"
"I'm coming, sheesh woman! You're as bad as my Martha—she doesn't have a lick of patience with me either."
"Come on,” Marty murmured near her ear as Momma continued to fuss at her new helper. “We need to get you cleaned up and we're just in the way.” He led her around the mess and out the door, the bells jingling merrily behind them.
It was a beautiful day, but Amy couldn't help wanting to cry. At least the doctor wasn't treating her like an object of dismissal any longer—that thought brightened her mood a little. But how on earth had she gone and fallen in love with the man? Of course, that would explain why he made her so nervous that she dumped his food on him at every turn.
"Oh!” Amy stopped mid-stride.
"What's wrong?"
"You didn't get to have lunch,” she stated. “You must be starved!"
He stared at her for a long moment and then chuckled. “Tell you what, when you're all fixed up we can order a pizza, how's that?"
Amy blinked. Had the good doctor just asked her to have lunch with him? Like a date? No, of course not. He was just being kind like everyone else in Glen Meadow. It didn't mean a thing.
"Um, sure, that sounds good."
It sounded more than good—it sounded like one of her lonely fantasies coming to life. But there was no way she'd admit it out loud. Some secrets were best left unspoken.
CHAPTER TWO
"Well, maybe I'm in love..."
Marty had closed the clinic and sent his small staff home before lunch. Wednesdays were notoriously slow and this one had been no exception—until now.
Amy fidgeted behind him as he attempted to unlock the door. He tried out a couple of keys, searching for the one that worked. He usually let his receptionist open and close and he had a hard time remembering which key worked with which door. He'd meant to get them color-coded.
"Ah, there we go,” he announced as one of them finally clicked. He pushed the door open. Venetian blinds clanked against the glass and a small bell dinged inside. “After you."
She seemed to hesitate for a moment and he hoped it wasn't out of fear. Amy had been tightly strung ever since she started working at Pops’ Diner a year earlier. He kept his distance in part because he seemed to make her even more nervous and, well, because something about her set him on edge as well. Marty had no desire to begin a one-sided infatuation with another waitress—he'd learned his lesson the hard way.
But still ... Amy made him feel more flustered and self-conscious than any other woman ever had. He had thought about her almost constantly during the past few weeks. It couldn't have anything to do with her dark green eyes reminding him of lazy summer evenings ... or her soft ivory skin kissed by the sun ... or the long rope of titian hair that hung down her back, almost to her hips. He wondered what it would look like, floating freely about her shoulders, draped over her full breasts....
Whoa! Where had that come from? Marty cleared his throat and closed the door behind them. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea.
"Uh, we're alone,” he said and then mentally kicked himself at the look of confusion on her pretty face. “I mean, if you feel uncomfortable being treated while ... Hey, you know what? Why don't I just call my nurse and see if she can run over for a few minutes?"
Amy stared at him as if he'd sprouted horns. “Why? Are you afraid I'm going to jump your bones?"
Marty blinked, but then noticed the smile that lurked in her eyes. “Uh, no,” he chuckled. “I just thought I'd offer."
"Don't worry, doc. I'm not going to scream rape if you touch my knee or anything."
Marty cleared his throat. “Ah, yeah, okay."
Amy laughed and touched him lightly on the arm. “Hey, come on! I was kidding!"
Kidding. Of course she was. Marty wished he could relax, but for some reason this woman made him tighten up like a spring. He rolled the stool over to the exam table.
Amy hopped up on the table and he found himself at eye-level with her chest. Heat inched up his neck. What on earth was his problem? He was a doctor, for goodness sake, and had seen many pretty women wearing a lot less.
But none of them had ever affected him quite like this—except for Katie Marie Morrison who had run off and gotten married just when he finally worked up the nerve to tell her how he felt. He pushed the memory away and tried to concentrate on the woman before him.
"Okay, let me see that hand again,” he said, trying with all his might not to stare at the way the ketchup dripped down her shirt between her breasts and how the shorts she wore emphasized the length of her legs—very white legs that looked to be as smooth as silk. He imagined how they'd look in contrast to the red silk sheets his sister had bought him as a graduation present from med school years ago. She hoped he'd put some effort into his pathetic social life instead of work. But the sheets remained in their original package.
Pops' Diner, an Anthology [A Pops' Girls Anthology] Page 11