Page 5 of Molly
“I was thinking about trying the Horchata. Have you had it here before?”
Based off the Mexican drink made from rice, milk, cinnamon, and sugar. “The best in Southern California, in my opinion.”
Her brows rose. “That’s high praise. I’ve gotten used to the Latin American kind the past few years.”
“What other kind is there?”
She stepped up to the counter and ordered a double scoop in a bowl. I opted for a coffee chocolate chip gelato in a waffle cone.
As the aproned employee scooped out our choices, Miss Osbourne turned toward me. “The Horchata I grew up drinking was Horchata de Chufa. It’s made with tiger nuts instead of white rice. I used to have it all the time when my dad was stationed in Rota, Spain.”
We were given our frozen treats, and I thanked the clerk after he swiped my debit card and handed it and the receipt back to me. Miss Osbourne slid into one of the small booths by the window and I took the seat opposite. “A Navy brat, huh?”
“Along with a good percentage of people in this area. Between Naval Base San Diego, Naval Air Station North Island, Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, and Camp Pendleton Marine Base you can’t throw a rock without hitting one of us. We’re everywhere from Chula Vista to Laguna Beach.”
I laughed. “You make it sound like you’re invading.”
She dipped her spoon into the bowl of ice cream in front of her. “I’m sure some people think so.” Scooping out a bite, she slipped the frozen custard between her lips. A moan escaped as she leaned back and let the cushion of the booth support her weight. “You were right,” she said around her mouthful. “This is really good.”
I let her take three more bites in peace before I asked if she was feeling better.
“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for a doctor to prescribe that his patients eat their feelings.” She shoveled another bite into her mouth.
“Well, I’m still a resident and you aren’t my patient.” My teeth scraped along the mound of gelato in front of me. There wasn’t nearly enough caffeine to get me through the rest of the day, but the trace amounts should give a much-needed boost of energy. “Plus, it’s scientifically proven that sugar releases chemicals in your brain called beta-endorphins that can reduce both physical and emotional pain.”
“Is that along the lines of saying chocolate comes from cocoa, which comes from a tree and is therefore a plant, and if it’s a plant then chocolate is a salad?”
I choked on an almond at the back of my throat and covered my mouth with the palm of my hand. Miss Osbourne grinned at me, and I found myself returning her smile. “Not exactly.”
She shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”
“Chocolate does have some medical properties though. High quality dark chocolate is loaded with minerals and soluble fiber as well as biologically active antioxidants such as polyphenols and flavanols.” I bit off a piece of chocolate-dipped cone. “The flavanols can stimulate the lining of your arteries to manufacture nitric oxide, which increases blood flow and lowers blood pressure. That increase of blood flow continues to benefit the brain as well, attributing to improved cognitive function in people with mental deficiencies. And in some studies, cocoa was found to reduce the risk of heart disease in elderly men because of its propensities to protect against the oxidation of LDL cholesterol.”
Her blue-green eyes twinkled like the sun reflecting off a tropical ocean. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pad of sticky notes and a pen. “Can you repeat all that so I can write it down and use it as an argument next time someone gets on my case about my chocolate addiction?”
“I can print you off a couple of chocolate-centric studies for ammunition.”
“That would be great, thanks.” She settled her spoon into her empty bowl.
“Since I’ve made your brain release beta-endorphins and you’re riding that chemical high and feeling better, I want to ask…what are you going to do now that you no longer work at Bay Street Montessori?”
She sighed long and low. “Way to bring a girl crashing back down, Dr. Ben.”
I rested my forearms on the table and clasped my hands in front of me. “The reason I ask is because I’d like to hire you.”
She blinked and looked at me dryly. “You run a preschool as a side business?”
One corner of my mouth pulled up. “Chloe said you were funny. No, I don’t run a preschool. And I know what I’m offering probably isn’t what you had in mind, but maybe it can work for the both of us?”
“What exactlyareyou offering?”
I ran my hand through my hair. Could I be bungling this any worse?
Miss Osbourne’s gaze followed my movements, and I paused with my hand a few inches from my forehead. “What?”
She stared at my head with a bemused look on her face, lips twitching like she held back a smile. “You just made your hair stick straight up like a mad scientist.”
Great. Between that and the forgotten shirt I’d had to pull from my locker because the one I’d started my shift in had gotten puked on by a drunk guy, I must’ve looked like I really had it all together. Mad scientist hair and a shirt I hadn’t worn in over a year that no longer fit because of my de-stressing pull-up routine—a routine which, so far, had only succeeded in increasing my upper body strength rather than my REM cycle.
