by Beth Vogt
“Tonight we are making 50-50 burgers. We’ll be using half ground beef and half ground bacon.” After rubbing a squirt of sanitizer into her hands, Sadie grabbed a handful of the mixture from the glass bowl in front of her. “You’ll each make your own hamburger, and get to eat it tonight. But first, I’m going to teach you the best technique for forming a burger. Shape your patty, and then press a crater in one side of it”—she and Mel showed the class how to do this, moving around the room to each dad-and-son pairing—“making sure the crater is about the size of a silver dollar. This allows space inside the burger for the juices to expand, but they won’t run outside the patty.”
Bert, one of the dads who came with his thirteen-year-old son, raised his hand. “Does the crater go up or down when we grill the burger?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How do we know when the burger is done?”
“Good question, Bert. Normally when we discuss cooking meat, we talk about rare, medium, and well-done. But not with a 50-50 burger. You don’t want to eat raw bacon. So these burgers are served either medium-well or well—I recommend well.” Sadie held up a meat thermometer. “You can use a thermometer like this one to check the temperature. Or another way to test if a burger is done is to see if the juices run clear and the patty is firm to the touch in the center.”
Before starting to cook the burgers, she talked the group through the prep for the sweet potato fries with Manchego cheese and rosemary.
“While Chef Mel helps you cook your burgers, I’ll work on the sweet potato fries. Here’s what I want you to remember: the thinner the cut, the crispier the fries. So, a shoestring cut will be crispier than a julienne. I’m going to use a deep fryer tonight—a two-step process—but baking them and then tossing them in the cheese and rosemary is another, healthier option. And yes, I have handouts with all the recipes and information for you to add to your notebooks.”
For two hours the hum of voices, intermingled with laughter, filled the church kitchen. The salty aroma of bacon and beef and the sizzle of fries scented with rosemary and the nutty aroma of Manchego cheese laced the air.
As much as she insisted she didn’t want to teach the class, Sadie relished seeing the satisfaction on the dads’ faces as they tasted their burgers. How they congratulated their sons for following the recipe even as they joked about who made the better burger. As they cleaned up the kitchen, she encouraged them to try out their newfound skills on families and friends.
“Don’t forget, class: ‘Cooking is at once child’s play and adult joy. And cooking done with care is an act of love.’ ”
With Mel nearby, she even managed a nonchalant, “Looking forward to it,” when Justin said, “I’ll call about going to look at cookbooks” as he left for the night.
“So, how are things going with you and Matt?” Mel removed her stained apron, leaning back against the kitchen counter, not bothering to hide the huge yawn that almost swallowed her words.
Her friend’s question caused Sadie to do a second wipe down of the counters with a healthy dose of cleaner. Generally speaking, the more a cleaner stung her eyes, the more Sadie liked it. How had she not mentioned the drive-by breakup by text? Oh, that’s right. They’d spent the evening in a room loaded with testosterone and calories—and Mel had spent a lot of that time checking up on Keegan Fletcher and his son.
“Things aren’t ‘going’ with Matt. He dumped me—by text.”
“What?” Mel straightened, hands on her hips. “Sadie—how do you find these guys?”
“Are you blaming me for that man’s lack of social skills?”
“No, of course not.” Mel folded her apron and set it by her animal-print, suede purse. “But didn’t the last guy you dated dump you by text too?”
“Yes. And the guy before him.” Sadie held up the white dishrag, waving it like a surrender flag. “Don’t ask anymore. I give up.”
“I’m sorry, Sadie.”
“No—I’m Sorry Sadie.”
Once again, she bordered on pathetic.
“I did have a guy ask me out this week, but I turned him down.” Well, two guys if she counted Justin’s invitation as a real date.
“Who? Why’d you turn him down?”
“It was Erik—and that’s why I turned him down.”
“Erik-Erik? Why would he ask you out? You two have been friends since middle school! You’re like brother and sister.”
“Well, it’s probably because I proposed to him.”
“What?”
Mel’s bug-eyed expression caused Sadie to bust out laughing, which eased the tightness in her chest. “But that was only because he asked if I wanted to kiss him.”
Mel grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a slight shake. “Explain yourself right now. This is Erik, right? The one you asked to the Sadie Hawkins Dance—and he turned you down.”
“Yes, that Erik.”
“Why is he suggesting you kiss each other—and why are you proposing?”
Sadie shrugged her shoulders, and Mel released her. “It was just a crazy conversation. I had hassled Erik about being afraid of commitment. And then somehow he said he was a much better kisser than the last time we kissed—”
“Whoa. When did you two kiss?”
“Years ago. When we were eighteen. One kiss. It was a mistake. Since then, we’ve been friends—and nothing but friends.”
“You, uh, didn’t want to find out if he was a much better kisser?”
“Stop!”
“All right, so how did you end up proposing to a man you won’t even kiss?”
“It was a joke—that’s all.”
“So, besides Erik offering to kiss you, and you proposing to him—it’s been a normal week?”
Why was Mel asking so many questions? Sadie was done with men—dating them and talking about them. “Well, like I said, Erik did ask me out on a date.”
“And this is a normal week?”
“I turned him down.”
“Oh—on a non-normal week, you’d accept?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Sadie slipped into her jacket, thankful for its warmth since the weather had turned cool overnight. “Mel—that is a ridiculous question.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“Not at the moment.” Sadie didn’t mention Justin because, really, cookbook shopping wasn’t a date. Was it?
“Is Erik dating anyone?”
“No—he said he just hit the three-month mark with Lydia, so he’s unattached. But, once again, he’s managed to remain friends. They both admitted there was no real romance between them—and that was that.”
“If you say so.”
“Oh, I know Erik’s dating modus operandi. To his credit, he always ends up friends with all of the women.”
“No hard feelings? No stalker ex-girlfriends?”
“None.”
“So, if both of you are unattached, why don’t you go out with him?”
Sadie shoved her hands into her pockets. “Mel, are you listening to me? Erik and I are friends—best friends. And that’s the way I like it.”
“So, you’re happy working and watching the cooking channel?”
“It’s been one week since I was dumped—and I find a lot of good recipes that way. Just last week—”
“You’re scared to say yes.”
“Why would I be scared?”
“You tell me. What are you afraid of?”
Nothing. And everything. Not that she’d tell Mel that. She didn’t want to go on an emotional roller-coaster ride again with Erik.
“I heard a quote once. ‘Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.’ You like to be comfortable. Play it safe.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“What do you think explorers would have discovered if they played it safe? Or what would inventors have created?” Mel stood in the middle of the kitchen, refusing to budge. “Didn’t you listen to anything our instructors taught us i
n school? The importance of trying new things? I double-dog dare you to go on a date—one date—with Erik.”
“This isn’t grade school.”
“No, it’s not. So stop acting like a scared little girl, afraid someone’s going to hurt you. Call Erik up and tell him your calendar cleared up and you’re available.”
Fine. Two could play the grade-school game.
“You just dared me to get outside of my comfort zone. What will you do?”
Mel stood with her hand on her hip, the glint in her eye causing Sadie to wish she hadn’t asked the question.
“It’s more like what will I do for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Remember how I was invited to be on the morning news last month and how I shared a breakfast recipe? The station manager called me last week and asked if I could recommend another chef to do a guest spot.”
Mel stared at her, a wicked smile on her lips. Sadie waited. And waited.
Nothing.
“You’re not going to use Erik as the bait for a chance to do the cooking segment.”
Silence.
“You’re not that kind of friend, Mel.”
“I’m not?”
“Mel!”
“Here’s how this goes down: You call Erik and tell him you had a change of heart. That you’d love to go out with him. And then I’ll call the station manager and give him your name and phone number.” Mel stuck out her hand. “Deal?”
Sadie was not going to be cornered into a date with Erik. She grabbed her small leather purse, marched past Mel, switching off the kitchen lights. Without a word, Mel slipped on her coat and shouldered her purse, passing Sadie. As she headed for the parking lot, Sadie scrambled after her, the heels of her clogs tapping against the asphalt.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“You’re a smart woman, Sadie. Of course, you did graduate top of the class.” Mel motioned to her. “Go ahead, call Erik.”
The cold night air nipped at her nose and fingers. “Now?”
“Yes. Now. I’m not going to listen to the entire conversation, but I want to see you dial the number and make sure he answers. Then I’ll leave you two alone while you make plans for your date.” Mel shook her head and tsked when Sadie muttered something under her breath. “Ah, ah, ah. No threats. I’m your liaison to TV land, remember?”
Erik hunkered down in his Subaru outside Sadie’s house in the older section of northern Denver. The arrival of October saw the small grouping of aspen trees in her front yard turning golden. Once past the white-picket fence Sadie scraped down and painted each spring, a brick pathway led to the front door, painted a rich forest green and adorned with a gold scripted M. Laughter floated over from the park across the street as children conquered the monkey bars and followed one another up and down the circular slide.
This was a date.
Not a sort-of date. Not a fill-in-at-the-last-minute-because-the-person-I-asked-couldn’t-make-it date.
A D-A-T-E.
All he had to do was knock on the door and greet Sadie when she answered. Act natural. He’d been to her house hundreds of times.
But never for a date—not since the summer after high school when his particular-to-a-fault best friend had made it clear that she had no interest in a romance with him.
Erik stared at the front door, feeling as if he were standing two body-lengths off second base, trying to make the decision between stealing third or running back to second.
Sadie may not remember those few weeks during the summer before he left for college. When they’d held hands. And shared one too-brief kiss. But he did. Sadie’s nonreaction to his kiss made it obvious she preferred friendship with him rather than his inept attempts at romance.
He was thirty now. An adult. This date had more riding on it than the immature longings of an eighteen-year-old. He knew what he was doing. Why he was here. What he wanted.
Who he wanted.
Make your move, Davis.
The day hinted at the beginnings of another idyllic display of Indian summer. Leaves crunched under his feet and the sun warmed his shoulders. Maybe he should have planned something outdoors.
The chimes of the doorbell sounded through the house, and only a few seconds later, Sadie swung open the door. No bright-colored bandana hid her deep-brown hair. Her makeup—the barest hint of blush, a touch of eye shadow and eyeliner—impeccable. The jeans and pale-green blouse accented her figure, proving that she didn’t use her profession as an excuse to overindulge.
“Ready to go?” She eased the door shut behind her as she joined him on the small porch.
“Hello to you too.” Erik stayed put, close enough to catch a hint of her perfume that smelled of vanilla. Did she just grab the expensive Mexican vanilla she liked to cook with and dab it behind her ears? “Is this how you greet all your dates? Don’t you want to invite me inside, show me your home?”
“You were here ten days ago. You know what my house looks like. You helped me move, remember?”
“Go back inside.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“Back inside.” He turned her to face the door. “Let’s try this again and act like we haven’t known each other since we were thirteen.”
“Is this a pretend date—or a real one?”
“It’s real, Miss McAllister, I assure you. You’re acting like we’re going to hang out together.”
“We are—”
“Please.” Erik held up his hand and closed his eyes. “I invited you out on a date. You accepted. We do this my way.”
“Do you enforce absurd rules like this with all your dates?”
Erik refused to answer, hoping the heat blazing in her eyes wouldn’t singe the other side of the door.
Then he sang the chorus of “Born in the U.S.A.” to cool down. Sang it again because he figured Sadie needed a chance to cool down too.
Squaring his shoulders, Erik knocked on the door again. And waited. Rang the doorbell. And waited.
Finally, Sadie opened the door—wearing her blue Japanese kimono robe, belted tight around her waist.
“Oh, Erik—you’re early. Come on in. I’m sorry I’m not quite ready.” She ran up the stairs leading to her loft, pausing halfway and leaning over the railing. “If you’re thirsty, there are some sodas or tea in the fridge. Or water. Back in a few.”
He should follow her and march her back downstairs and out to his car. But was she wearing anything underneath that silky robe? No reason to call her bluff and end up embarrassing them both.
Nope. This was when he would disorder something in Sadie J.’s space.
What section of the open concept living room that flowed right into the dining room would he disrupt today?
Sadie’s sacred kitchen.
To the casual observer, the kitchen looked as spotless as a staged home’s, ready for an onslaught of potential buyers. The stainless steel counters were bare of appliances. The clear glass cabinets displayed artistically arranged white dishes.
Sadie kept her treasured collection of cookbooks—dozens of them—in a side cabinet that was more of a nook beside the refrigerator. One by one, he turned them upside down. Did he dare rearrange them too? At the sound of Sadie’s footsteps on the stairs, Erik grabbed two cans of soda from the fridge, and met her at the foot of the stairs.
“What are you doing?”
He offered her a can. “Soda?”
“No, thank you.” Sadie tilted her head. “You know I don’t drink diet. What are you up to?”
“Nothing. Wasn’t thinking. Do you want something else?”
“No. I’m fine.”
She’d changed into a denim skirt, tall black boots, and a purple sweater. “If you’re ready, let’s go.”
“You don’t want a tour of my house?”
“No, I’m good. After you, Sadie.”
“Are you going to watch the otters all day long?” Erik’s close whisper caused a shiver up Sadie’s neck.
Sadie leaned toward the plexiglass tank, following the motions of the long, lithe animals frolicking in the water. Watch the otters. Ignore how Erik’s low tone created a warmth in her body that made her want to lean toward him, not away. “I love otters. Usually when I try to see them at the zoo, they’re sleeping. Or the exhibit is closed for renovation.”
“You come here often?”
Was that a hint of disappointment in Erik’s voice?
“No—I can’t think of the last time I came to the aquarium—or the zoo. Probably during some elementary-school field trip.” Sadie crouched down to watch the underwater otter ballet, the heat from Erik’s closeness evaporating. She’d probably been on some class trip her mother had assured her would be fun. And then Sadie had hung back from her classmates, staying near the teacher—where it was safe. “Do you know otters hold hands when they sleep?”
“They do?”
“Yes—so they don’t float away from one another. Isn’t that adorable?”
Several younger children pressed forward to watch the animals, pushing and shoving one another to get the best spot, causing Sadie to ease to the right side of the tank. She never took her eyes off the trio of otters sliding through the water, swimming around the blue bucket filled with a chunk of fish-laden ice.
Five minutes later, she turned to share a laugh with Erik. Where was he? She slipped through the crowd, rounding the corner of the exhibit to find him talking with a college-aged girl overseeing the display of faux barrels overflowing with stuffed otters.
“The real ones are much more fun to watch,” Sadie said, walking up behind him.
“Yes, but you can’t take one home with you.” Erik held up a medium-sized brown-and-white, stuffed otter, using it to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose.
Sadie stepped back. “That tickles.”
“Then let’s hope he behaves when you take him home.”
“This is for me?”
“Of course. You can’t come to the aquarium and not get a souvenir.” Erik pocketed his receipt and thanked the cashier. “Don’t forget to name him.”
“Erik.”
“What?”
“That’s his name—Erik.”