The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess (20 page)

She summoned her strength as she fought temptation again, shaking her head. “I don’t eat dessert.”

Chapter Fourteen

“I’m not interested in being a wife. I’m interested in being an empress.”

—
Fran Lebowitz

M
illie tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter whether or not her sons showed up for class. She had an obligation to
the rest of the students, even though none of them needed domestic skills as desperately as Mitchell and Steven did.

She shouldn’t have lost her temper. Despite the provocation they’d given her, she hadn’t often gotten mad at them while they
were growing up. But then they’d been kids, so she’d been able to overlook their stupidity. Now they were men; it had been
time to call them on it. They needed to shape up or ship out. Unfortunately, they’d probably choose to ship out.

She hadn’t seen Mitchell all day; he’d left the night before after her lecture and hadn’t come back. Steven had only come
up from the basement once, to make himself
a sandwich. Then he’d left early for work this morning and she hadn’t seen him yet today.

Despite the dismal field trip, the rest of the students had shown up, even the ones who really didn’t need the skills like
Charles. And he had not come alone. Victoria tagged behind as he carried his grocery bag into the kitchen, which was awash
with sunlight streaming through the sliders.

“Oh, Millie, check out your competition,” Kim teased, leaning over to nudge Millie’s shoulder with hers as they stood side
by side at the granite island in the kitchen.

“I swear, men get more foolish as they get older,” Theresa grumbled from the other side of Millie. “Wiser, my—”

“She’s his niece,” Millie said, cutting off Theresa before they could be overheard. “Hi, Victoria,” she said, as she stepped
around the island and joined her and Charles at his cooking station. “It’s great to see you.”

All the male students who were staring at the beautiful young woman undoubtedly agreed. Millie found it easier to focus on
Victoria, too.

She could barely glance at Charles, her face heating with embarrassment over the disastrous field trip. He’d seen her lose
her temper, too, so he knew there was nothing sweet about her now. Maybe that was why he’d brought his niece along, for protection.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” Victoria asked. “Uncle Charles dared me to come.” From the cream colored linen suit she wore,
she obviously hadn’t planned on cooking and cleaning today.

“She needs help in the kitchen,” Charles maintained. He was more appropriately dressed for class in jeans and a gray polo
shirt.

“That isn’t where I need help,” Victoria protested.

Millie wasn’t about to ask where. “It’s definitely okay that you’re here.”

“See?” Charles said triumphantly. “The bachelor’s survival course can include bachelorettes, too.”

Millie nodded. “Yes, it most certainly can.” Especially since she was down a couple of bachelors. Or maybe not. She noticed
a couple of big guys slinking into the back of the room. “They’re here,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“Who?” Victoria asked, no doubt curious about the relief in Millie’s voice.

“Her sons,” Charles explained, without even looking around.

Millie needed to talk to Charles about her sons, to apologize for them again, for interrogating him. But now that the entire
class, plus a couple of extras with Victoria and someone else’s friend, had arrived, it was time to begin the cooking lesson.

She returned to the island where Theresa and Kim had already set out the ingredients for Chicken Thighs with Wine. “Okay,”
Millie said, “the sooner we start the lesson, the sooner we can eat.”

Since the recipe took some time, she’d already prepared what they would eat after the lesson. The kitchen smelled delicious
with the aroma of chicken and herbs wafting from the stoves.

First she read the recipe aloud to them since Mr.
Lindstrom’s cataracts made reading a little difficult for him. “This recipe is courtesy of Judy Sausto, or Dame Judy, and
came out of the
Red Hat Society Cookbook.”

“My wife belongs to the Red Hat Society, but she never cooks,” a guy toward the back grumbled, as he began cutting up the
garlic cloves. “She makes me take her out to eat every night.”

“Smart woman,” Theresa whispered. “I’d like to go out to eat every night.”

“I’d rather have a man cook for me,” Kim commented, with a dreamy expression softening her brown eyes and lifting her lips
into a little smile.

“So Mrs. Ryers was right again,” Theresa said, her frustration over the busybody knowing her friend’s business before she
did evident in the narrowing of her blue eyes.

“It’s just a rumor,” Kim defended herself.

What rumor?
Millie had been too concerned about the way she’d spoken to her sons to listen to any gossip.

“Oh, Mr. Lindstrom needs me,” Kim said, rushing away from her friends to where the little old man held a knife in his shaking
hand.

“She’s in trouble,” Theresa said, probably not referring to Kim being in danger of getting cut while Mr. Lindstrom tried to
chop celery.

Millie ignored Theresa’s comment about Kim and demonstrated how to cut the vegetables. “The recipe indicates finely chopped
vegetables. A trick to do this would be to use a food processor—”

“Now you tell us,” someone grumbled. For once, it wasn’t one of her boys.

“But since we don’t have enough of those available for everyone, we’re using sharp knives. So be careful. Once you have cut
some chunks of carrots, celery, onions and garlic, you can hold the knife like this.” She two-handed the top of the knife,
careful to avoid the blade. “And press down on the vegetables, chopping them against the cutting board.”

“Cutting board?” someone questioned.

Millie held in a groan. That might have been Steven. And now they’d have a scarred pub table to fix. “Everybody has cutting
boards?” she asked Theresa.

But her friend’s head was turned toward where Wally worked at his cooking station, his head bent as he efficiently cut up
the vegetables as Millie had directed.

“Wally’s doing great,” Millie said. “He’s really coming out of himself, too,” she added, as he turned to help some of the
students around him.

Theresa nodded but didn’t say anything. Were his efforts too late to impress her?

At the moment, Millie was more concerned about her sons’ efforts. There was no arguing or jostling of shoulders as her sons
stood quietly in the back, diligently working the recipe. Had it happened? Had they finally decided to take the class seriously?

She walked toward them but stopped to give instructions or advice to other students. By the time she got to them, Mitchell
and Steven had moved on to heating olive oil in the skillet, on their hot plate. Oil spit and sputtered in the overheated
pan, splashing onto Steven’s bare forearms. He jerked away, knocking some of their crudely chopped vegetables to the floor.

“Sorry, Mom,” he said.

“Maybe we should call her Millie,” Mitchell suggested, as he stooped to pick the vegetables up in a paper towel. “That way
no one will know we’re her sons.”

“Come on, you two,” she cautioned them, as she lowered the heat on the hot plate. She stayed far enough back to avoid spatters.
“You know I didn’t—”

“What?” Mitchell interrupted. “You didn’t mean what you said?”

“No, I meant it,” she admitted, but with a smile to soften the sting. “Every word of it. But maybe I could have said it a
little more sensitively.”

“It had to be said,” Steven told her, his dark eyes warm with gratitude. “You were right. It’s time we get serious about becoming
more independent.”

“That’s all I really want,” she told them, “for you two to get serious.”

Steven gestured toward the recipe. “Will it take that long to make it? I have plans to pick Brigitte up for a movie in an
hour.”

Hope burgeoned, swelling Millie’s heart. “I have some already cooked. So you can try that to see how the recipe turns out
and leave early.”

Despite needing domestic skills, a movie date with his daughter was more important than a cooking lesson.

She assured him, “Kim, Theresa, and I will finish up the rest of the chicken when the class is over.” And save the successful
efforts for a Red Hat Society luncheon.

Mitchell plopped the chicken into the hot pan, spraying more oil on his brother’s arms. Steven flashed him an
angry glance as he wiped off the drops. “It was an accident,” Mitchell swore.

Millie believed him. She knew that even though they promised to take the class seriously now, they would still have accidents.
They were too domestically inept to not struggle. But now, with their return to class, Millie had the opportunity to change
that, to change them. Excitement and happiness bubbled up inside her. She reached up on tiptoe, pressing a quick kiss against
each son’s cheek.

“Remember to turn the thighs,” she said, switching back to teacher from proud mother. “Don’t let the chicken burn.”

“We’ll be careful,” Steven promised, shooting his brother a warning glare.

Millie turned to offer her assistance to other students, but Mitchell, his fingers greasy from the raw chicken and oil, grabbed
the sleeve of her peach-colored cotton blouse. “Mom, I’m sorry about Charles.”

“What?” Embarrassing her in front of him?

“The hot blonde he’s with.” Mitchell sympathetically patted her arm, leaving handprints on the peach cotton. “So who is she?”

“His niece,” she told him.

A grin spread across Mitchell’s face, and he flashed his dimples. “Is that right?”

“She’s out of your league,” Steven taunted him.

Sometimes Millie felt that way about Charles. He was rich, successful, a lawyer. Victoria was his niece but he could easily
attract a woman of her age, of her beauty. But it was Millie he’d almost kissed. Twice.

As she looked across the room at him, he glanced up and gave her that wink again… the one that had butterflies fluttering
around her stomach. Millie carefully closed one eye, returning the gesture.

T
hanks for letting me join the class,” Victoria said as she cleaned up the workstation. “The chicken was delicious.”

Millie glanced to where Charles and Wally talked as they washed dishes at the granite island. He was out of earshot so she
dared to speak as openly to his niece as she had her sons. “So did you really come to learn to cook? Or to check me out?”
she asked with a smile. She understood. Her sons had done the same to Charles.

Victoria laughed. “No. Not at all. Uncle Charles is a much better judge of character than I am. After all, I was the one who
set him up with Ellen.”

Millie smiled. “Well, he obviously doesn’t hold that against you.”

“I’m so grateful for Uncle Charles putting his life on hold to raise me,” Victoria began.

Millie patted Victoria’s arm like Mitchell had hers, but her hand was clean. “I know he didn’t feel that way. He loved every
minute of taking care of you.”

Victoria blinked hard. “I love him, and I wanted to give him something back. I didn’t want him to be alone. So I set him up
with this client of mine.” She sighed. “Ellen.”

“Telling all my secrets?” Charles asked as he joined them at the end of the counter.

Victoria laughed. “You don’t miss a thing.”

He contorted his handsome, bearded face into a grimace. “I missed the fact that Ellen didn’t love me. So I’m not the good
judge of character you think I am,” he said, confirming that he had overheard their entire conversation.

Victoria turned from him to Millie, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Well, I think that’s changed.”

“You better hope so since you conned me into going back to work.”

Before Millie could ask about that, he turned toward her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for letting my niece join
up. I failed her when I raised her.”

Victoria protested, “Uncle—”

Millie understood the guilt dimming Charles’s usually bright eyes. In some ways, she felt the same, that she’d failed her
sons.

“No, I did,” he insisted. “I should have taught you more things growing up. Or at least made you take a home economics class.”

Victoria shook her head. “I preferred debate. And don’t worry about the past. You did a great job.”

“You’re right. That’s in the past. But Millie taught me that it’s never too late to learn something new,” he admitted, then
turned to Millie. “The girl needs to learn some housekeeping skills.”

Victoria laughed. “Hey, I know the important things, like the numbers for a cleaning service and every takeout restaurant
within delivery.”

“To the office, not your home.”

“What home?” she sassily quipped.

“Exactly,” he said, as if he’d won a debate.

Victoria laughed again. “Well, I better get going. I have a mountain of work I need to get through tonight. Thanks again for
letting me sit in. I haven’t eaten that great a meal in a while.”

“See,” Charles said, “takeout isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”