What's Cooking

by Gail Sattler

  If she let her imagination run wild, she could easily fantasize that Mitchell was attempting to make a pass at her. However, since he’d mentioned her gold cross, she figured he was simply doing his research so he could eliminate her from his list quickly, which was fine with her. She’d decided long ago only to date men from her church whom she already knew were Christians. It was less painful that way.

  Carolyn gulped, then swallowed hard to clear the lump in her throat. “It was a gift from my grandmother—when I was baptized a few years ago.”

  His mouth formed into a smile that made Carolyn’s heart pound. “That’s really sweet. Can I see you before next class?”

  Carolyn nodded numbly. “Sure. I’ll be here to set up half an hour before the class starts next week.”

  “I meant before that. Like during the week.”

  Carolyn could barely speak beyond the tightness in her throat. “Why?”

  He shuffled closer, then smiled, but his eyes held no humor. Instead, it was one of those slow, lazy smiles like she’d seen in movies—just before the tall, dark, handsome hero swept the heroine off her feet.

  “So we can talk.”

  “Sorry. I don’t think so,” she muttered, deciding it was time to rein in her imagination.

  “But I’d really like to get to know you better.”

  The custodian poked his head into the room, sparing Carolyn from needing to elaborate or discuss it further.

  “It’s time to go. The custodian needs to lock up the building for the night.”

  Mitchell blinked and stepped back, and his goofy grin disappeared.

  Carolyn brushed her hair off her face, straightened her glasses, crossed her arms, and cleared her throat, grateful that he apparently understood her unspoken meaning. “I’ll see you in class next Tuesday.”

  Slowly, he turned and left the room.

  Instead of gathering her supplies, Carolyn stared at the open doorway and allowed herself to exhale, not realizing until that moment that she’d been holding her breath. Before she could fully relax, four fingers appeared in the doorway, grasping the doorframe, followed by Mitchell’s head. He smiled and winked. “Good night, Carolyn,” he said and disappeared.

  Carolyn closed her gaping mouth. “Good night, Mr.—Mitchell,” she mumbled, but he was already gone.

  Two

  “Good evening, Carolyn.”

  Carolyn fumbled with the recipe sheets she’d been sorting. “Good evening, Mitchell. You’re early.”

  All week long she’d been torn between wanting him to come to class early and dreading that he actually would. Every day, without fail, he’d invaded her thoughts. She couldn’t decide if she should have been flattered by his attention or angry with him for teasing her.

  He stepped forward and rested his palms on the demonstration table. “I wanted to get here early to ask if you would go out for coffee and dessert with me after class tonight.”

  The knife she’d so carefully selected fell from her fingers. “I don’t think so.”

  “I guess you’re right. It might be a little late for that, since we both have to get up for work in the morning. How about tomorrow, then? Maybe after dinner we can take in a show.”

  She stared blankly at him. Flirting she could handle, but she had no intention of being made for a fool. Other than his being hopeless in the kitchen, she didn’t know anything about him. Most of all, she wasn’t going to go out with a non-Christian. “No, but thank you for the invitation.”

  He stepped closer, so she pretended to be selecting matching forks.

  “Why not? Are you already involved in a relationship?”

  She’d been casually dating Hank off and on for a while. She couldn’t quite call it a relationship, but Hank went to her church, and he was safe. “I’m seeing someone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He moved closer. Her hands froze. “Is it serious? Are you engaged?”

  The perfectly matched forks dropped into the drawer with a clatter. “That’s personal and none of your business.”

  He moved even closer. Carolyn’s breath caught and her heart raced.

  “I think it is since I want to get to know you better.”

  “I’m too old for you.”

  For a split second, he froze, then blinked. “I don’t care how old you are.”

  “Mitchell, I’m thirty-two years old. What are you, twenty-seven?”

  “Twenty-four. But who’s counting?”

  She looked up at him. Mitchell was more assertive than she was used to, but he was well mannered and charming. He had a delightful sense of humor and was able to recover quickly when caught in a spot, something she always thought revealed a strong character. However, at nearly thirty-three years old, it was time for her to get serious and find someone to settle down with. Soon it would be her birthday, adding another year between them. She always preferred older men, but a nine-year age difference the other way was robbing the cradle.

  Carolyn squeezed her eyes shut to clear her thoughts. “I’m sorry, Mitchell, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but shut it quickly at the sound of approaching footsteps in the hall.

  Carolyn quickly adjusted her glasses, then greeted her incoming students.

  After she welcomed them, she took her place at the front of the classroom and froze. Mitchell sat in the front row, center seat, right next to Mrs. Finkleman. He crossed his arms, smiled, and winked.

  Briefly, Carolyn considered canceling the class.

  She was barely conscious of what she was doing as she showed the class how to properly lay out decorative meat, cheese, fruit, and vegetable trays. Next, she demonstrated how to make rosette radishes, carrot spirals and curls, then her specialty edible decoration, an onion blossom. Throughout the entire process, Mitchell alternately groaned and joked with both her and the rest of the class, questioning his ability to do the fine detail required. His protests were promptly met with sympathetic comments and encouragement all around.

  Carolyn smiled through gritted teeth. Very soon he would have every woman present eating out of his hand. She vowed to be different.

  She continued with the second project, cream cheese veggie puffs, and sent everyone to try their hand at carving the raw vegetables and assembling the puffs. This time the pastries would be filled with a spoon, and she was almost positive Mitchell could handle that.

  As everyone proceeded to their kitchenettes, she noticed that both Lorraine and Sarah had brought full-sized aprons and Mrs. Finkleman wore her canvas sneakers.

  ❧

  Mitchell dragged his feet all the way back to the mini kitchen in the back of the classroom. Fortunately for him, today’s projects looked easier, and he wouldn’t make a fool of himself again.

  After butchering the vegetables, he welcomed the chance to make the next project. He didn’t attempt to cut the onion—after all, he doubted anyone at his sister’s wedding would care if he set out onions that looked like flowers. After the mess he made with the carrot curls and radish rosettes, when he was asked if he’d rather chop the vegetables or do the mixing, he picked the mixing, even though he’d never operated an electric mixer before. This time he’d paid more attention to Carolyn’s demonstration, so he knew he could do it.

  Sarah smiled up at him with stars in her eyes, which bolstered his sagging confidence. He smiled back, then quickly turned away. While she seemed like a nice kid, he didn’t want to encourage her. What he really wanted was Carolyn’s attention.

  Mitchell caught himself grinning as he absently worked the beaters around the bowl. Carolyn’s calm manner enchanted him. She hadn’t made a big production out of his major disaster last week. Neither had she fawned all over him. She quite plainly expected him to clean up his own mess without embarrassing him about what he had done.

  Also, the tiny gold cross Carolyn wore again this week intrigued him, especially after she told him she’d recently been baptized. She hadn’t backed down and tol
d him the cross was just a piece of nice jewelry or that it was simply a gift without an explanation. She’d had the guts to tell him in not so many words that she was a Christian.

  After thinking about it all week, he realized he hadn’t given her any indication of his own status in his relationship with the Lord, so, if he’d read her hint correctly, he couldn’t blame her for not so subtly telling him to get lost. He wouldn’t go out with a non-Christian, either.

  With all that to consider, he’d had the whole week to think and pray about it, and this was one relationship he wanted to pursue.

  “Can I add this now?” Sarah asked, holding a small bowl full of finely chopped green onions.

  He nodded and made one final circle with the whirring beaters, taking care that he didn’t bump the sides of the bowl. He raised the beaters and tilted the mixer to give Sarah room to dump in the onions when an onslaught of white projectiles flew out of the bowl, splattering everything in the near vicinity.

  Still holding the bowl of onions, Sarah spread her arms and lowered her chin to look down at the front of her bright blue apron and the sleeves of her red shirt, which were now enhanced by odd-sized white polka dots.

  “Oops,” Mitchell mumbled as he turned off the mixer.

  “What happened here?”

  Mitchell cringed. Carolyn had abandoned whatever group she was with and was now standing beside Sarah, taking in not only the mess all over Sarah, but also the smattering of white blobs all over the counter and up the side of the cupboard.

  Mitchell swished the electric mixer behind his back and grinned. “Nothing.”

  Carolyn bent her head forward, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You need to turn the mixer off before you lift the beaters out of the bowl. I really think you should switch to the more basic class on Thursday nights, Mitchell.”

  He shook his head. “No! I’ll get the hang of this.”

  She sighed, which he thought rather endearing. She returned to the front, and Mitchell listened intently as she described how to properly dice the vegetables, which ones to chop finer, and recommended different types of knives and cleavers for the different jobs and techniques.

  Mitchell now knew more than ever that he was in over his head. Besides the cutlery he ate with, he only owned one knife, and he didn’t know the difference between it and any other. It had never mattered before.

  When they were done, each group sampled the others’ creations. Everyone else’s radish roses and fruit carvings looked nicer than his, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to decorate; he only wanted to serve good food and to say he made it himself.

  He glanced up at the clock. Time never passed so quickly when he was at work. Yet they had finished their second lesson. Only five lessons remained before Jake and Ellen’s wedding rehearsal, and he couldn’t see himself being anywhere near ready to serve the kind of food he’d proudly told his family he would make.

  Being the tallest in the group, Mitchell volunteered to do what he did best in the kitchen—putting everything away in the cupboards no one else on his team could reach.

  Once more, he glanced to the front of the class at Carolyn, at the display table with all her perfect samples. They emphasized how pathetic his creations had turned out. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but whatever it was, time was running out and he had to act fast.

  ❧

  In all the time she’d been teaching, Carolyn had never been so relieved to see the end of a class. She dismissed everyone and busied herself with tidying up her work area. Everyone headed for the door except, to her dismay, Mitchell. He approached her, stood directly at the table in front of her, planted his palms firmly on the surface as she worked, and leaned forward, giving her no choice but to stop what she was doing.

  “I can’t do this,” he said, waving his hand over her display of cut fruits and vegetables. “I need remedial help.”

  “Remedial help?”

  “I peel carrots at home, but I certainly don’t cut them into these fancy curly things. I really have to learn to do this stuff. Could you give me extra lessons during the week? I’m desperate.” He grinned a cute little boyish grin that emphasized his charming dimple.

  Carolyn nearly choked. She couldn’t imagine why he was so adamant about learning to prepare fancy hors d’oeuvres or finger foods, and especially the delicate procedure of food decorating, when she doubted his ability to cook even a basic meal.

  She continued to stare back at him across the table. If he needed help improving his basic cooking skills, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do. Except for Wednesday night Bible study meetings, her evenings and social calendar were embarrassingly bare. She often assisted graduating students in acquiring basic cooking and home management skills, but Mitchell wasn’t a student. He was a grown man.

  She opened her mouth to decline, but before she could get a word out, he pressed his palms together, widened his grin, and opened his eyes even wider. “Puh-leeeeze?” he begged.

  Carolyn folded her arms in front of her chest and openly glowered at him. In response, he pressed one palm to the center of his chest, fingers splayed, and batted his long eyelashes.

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  Mitchell’s foolish grin dropped, and he straightened. “I promised my sister and my mother I would cook the food for her wedding rehearsal. Her fiancé is my roommate and best friend, and he doesn’t think I can do it. But I can’t let Ellen down. This is important to her.”

  “Oh.” Whatever she had expected, this wasn’t it.

  “You can trust me. I’m a nice guy. I go to church every Sunday and everything. Promise.”

  Carolyn’s breath caught. All week she’d been wondering why he’d really asked about the cross her grandmother gave her. Now she knew. That was, if she read his between-the-lines statement properly.

  She cleared her throat, hoping her voice would come out even, and dropped her arms. “All right, I’ll help you. I’m free Thursday night.”

  Mitchell moved his hands back to the tabletop and leaned closer. “And just to let you know, I was serious about taking you out for dinner sometime.”

  Carolyn gulped. What had she done?

  ❧

  Carolyn stood in front of Mitchell’s door but didn’t knock. She wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing in agreeing to tutor Mitchell outside of class hours. She’d prayed about it and received no clear direction, so she had to stand by her word. Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to date the man. His age aside, so far she couldn’t see anything wrong with him, but at the same time, she didn’t see anything that made him right for her. If there were any man she would have considered right for herself, it was Hank, and Hank and Mitchell were as different as night and day.

  However, she wasn’t standing in front of Hank’s front door. She was at Mitchell’s, and she was not here as a social call. This was business. Or a favor. Or something.

  Carolyn gathered her courage, raised her fist, and knocked. A dog barked, quieted, and Mitchell answered almost immediately. Some kind of midsize hairy brown dog stood at his side, indifferently sized her up, yawned, then turned and walked away, allowing her to follow Mitchell down the hall into the kitchen—where the counters were completely bare.

  She waved one hand in the air above the empty countertop. “I thought you wanted me to show you how to cook something today. You don’t have anything ready.”

  Mitchell raised his arms, palms up, then let them flop down to his sides. “I told you I needed help. If we went to the supermarket, could you show me what to get?”

  Carolyn sighed. She hadn’t counted on doing his grocery shopping. She opened her mouth to complain, but rather than watch his theatrics again, she gave in. “Okay,” she muttered. “Let’s go.”

  Minutes later, Mitchell pushed the cart as Carolyn selected the ingredients, in addition to some basics she doubted he had. Walking up and down the aisles, Carolyn tried to shake the cascade of mixed emo
tions as he teased and complained about the items she chose, acting as if they belonged together.

  Once they returned to Mitchell’s house, she spread everything on the table, ready to begin.

  “Okay, where do you keep your bowls?”

  “Bowls?”

  Carolyn knotted her brows. “We need a bowl like the one we used in class last night.”

  “I don’t have a bowl that big.”

  Carolyn sighed. “What do you mix things in?”

  “Mix things? I put them in the pot.”

  She rested one hand on her hip and waved the other in the air in a circular motion as she spoke. “I don’t mean when you’re cooking something, I mean when you’re mixing the ingredients. The bowl you use when you make cookies.”

  He grinned that impish grin she was seeing more and more often, giving Carolyn the feeling she wasn’t going to like his answer.

  “I buy the kind that comes in a tube. You just slice off pieces and put them in the oven.”

  “You don’t own a mixing bowl. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Okay, we’ll use the pot. Where’s your electric mixer?”

  He raised one finger in the air in triumph. “I have one of those!”

  Instead of opening a cupboard door, Mitchell left the room, the door to the garage opened and banged shut, boxes shuffled, and the door opened and closed again.

  He returned with a large box, which he placed on the table, then used a knife from the cutlery drawer to slice through the manufacturer’s clear tape. He pulled out the protective foam packing, a warranty card and other literature, and finally, a brand-new electric mixer wrapped in a plastic bag.

  Carolyn sighed again.

  “You sure do sigh a lot.”

  She ignored his comment. “Why was your mixer in the garage?”

  “I bought it after class last week and put it with my tools so I would know where it was when I needed it.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  This time, it was Mitchell who sighed loudly. “Carolyn, I’m starting from scratch here. I told you that.”

  She opened her mouth to suck in a deep breath, but after his comment about her sighing, she quickly closed it again and let her breath out slowly through her nose. “Do I dare ask if you own a wooden spoon?”