Sara stopped herself before she could point out that she was the one who had cooked the breakfast. That would be petty. But it gave her a little pang to realize she could be replaced in the guests’ affections so easily.
Sara entered the kitchen expecting it to be a disaster, but Reece had apparently cleaned everything up after breakfast. That was a first. She’d never known a man who would set foot in the kitchen, much less clean it.
Goodness, he’d even run the dishwasher.
She opened the door of the industrial-size dishwasher, pulled out the lower rack intending to put away the dishes, and let out an involuntary shriek.
Miss Greer’s beautiful Haviland china looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it.
“What?” Reece appeared in the doorway, out of breath. “What happened?” Then he took in the broken china and his face fell. “Oh, no.”
Sara was tempted to tell Reece that any idiot knew not to put fine china into a dishwasher. She experienced a brief, childish urge to make him feel the way he’d made
She opened her mouth, then stopped. Truth be known, this was her responsibility. She knew he had little experience in the kitchen. She should have told him those delicate bone china dishes had to be hand washed, especially since this dishwasher was notoriously brutal.
“Can they be fixed?” Reece removed a shard from the dishwasher and examined it. He looked so forlorn, any irritation she’d felt toward him melted away.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Were they valuable?”
“Probably only to her. It’s her wedding china from her hope chest.”
Reece put a hand to his head and leaned against the counter, looking as if someone had just hit him. “God help me. I’ve destroyed an elderly woman’s girlhood dreams. What kind of a monster does that make me?”
“It’s not your fault, Reece.”
He looked at her, surprised. “You’re making me feel worse, you know. You should yell at me.”
“I don’t want to yell. I don’t like yelling.”
His guilty expression would have amused her under other circumstances. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper about the car. You said it wasn’t your fault and I should have accepted that. And even if you were at fault-which I’m sure you weren’t-it wouldn’t have been on purpose. I’m sorry, Sara.”
Now she really wanted to cry. Reece certainly wasn’t like her father, who’d never apologized for anything in his life-at least not to her.
“I might have been driving a little fast through the parking lot,” she admitted. “Maybe I could have prevented the accident if I’d been more careful. And I should’ve told you not to put china in the dishwasher. It’s my fault, totally. I’ll take the blame with Miss Greer.”
Reece actually smiled. “Throwing blame around doesn’t really make things better, does it? Let’s try to solve the problem. Can we replace the dishes?”
Sara relaxed. The hideous “thing” between her and Reece was gone, just with a few words of understanding. Now the dish disaster had been reduced to a tactical challenge, and she liked a good challenge.
“There are services out there that do nothing but sell replacement china, silver and crystal,” she said. “But it wouldn’t be the same.”
“You mean we couldn’t match the exact pattern?”
“No, we could probably do that. But they wouldn’t be the exact same dishes.”
Reece obviously still didn’t get it.
“Are you familiar with the concept of sentimental value? These are the very dishes Miss Greer collected, dreaming of a life with a future husband who never materialized. Think how excited she must have been, saving her pennies, buying one plate or saucer at a time, planning for her very first meal. New dishes, even if they looked exactly the same, wouldn’t actually
“Could she tell the difference?”
“Are you suggesting we don’t tell her?”
“Why break her heart if we don’t have to?” Reece countered.
It seemed dishonest, but she supposed Reece had a point.
“All right,” Sara agreed reluctantly. “Let’s figure out exactly how much is broken so we’ll know what pieces to look for.”
After removing all of the broken pieces from the dishwasher, they had their tally: three broken dinner plates, two salad plates, six teacups and two saucers. The pattern was Haviland’s Tea Rose, according to the seal on the bottom of a plate.
“I’ll get started researching this on the Internet,” Reece said.
Sara wasn’t particularly skilled on the Internet. She didn’t even own a computer. “I’ll make us some dinner.”
“Is that allowed?”
Sara laughed, the first time she’d done so since wrecking Reece’s car. Miss Greer was notoriously territorial about the kitchen, and anyone who stayed here any length of time knew it. “She lets me cook for myself,” Sara said, “so long as I don’t get in her way or smell the place up with onions. But while she’s away, we get to make up the rules. I’m going to cook all the things Miss Greer doesn’t approve of. Is there anything you especially like to eat?”
He thought for a moment. “Pot roast with potatoes and carrots?”
She should have known. “That’s not really my style of cooking. I lean toward vegetarian and ethnic dishes.”
“No meat loaf then?”
Honestly, the man had zero imagination when it came to food. “How about tortilla soup?” she asked. Everyone loved tortilla soup.
Except Reece, apparently. “Look, don’t worry about me. I’ll go into town to eat.”
“Will you at least try what I fix?” she persisted. “It’s much more fun to cook for someone other than myself. I mean, restaurant meals are fine, and I love trying new places, but nothing beats a fresh meal from your own kitchen.”
“Sure,” he said after a very long pause, “but please don’t be insulted if I don’t eat the spicy stuff.”
“I’ll tone down the spices just for you.” She gave him a little wink, because she couldn’t help herself. His life might be boring and predictable, but his food didn’t have to be. She was going to convert him to adventurous cuisine if it was her last act on earth.
Chapter Five
Reece’s Internet search had started out on an optimistic note.
All of the guests had left for dinner, so Reece had the living room to himself. As he sat on the sofa with his laptop, listening to the comforting clank and clatter of Sara cooking, he discovered a dozen companies that sold replacement china. But he soon found out it wouldn’t be as easy as placing the order and waiting for UPS.
Haviland’s Pink Tea Rose pattern, he learned, had been produced for only two years, 1955 and 1956, which made it nearly impossible to find. The few pieces that were for sale commanded ridiculous sums. Still, he’d broken the dishes, so he had to replace them. He found four saucers and ordered them; they were sixteen dollars each.
Then he registered with a search service, which would try to find the other pieces he needed. It seemed the sensible thing to do since they would know the best places to look.
Interesting smells began drifting his way from the kitchen. Miss Greer often fixed herself dinner and, judging from the odor she had favored sausage. This was completely different, and he had to admit it made his mouth water.
Maybe he’d been a little hasty, turning down Sara’s cooking.
It was interesting that she was such an enthusiastic cook. Here was a woman who didn’t have a home of her
