What's Cooking (3 page)

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?”

“Go ahead and ask, but I don't think you're going to like the answer.”

Carolyn buried her face in her hands. “Mitchell!” she mumbled through her fingers. “How do you expect to prepare anything if you don't have the proper utensils?”

“I told you, I need—”

“I know, I know. You need—”

“Remedial help,” they said in unison.

They stared at each other in silence until Carolyn gave up and reached for the pot. “Okay, we'll do our best with what you've got. But in the meantime, let's make a list of what you should have.”

He nodded, and they set to work using whatever she could find to do the best job under the circumstances.

Carolyn guided him through the preparation process, and despite the extra time he took to write notes, things progressed well. His canapés didn't look quite as nice as hers did, and his cheese balls were a little crooked, but Carolyn assured him they would taste just fine.

Carolyn washed the dishes and Mitchell dried, pausing every once in a while to snitch a sample of their creations.

“You know,” he mumbled as he licked his fingers, “I should probably have some of those fancy thingies for dessert.”

“Fancy thingies?”

“You know. Those chocolate thingies. They have different fillings and that white swirly stuff on top. You know, when you go to the coffee shop and you have coffee and one of those little chocolate thingies with the stuff in the middle.”

Thinking he probably meant dessert squares, she nodded.

“Great! Can you show me how to do those, too? I'm going to make Jake eat his words. And I'll have you to thank for it.” His charming grin made Carolyn's foolish heart flutter.

“I suppose I can. I have many recipes for chocolate dessert squares.”

“No, I want a special one. I can't describe it, but I can show you.”

“All right.”

She barely had time to dry her hands when Mitchell gently grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. “Let's go.”

“Wait! Where are we going?”

“We have to go to the coffee shop and buy some. They're only open for another hour. I hope they still have some left.”

Carolyn let her mouth gape open. She hadn't expected to go out. She thought he would show her a picture in a cookbook. Then she remembered he said he'd borrowed a cookbook from someone he wouldn't name and he'd given it back.

In silence, she slipped on her jacket and followed him out the door to his car. Before she knew it, they had arrived at the local coffee shop.

As he opened the door, his other hand touched the small of her back and nudged her closer to him so he could lean down and whisper in her ear. “I see some people I know. Don't let them know why you're with me.”

Carolyn's heart caught in her throat. She'd used the difference in their ages to discourage him from thinking she would go out with him, but even though this was merely the extension of their cooking lesson, it hurt to know she was now an embarrassment to him. She stiffened her back and accompanied him inside.

“Hey! Mitch!”

Two young men about Mitchell's age waved at them from one of the tables near the door as they entered.

“Gordie! Roland! How are you guys?”

To Carolyn's horror, the two young men rose and approached them.

“Carolyn, I'd like you to meet my friends Gordie and Roland.”

Gordie and Roland nodded accordingly, then quickly glanced back and forth between her and Mitchell. In response, Mitchell's arm slid around her back, then slipped to her waist. Numbly, she glanced down at his fingers. He grinned at his friends.

She probably should have felt very flattered that he was trying to make it look like they were on a date, but she knew he was trying to hide the real reason they were together.

His friends grinned back, nodded, and returned to their table.

“They're good guys, but I didn't want their company tonight.”

Carolyn refused to look at him, wanting to cherish the moment, even if it was only in her imagination.

Mitchell ordered them each a cup of coffee and two chocolate dessert squares, one wrapped for takeout, claiming he wanted Carolyn to take it home and analyze it. She tried to convince him there was no need, but he insisted.

As she sipped her coffee, she could feel the stares of Mitchell's friends on her back. A tightening of his jaw signified their return. The chairs scraped on the floor as they sat, one on each side of her. Mitchell's jaw tightened even more. He opened his mouth to speak, but Gordie beat him to it.

“You know, Carolyn, this may sound like a line, but I know I've seen you somewhere before.”

Not wanting to further embarrass Mitchell, she shrugged her shoulders. “It isn't exactly a large city. I'm sure it's possible.”

“I suppose. It'll come to me.”

Roland butted in. “Jake and Ellen's wedding is coming up fast.”

“Just over a month from now.”

“I can hardly wait to see you in a monkey suit, Mitch.”

Carolyn wished she could see him in that monkey suit, too. He looked great in his jeans and loose shirt, but nothing made a man more striking than formal wear. Mitchell Farris in a tux would be a sight to behold. Not that she was interested. If she were interested in anyone, it would be Hank, whom she already knew.

The cutest dimple appeared in Mitchell's left cheek when he smiled mischievously at his friend. “You'll be wearing one, too. Now if you'll excuse us?”

At Mitchell's blatant hint, his friends left not only the table but the building, as well.

“Wasn't that a little rude?”

Mitchell shook his head. “Naw, they only came over here to check you out. You'd better get used to it.”

Used to it? She didn't intend to be out with Mitchell in public again.

He changed the subject, and before long, he held her spellbound and laughing at his outlandish tales. She enjoyed herself more than she had in years.

“Oops,” he mumbled as he checked his watch. “I think they're about to close.”

They made pleasant conversation in the car while Carolyn sat holding the box containing the dessert square in her lap.

The garage door opened as they pulled into the driveway, then the garage. Carolyn wondered why he didn't simply drop her off beside her car, which was parked on the street in front of his house.

“Would you like to come in? We can put our feet up and watch some TV.”

She shook her head. “I'd better go. I have classes in the morning, and I'm sure you have a job to go to.” Carolyn supposed it would have been polite to ask what he did for a living, but she didn't want to encourage him in thinking she wanted to get personally involved.

He nodded, then escorted her through the house and to the front door.

“I feel weird about this, Carolyn. After a date, a woman is supposed to see the man to the door as he goes home. It's so strange to escort you out.”

He followed her all the way to her car.

“This wasn't a date, Mitchell. I'm just helping you with your cooking.” She unlocked the car door, but before she had a chance to open it, his hands touched her shoulders and turned her around.

“The cooking lesson ended when we left the kitchen. Thanks for coming, Carolyn.”

His gentle smile eased any nervousness she may have felt. Even though she didn't know him well, she thought him quite endearing. He made her laugh, and she'd never been so relaxed in a man's presence, either despite his youth or perhaps because of it.

Mitchell's hands remained lightly touching her shoulders, and he continued to watch her in silence. The dim shadow from the boulevard trees kept them out of the direct light of the nearby lamppost, but the light reflected in Mitchell's eyes.

Before she realized his intent, he bent and brushed a gentle kiss to her lips, then backed up, his hands still resting on her shoulders.

A car drove by, drawing to Carolyn's attention that they were standing where his entire neighborhood could see them.

Carolyn felt the heat of her blush in her cheeks, making her very grateful for the darkness. Mitchell, however, showed no signs of chagrin.

His fingers lightly brushed her cheeks. “So,” he drawled, “will I see you again tomorrow?”

It took Carolyn a few seconds to realize what he was asking. “Tomorrow is Friday. Surely you have other things to do on a Friday night than cooking lessons.” She certainly didn't, but it was by her own choosing.

“Nope. But even if I did, I'd cancel, just to be with you.”

With a line like that, she couldn't refuse without appearing churlish. “I guess we can do something tomorrow,” she said, then mentally kicked herself for agreeing.

Carolyn hustled into her car, gritted her teeth, and drove away.

Three

Mitchell shuffled the bags in his hands and knocked on Carolyn's door. While he waited, he wondered what the inside of her house looked like. He also wondered exactly how welcome he would be. He knew he'd pushed his luck by inviting himself. Yesterday, the cooking lesson was fun, but the time they'd shared at the cafe was better.

The night had gone by so fast, he missed the chance to question her about her faith, now that he'd established she was a Christian. Today, he planned to find out more. He took some comfort in that she'd finally agreed to see him outside of class after he managed to slip into the conversation that he attended church every Sunday, even though no opportunity presented itself to share any more. But she'd responded, and that was a step in the right direction.

For a brief second, Mitchell closed his eyes and prayed about it. He liked Carolyn. She had an easy sense of humor, yet at the same time, she was mature and responsible. Her smile warmed his heart like nothing else. He was even becoming fond of her endearing little sighs when she was exasperated with him. Once he determined they were compatible spiritually, he could see the beginning of a great relationship.

He knocked again, but instead of the door opening to her smiling face, he heard her voice calling him to come in.

He opened the door and entered, ready to reprimand her for leaving the front door unlocked at night, but before he said a word, he skidded to a halt. Across the room, Carolyn stood on a step stool, her back turned to him. She stood on her tiptoes holding a picture up against the wall, balancing it precariously by the bottom of the frame, a hammer poised in the other hand.

“What do you think?” she called over her shoulder. “Is this the right height?”

Immediately, he lowered the bags to the floor and jogged to her, removing the picture from her hands before she dropped it. “What are you doing?”

She sighed loudly as she sank to her flat feet and rested her fists on her hips, still gripping the hammer with one hand. “I'm trying to hang a picture. What does it look like I'm doing?” Even standing on the step stool, she just barely reached eye level with him.

Mitchell stepped forward, standing almost nose-to-nose with her. It would have been the perfect height for a kiss, but not only did they not know each other well enough for such familiarity, she looked too irritated. He sighed back, but she didn't get the hint.

“You're too short for that. I'll hold it up. You stand back and tell me when it's where you want it.” When she hopped off the stool, he pushed it aside with his foot, stuck the nail in his mouth, and held the picture on the wall with both hands, awkwardly balancing the hammer at the same time. “Here?” he mumbled around the nail.

When she didn't answer, he peeked over his shoulder. His breath caught at the sight of her. Carolyn stood with her head tilted to one side, one arm over her stomach, and the index finger of her other hand tapping her pouty bottom lip. She looked so cute, he wanted to put everything down and give her a hug.

“A little to the right. There. Higher. Okay.”

As she approached, Mitchell handed her the picture while he tapped the wall with his middle finger and listened. “You can't hang it here. There's no stud.”

“But that's where it looks the best.”

He tapped the wall again. “This isn't a good spot.”

She exhaled another of her cute little sighs, crossed her arms, tapped her foot, and said nothing.

“All right, all right,” he mumbled. “Do you have an anchor?”

“I'm not parking a ship. I'm only hanging a small picture. Give it to me and I'll do it.”

Mitchell sighed back, but she still didn't get the hint, so he pulled the nail out of his mouth and dug the point into the wall to mark the place. Carolyn stood a couple of feet away holding the picture while he readied himself to hammer in the nail. He tapped the nail a few times gently with the hammer, then took a good swing at it.

And hit his finger.

He clenched his teeth together and groaned, tucked the hammer into his armpit, and grasped his aching finger with his other hand. He hunched over and squeezed both hands between his knees.

Behind him, he heard a loud thunk on the hardwood floor and the crack of breaking glass followed by tinkling as the pieces bounced, then settled in jagged shards around their feet.

Mitchell restrained himself from jumping up and down on one foot, while in his mind's eye, he pictured the frame falling on Carolyn's foot or her feet being cut by glass projectiles.

Both spoke in unison.

“Mitchell! Are you—”

“Carolyn! Are you—”

She stood in one spot, staring at him with her mouth open, the frame on the floor, her feet surrounded by broken glass. He supposed if she'd hurt herself, he should be able to tell by now. So far, he was the only one who'd been injured, and it was self-inflicted. He unclenched his knees and lowered the hammer to the floor. “I'll be okay. How about you?”

“Me? I'm fine. You're the one with the injury. Let me see that.” She started to take a step toward him.

“No!” he shouted before she could move, and she froze on the spot. Mitchell lowered his voice. “I've got shoes on. You'll cut your feet if you walk in this. Don't move.”

Mitchell crunched through the glass, scooped her off her feet, cradling her in his arms, then walked toward what he hoped was the kitchen.

She threw her arms around his neck to hold herself up. “Mitchell! What are you doing?”

“I'm escorting you to safety, milady.”

“Really,” she grumbled, squirming within his grasp. “I don't think—”

“Hush. I'm being gallant. Indulge me.”

Her lips clamped shut. Mitchell didn't think she'd respond well if he laughed at her outrage, so he bit his tongue and continued.

On his way through the living room, he passed a photograph of a colorful sunset over a lake. Inscribed on a plaque embedded in the frame was a verse out of the book of Psalms, about the beauty of the Lord. On the coffee table he saw a Bible, opened and facedown to save the place where she was reading.

Mitchell smiled. The pain he'd suffered was well worth the result of his discovery.

His next goal would be to check out the guy she was dating and find out how serious the relationship was. She had very carefully avoided saying she was going to marry him when Mitchell asked, which gave him the answer he wanted.

He stood in the kitchen, looking around the walls for other hints of her faith. He saw plenty of cows all over the place, but he doubted she was into idol worship.

“You can put me down any time, Mitchell.”

“Oops.”

Gently, he lowered her feet to the kitchen floor.

She walked away as if he were on fire. “If you'll excuse me for a minute, I'll sweep up the glass, and then we can get started with your cooking lesson.”

He followed her and removed the broom and dustpan from her hand. “I'm wearing shoes. I'll do it.”

❧

Carolyn watched Mitchell disappear down the hall with the broom in his hand. He didn't fool her. She doubted he was the least bit domestically inclined, so the only reason she could see why he was insisting on sweeping up was that he was trying to impress her. Knowing that, she tried not to be impressed.

She couldn't believe she'd dropped her picture, especially after all the money she paid to have it custom framed. She'd been so scared that Mitchell had seriously hurt himself she hadn't realized she'd dropped it until she heard the bang as it hit the floor.

He soon returned with the dustpan full of broken glass, which he dumped in the garbage.

“Thanks, Mitchell. Now let's start on your cooking lesson.”

Mitchell retrieved his shopping bags, dumped the contents on her table, and proudly showed Carolyn his first batch of utensils and kitchen paraphernalia, claiming he wanted to be sure he'd bought the correct things before he removed the packaging. At her approval, he returned the bags to the door, and they were ready to start his next lesson.

Carolyn could barely concentrate. Today Mitchell insisted on doing everything with a minimum of assistance, only asking her when he wasn't sure of what it was he was supposed to do, which wasn't as often as their previous lesson. Normally this wouldn't have bothered her, but every time she showed him something new, he stood too close for her comfort.

When the lesson was completed, Carolyn packaged the food that wasn't eaten, insisting Mitchell take it all home with him. He set the bag on the counter and held the top open as she lowered the full containers inside, but before she was finished, he reached inside and grasped her hands. Slowly, he lifted them out of the bag and rubbed his thumbs on the undersides of her wrists, causing a shiver that made her heart skip a beat, then start up in double time. All she could do was stare up at him, while he continued his gentle massage and smiled down at her.

After a few minutes of silence, he cleared his throat. “Is that blue container the one that has that stuff with that splatty glop on top in it?”

Carolyn tried not to stammer as she spoke. “That stuff is called toast points.”

“Yeah. That. So that means the white container has those round things in it, right?”

“Those round things are called pastry cheese balls.”

“Yeah, those, too. And where's that list of more stuff you said I should buy? Did you add one of those pastry-mixing contraptions? And don't you do that sighing thing again.”

Carolyn clamped her lips shut and yanked her hands back. Her breathing didn't feel normal, and she didn't like it. “The list is in the bag, and yes, I did. Now I think it's time for you to leave.”

“First there's something I wanted to talk to you about.”

She checked her watch. “It's late. We can talk about it at class on Tuesday.”

“But—”

“I think that's best. Let me see you to the door.”

She scooped up a bag, prompting him to do the same. She led him to the door, where she handed him the bag she had carried. “Good night, Mitchell.”

He shuffled everything into one hand, and instead of leaving, he slowly and gently brushed his fingers across her cheek. Carolyn closed her eyes. The moment was perfect for a good night kiss that part of her wanted and part of her didn't.

“Good night, Carolyn.” He dropped his hand, picked up the bags of supplies he'd left next to the door, and walked out.

A small sigh escaped as Carolyn watched him go. It was nothing she could put her finger on, but something deep inside of her found Mitchell interesting. However, from their conversation during the food preparation today, she knew more about his family than she knew about him. Other than that his sister was getting married soon, the only thing she knew about him was his age and that he attended church services. In some ways, she would have liked the age spread to be the other way around, but no amount of wishing he were older could make it so. She wished she knew why he wanted to see her so badly—but then decided the answer was obvious.

She was the cooking teacher, and he needed to learn how to cook in a hurry. He was simply being nice to her because she was doing him a favor. In a convoluted sort of way, she found it disappointing but, considering all else, for the best.

She didn't want to like him. Earlier, she thought he'd taken an interest in her favorite Bible verse, which she had on display on her living room wall. If she hadn't been in his arms at the time, she would have liked to talk about it, just to see where he was spiritually. Even though it was a good start, just because he said he attended church on Sundays didn't mean he was a committed Christian.

Not that it mattered. Except for class, she had no intention of seeing him again.

Carolyn shut the door, but instead of walking away, she pressed both palms into it, then leaned her forehead against the cool wood.

She prayed daily for God to send her a Mr. Right, a man who would be about five or six years older than her, educated, well into a successful career, and understand that her career as a teacher was important to her, too. Not that she was getting desperate, but soon she was going to be thirty-three years old, and she was more than ready to settle down. She wanted to fall in love with a man who would love and cherish her as much as she would him.

She needed a mature man who was a strong leader but was flexible and open to God's direction. Carolyn knew she had a tendency to be a bit headstrong, so she needed a mate who wouldn't stand back and let her make all the decisions or carry all the responsibility just because it was easier for him. But at the same time, she didn't want a man with whom every decision would be a battle. She needed a man who was regal and reserved and with the strength of character to stand by her side and be her equal partner in all things.

She didn't know much about Mitchell, but Mitchell was not that man. Even though she enjoyed her time with him, she doubted Mitchell could be serious about anything. There were more important things in life than simply having fun.

It didn't matter, anyway. She wouldn't see Mitchell until next class, on Tuesday, four days away, which was as it should be.

❧

Carolyn flicked off the vacuum cleaner switch and cocked her head to listen.

Sure enough, it was the doorbell she'd heard. Since she wasn't expecting anyone, she had no idea who it could possibly be.

When she checked through the peephole, a gorgeous green eye stared back.

She ran her hands through her hair to straighten it, then opened the door.

“Hello, Mitchell. What are you doing here?”

He held a large, flat package. “I brought you something. Mind if I come in?” He grinned and stepped past her into the house without waiting for her reply.

Carolyn followed him to the couch and waited while he sat and tore away the white tissue paper surrounding whatever was in his hand. As soon as he made a large enough opening, he pulled out the newly framed needlepoint they'd tried to hang last night.