What's Cooking

by Gail Sattler

  “I’m not sure. I guess she’s about five or so. I know she’s not deaf. She appears the split second I open the cupboard where her dog cookies are.”

  “You guess? You mean you don’t know how old your dog is?”

  “Not really. We got her from the pound. Jake and I were looking for a watchdog because we’d just been robbed. We were looking at a bigger dog, but when we learned Killer was going to be put down, those big, sad eyes got to me, and I took her. We haven’t been robbed since, so I suppose she’s at least partly responsible for that. She’s friendly, anyway. And she doesn’t annoy the neighbors with tons of barking.”

  “That was a sweet thing to do!”

  “Don’t go getting gushy on me. It’s just a dog.”

  She wanted to hug him just for being nice but didn’t dare after what happened at the school.

  As soon as they finished eating, Mitchell bundled the paper wrappings and they set to work. As a matter of pride, he insisted on doing the pastry while Carolyn mixed the fillings and pâté. Together, they shaped cheese balls and rolled them in the chopped nuts.

  Killer jumped to her feet and ran to the door. She barked once, then sat quietly and wagged her tail.

  Mitchell wiped his hands on his pants, leaving floury handprints on his thighs, and headed for the door. “Killer barked, so it’s not Jake. I’m not expecting anyone.”

  Carolyn stood in the kitchen doorway, watching.

  Before Mitchell got to the door, it opened and Jake walked in, followed by Gordie and Roland.

  “Mitch? What are you doing here? It’s your Bible study night.” Jake glanced at the flour on Mitchell’s nose and burst out laughing.

  Gordie stepped forward. “Hi, Miss Rutherford.”

  Carolyn cringed. Miss Rutherford. Is that what she would be to his friends? Not his companion or his girlfriend, but the teacher, Miss Rutherford? She smiled shakily. “Hi, Gordie,” she mumbled.

  Mitchell’s posture stiffened as he faced his friend. “We’re not in school anymore. Her name is Carolyn.”

  “Oops. Sorry, Miss—er, Carolyn.”

  Mitchell turned his back on his friends and moved to Carolyn’s side. “We’re busy here. Couldn’t you go to the coffee shop?”

  Jake ignored Mitchell’s question. He crossed his arms over his chest and craned his neck in an attempt to see over Mitchell’s shoulder into the kitchen. “What are you making?”

  Mitchell turned his back on his friends and grabbed her hand. “It’s a surprise,” he grumbled. “Come on, Carolyn, let’s finish up.”

  Unfortunately, Mitchell’s friends trailed behind. They stood beside the table and gaped at the rows of hors d’oeuvres neatly set into the storage containers Carolyn had brought. Jake picked up a finished cheese ball and popped it into his mouth.

  Roland stepped forward. “If you can have one, so can I.” He followed Jake’s example and snitched a cheese ball. Gordie took only a second to follow suit.

  “Wow,” Gordie mumbled. “Forget the wedding. All the good food’s going to be at the rehearsal party.”

  Jake swept his hand in the air over the tray of goodies. “Did you really do this by yourself? Carolyn did it, and you’ve been watching, right?”

  Mitchell raised one finger in the air and opened his mouth, but Jake interrupted him. “No, forget I asked. I can tell by the look of you that you’ve been doing more than watching. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. And there isn’t a wiener in any of this.”

  Carolyn bit her lip. She had done some of the more difficult steps for him, but Mitchell really had worked hard, both in class and now, and he really had put what he learned into practice.

  Jake pointed at the pastry shapes Mitchell had been in the middle of shaping when his friends had arrived. “What are those things?”

  “Those things,” Mitchell said as he crossed his arms and tapped one foot, “are going to be the pastry shells for the crab snaps.”

  “Well, what do ya know.”

  Roland pointed to the counter. “What are you doing with that bag of mushrooms? Making little teeny-weeny pizzas? Where’s the pepperoni?”

  “I’m making stuffed mushroom caps.”

  The three of them stood in one spot, staring at the bag of mushrooms as if it were some object from outer space.

  Gordie shook his head. “Stuffed mushrooms? You? You’ve gotta be kidding.”

  “That does it,” Mitchell muttered. “Get lost.” Following his words, Mitchell practically shoved them out of the kitchen. “I wish kitchens had doors you could lock,” he mumbled.

  Carolyn grinned. “I think you should take it as a compliment.”

  He uttered something unintelligible in return.

  The sounds of Jake and Gordie and Roland making themselves comfortable drifted from the living room. Killer returned to her bed in the corner of the kitchen and fell back to sleep, and she and Mitchell continued with their cooking. Jake reappeared in the kitchen to help himself to the coffee they’d made earlier, then returned for a second cup, and not long after that he came back to make another pot. Considering the time it took him with every return trip, it gave Carolyn a sneaking suspicion that he was doing more than tending to the coffee. Jake was doing some serious looting.

  After Jake’s fourth trip into the kitchen, it finally dawned on Mitchell that his friend was pilfering the food. Carolyn struggled to stifle her laughter as Mitchell almost physically threw his best friend out of the kitchen, threatening Jake’s life if he dared to return.

  When they were done, Mitchell washed his hands in the kitchen sink with the dish detergent, and they carefully snapped the covers onto the containers.

  Carolyn counted everything. “We did really well today. We only have a few things left to do tomorrow.”

  “Don’t speak too soon. Since Jake seems to like these so much, I think it would all be safer if you took it home. Do you have room in your fridge until Friday? I know it’s a lot to ask, but even the Bible says to remove temptation. I really don’t think Ellen would be very pleased with me if her future husband showed up with a black eye on their wedding day.”

  “No problem. I can take most of this home.” She picked up the remaining recipe sheets. “You don’t even need to get off early tomorrow since there’s only a few things left to do.”

  His triumphant smile would have made a winning toothpaste commercial. “Yeah. We did great.”

  “Since your mom still has the cast on her arm, who is going to put everything out and stuff and bake the crab snaps on Friday?”

  “I am.”

  “Do you have any idea how long that’s going to take?”

  He shook his head. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “You’ve proved my point. You’ve prepared the food, but you’re the best man. You should be with the rest of the wedding party, not spending all your time in the kitchen. If you want, while everyone is at the church, I could get the food ready if your parents wouldn’t mind me being in their house when they’re not home.”

  “No. I want you to come to the party as my guest, not the hired help.”

  “I don’t mind. I could be both.”

  “I probably don’t have a lot of choice, do I?”

  “Not really. Someone has to do it.”

  “I won’t let you do all the work. I made this stuff. I want to serve it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity. Now I think it’s time for me to go.”

  He checked his wristwatch, then glanced at the clock on the stove. “I’ll help you carry this to your car.”

  Once everything was stacked securely, Mitchell stood in such a spot that she couldn’t open the car door without hitting him with it.

  “I’m really sorry that I didn’t take you out for dinner on your birthday. You shouldn’t have been working on your special day, but I was desperate.”

  “It’s okay. I enjoy making things in the kitchen. Besides, the singing telegram mor
e than made up for it. It was a birthday I’ll never forget.” Even more memorable than the young man in the horrid costume was the last of the kisses, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him.

  “Have I told you how much I appreciate your help?”

  “A few dozen times, yes.”

  He grinned. “Then have I told you how much I’m looking forward to tomorrow, when we’ll be finishing this up?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Did I tell you that I can hardly wait until the rehearsal party, where I can show you off not only as the person responsible for teaching me how to make all this stuff, but also as my date?”

  She wasn’t sure he’d emphasized the part about being his date, although his meaning when he talked about it had been clear enough, so she nodded.

  “Well, then, have I told you how much I love you?”

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  Quickly, Mitchell stepped forward, tipped her chin up with his index finger, and brushed a light kiss to her lips. “Good night, Carolyn. Drive safely. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As quickly as he had moved forward, he stepped back and opened the door for her.

  “Good night, Mitchell,” she mumbled as she scrambled behind the wheel and took off.

  She obviously drove home, but Carolyn found herself standing in her kitchen loading the food they’d made into her fridge, remembering nothing of the drive. She only remembered Mitchell’s words.

  He loved her. She loved him, too, but that didn’t make the relationship right or good. She couldn’t believe Mitchell didn’t see how wrong they were for each other.

  For now, they had the excitement of a new relationship, but when everything faded to everyday routine, he wouldn’t find her so interesting, especially when age started to creep up on her faster than it would creep up on him. Projecting further, she tried to imagine what it would be like when she was sixty-five, ready to retire, and wanting to travel and Mitchell was still fifty-six, with many more years of active employment ahead of him. By the time he reached sixty-five, she would be nearly seventy-four. She wasn’t likely to be able to keep up with him then.

  But for now, she wanted to have children and to do so before she was thirty-five. Her prospective mate had to be ready for an almost-instant family. While twenty-four was certainly not too young to be a responsible father, she didn’t know if Mitchell wanted children. And if he did, she didn’t know if he wanted them right away. She didn’t even know if to him love meant getting married versus simply having a steady relationship.

  Love was more complicated than a case of the warm fuzzies. She needed security, compatibility, and strength. But most of all, she needed to seek God’s will for the man she saw as His choice for her.

  She didn’t want to think about Hank and his proposal. One thing she was sure of was that God wanted her to be happy.

  Despite the late time, she knew she would never sleep. Instead, Carolyn picked up her Bible and turned to 1 Corinthians 13 and read all the things God said about love. Patience. Kindness. Not envious or boastful. Humble. She read the section a dozen times, and to the best of her knowledge, Mitchell was all of those things.

  She didn’t know what to do, so she buried her face in her hands and prayed for a sign that a relationship with Mitchell Farris was God’s will for her.

  ❧

  Carolyn helped Mitchell stack the containers of food into the back of his car, and they began the journey to his parents’ house.

  Today was the day.

  She’d never been so nervous in her life.

  It hadn’t occurred to her until this moment that she hadn’t considered the other members of the wedding party who would be there today—the bride’s friends, or worse, Mitchell’s family.

  Realistically, she could expect Mitchell’s sister to be at least one year younger than Mitchell. She would be participating in a social function with people who could possibly be her former students. She wouldn’t be Carolyn, an acquaintance or possible friend. She’d be Miss Rutherford, the teacher from their high school days. As their teacher and person in a position of authority, she was careful to define the line between the generations. Except for helping the odd student with extra lessons, she kept her private life exactly that, private.

  The name Ellen Farris wasn’t immediately familiar, although she could hardly be expected to remember every student who passed through her class year after year. But even if she hadn’t had Mitchell’s sister as one of her students, the possibility existed that she had taught a few of the bridesmaids, some of whom would be friends of Ellen’s from high school. She didn’t want to think of the other guests at the wedding. Not that she’d never bumped into a former student at a social function, but this time it would be different because she would be accompanying Mitchell as a peer rather than an instructor.

  Trying to be as discreet as possible, she glanced at herself in the rearview mirror to see if she looked her age, and she did. The beginnings of crow’s-feet and other telltale signs of being over thirty couldn’t be hidden, and since she rarely used anything more than a touch of eye shadow and lipstick, if she suddenly put on makeup to hide her age, it would only look worse.

  “We’re almost there.”

  Carolyn blinked and started paying attention to where they were. They had traveled about ten minutes and neither of them had spoken, which she found odd because Mitchell tended to be chatty in the car.

  Upon the arrival of the wedding party, Mitchell planned to introduce her to everyone she hadn’t met, and then everyone would leave except Carolyn. Then, once she was alone, she would start setting out the food and make the punch and put everything that required heating in the oven. Since the rehearsal itself wouldn’t be long, she would have barely enough time to get everything done before the wedding party returned, and then it would be time to eat.

  “Are you as nervous as I am?” she asked as she smoothed a few imaginary wrinkles from her sleeve.

  Mitchell slowed the car, and they pulled into the driveway of a large white house with blue painted trim and a cheery flower garden in front.

  He killed the engine but made no move to exit the car. He remained seated, rested one arm across the back of his seat as he turned the upper half of his body to her, and gripped the top of the steering wheel tightly with his left hand. “Before we go in, there’s something I neglected to tell you. I’ve been afraid to mention it, but I think you should know this before you meet my parents.”

  Her stomach sank. She swallowed hard and listened.

  “My mom and dad were only sixteen when she got pregnant. They got married when I was three. They became Christians when I was in kindergarten.”

  She waited in silence, but he didn’t say anything more. “Why are you telling me this?”

  He stiffened and grasped her hands as he spoke, holding them firmly enough that it would be an effort to pull away from him. The tightness in her stomach worsened her fear of what he was going to say.

  “Just so you’ll be prepared when you see them. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.”

  She stared at Mitchell, trying to picture an older version of him, which wasn’t difficult, because she’d often tried to fantasize him into being older.

  “It’s okay,” she said, still not sure she understood why he thought the state of his parents’ early relationship was her concern. They were Christians now and had been for years, which was all that mattered.

  Mitchell straightened and tugged at his shirt collar, then ran his hands down his sleeves, straightening out the wrinkled fabric. “We’d better get moving. We have to get all the food inside and some of the work done before everyone gets here.”

  Walking side by side, they approached the house. Instead of knocking and waiting, Mitchell rang the doorbell and opened the door. He poked his head inside, calling out that they had arrived, walked in, and shut the door behind them.

  A couple approached from the stairs. The
woman was blond, tall, thin, and absolutely beautiful. She wore fashionably snug jeans along with a loose, short-sleeved, cotton pullover sweater. Her right arm was bound in a cast, which was supported by a sling.

  The man was about the same height as Mitchell and just as attractive in a different sort of way because of the maturity that enriched his handsome features. He smiled a greeting that would have melted any woman’s heart. He carried himself with a combination of good looks and confident manners that gave him a timeless appeal, except he wasn’t old enough to need to be timeless. He was drop-dead gorgeous. It took a few seconds for it to fully sink in that this chic couple was Mitchell’s mother and father.

  The resemblance between father and son was striking, and he sported a physique identical to his son’s. They almost could have been brothers, except for the fact that since Mitchell’s mother was standing beside him, Carolyn could see some of her features in Mitchell.

  “Carolyn, these are my parents, Kim and Roger. Mom, Dad, this is Carolyn.”

  Carolyn blinked, speechless. In a single instant, she understood the meaning of Mitchell’s attempt to caution her about meeting his parents. She had friends the same age as Mitchell’s mother, but that wasn’t what hit her the hardest. Doing some quick math, she calculated that Roger was forty years old, only one year older than Hank—and closer to her age than Mitchell was by two years.

  Carolyn felt sick.

  His mother smiled. “So you’re Mitchell’s friend, the cooking teacher. We’ve heard so much about you. I’m so pleased to finally meet you.” With her arm in the cast, she awkwardly glanced down while Mitchell’s father extended his hand. Carolyn responded with the limpest handshake of her life.

  “Yes, pleased to meet you, Carolyn.”

  The second his father released her hand, Mitchell slipped his around her waist and gave her a little squeeze, drawing both his parents’ gazes to the obvious show of affection. His mother’s eyebrows rose, but no comment was made. Carolyn should have parroted the usual polite reply, but for a moment she couldn’t have formed words if her life depended on it. She didn’t know how to address them. She had called Hank’s parents by Mr. and Mrs. and besides, they were. . .older. If they were at school, she would have addressed a student’s parents as Mr. and Mrs., regardless of the age difference, but in any other social situation, she would have greeted them using their first names.