in her wardrobe, but glancing at what Rick was wearing told her it was a part of his. She wiped at an imaginary smudge on her skirt. “I’m sure your friends will appreciate good taste.”
“The grease will ruin that fancy getup within the hour. Go back to your hotel and change.” He turned his back to her and started whisking eggs with flour.
Grease? There’d been no mention of that when they’d made plans for today. What exactly was he planning? “You don’t expect me to actually work here, do you?”
Rick turned back to her with a dazzling smile. It was easy to see why the cameras fell in love with him. “You wanted a glimpse into my life, right? Since Mom handed the diner over to me, I’m here twelve hours a day, six days a week. So that’s where we’re starting.”
She crossed her arms across her chest. Nope. Not happening. “You don’t have anyone to cover for you today?”
“It’s the Lake Mildred Pickle Festival. Busiest weekend of the summer. I’m going to be swamped with orders in about ten minutes and won’t get a break until after the Ladies’ Book Club finishes their last cup of coffee.” He continued to whisk and paused only to add more flour.
She glared, hoping that the effect would turn him into stone. “I thought you were the owner and manager here.”
“I’m whatever they need me to be. Besides, it’s fun.”
Sigh. Not her idea of fun. “And I’m supposed to help you out?”
“That’s the idea, Lizzie.”
She grumbled on the drive back to the bed-and-breakfast to change into the outfit she’d least likely have a fit over if it got ruined. She fumed as she drove back to the diner and parked behind it, where the employees left their cars. And she moaned when Rick threw a clean apron at her and pointed to the stack of dishes that had accumulated in her absence. “Washing dishes? Really?”
Rick started to whistle as he placed slices of bread in a large toaster and pressed the lever. “It’s where all good cooks start.”
“But I’m not a cook,” she muttered under her breath. She couldn’t even make toast without setting off the smoke detectors in her apartment.
She wrinkled her nose at the dried gobs of egg and grease on the first plate. There had to be better ways to get Rick to do the show than this. She glanced behind her at the man in question, who cracked eggs onto the hot griddle. If she could just find out why he’d done the show the first time...
“Dishes don’t wash themselves, Lizzie.” He threw the eggshells into the large trash can next to him as if they were basketballs and he were Kobe Bryant. He walked over and turned on the hot water, then squeezed a healthy dollop of dish soap into the sink. Pointed to the three sinks, the last full of clear liquid. “Wash. Rinse. Sanitize.” He pulled the hose closer to her. “And don’t be afraid to get a little wet.”
She rolled her eyes and dropped the first dish into the sudsy water.
* * *
RICKSWALLOWEDALAUGH as Lizzie glared at him over her coffee cup. She looked like a drowned rat. Her long brown hair was plastered to the sides of her head; her clothes clung to her slight form. Her carefully applied makeup had run two hours ago, leaving her face streaked in brown and blue. “Good job, Lizzie.”
She rolled her eyes and forked a bite of French toast into her mouth, pausing to moan after the first bite. “What do you put in these?”
He shrugged. “Little cinnamon. Lots of love.”
Again with the rolled eyes. She’d be lucky to end the day without a massive headache if she kept that up.
“So are you done torturing me?”
Torture. Interesting word choice. She’d agreed to get a glimpse of his normal life, and now she considered it inhumane. If only she knew. “You’ll probably want to freshen up before the lunch crowd gets here.” Panic washed over her face, but he held up one hand. “Don’t worry. You’re done with the dishes. Jeffy should be here anytime.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Thank goodness.”
“But I am short a waitress.”
Lizzie stood up and threw her napkin on the table before storming out of the diner. Rick chuckled and took another sip of his coffee. Mission accomplished. Better that she leave now than wait until it was too late.
The bell above the door chimed again. “Ricky.”
He glanced up and swallowed a groan at the sight of his older brother, Dan, wearing a suit and tie. If Mr. High and Mighty stooped to grace the diner with his presence, the news couldn’t be good. Didn’t matter that the diner belonged to the family empire along with the pickle-canning plant and brightly colored cans of pickles on store shelves. Rick knew that the diner didn’t even register on Dan’s radar.
“Need a cup of coffee?” Rick stood and retrieved the coffee carafe from behind the counter, hooked a mug with one finger, then joined his brother in the back booth. He poured the coffee into the empty mug before topping off his own. “Still drink it black or should I find the creamer?”
“Black’s fine.”
Rick nodded and took the seat across from Dan. “What’s wrong? Is it Mom again?”
Dan shook his head, then glanced behind him at the customers gathered at the diner. “We can talk here?”
Any news his brother had to share would be sure to make the gossip rounds in Lake Mildred before too long. “Sure.”
Dan sighed, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. “I’ll be glad when this whole economic downturn is over.”
Downturn? Was that what people losing their jobs, homes and lives was? Rick took a sip of his coffee, mostly to keep from saying what he really wanted to say. “Just tell me what you came here for.”
Dan leaned forward. “I heard that producer is in town.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Rick nodded. So that was what his visit was about? A pretty face? “Yeah, Lizzie’s here. She might be back in about twenty minutes if you want to talk to her.”
Dan frowned. “Why would I talk to her?”
“She’s cute. All wrong for you, of course. But she does fit your type.” Rick poured some creamer into his coffee and stirred it. “Smart. Pretty. No nonsense.”
“I’m not looking for a date, Rick.” He took a sip of his coffee, then placed the mug on the table. Rubbed his forehead and twitching eye. “She wants you to do that show again?”
He sighed. He couldn’t escape the show, not even with his family. “Don’t worry. I already told her to forget about it.”
Dan frowned and shook his head as if Rick had said the worst thing in the world. “Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”
Wait. His brother wanted him to do the show? “If memory serves, you didn’t want me to do the show the last time. Hated it when I left. Then resented me when I came back
