What's Cooking (10 page)

Carolyn almost choked but held back her comment. “Come on. Over there, they're featuring a selection of new products for people with food allergies.”

He checked his watch. “We've been here over seven hours. You mean there's still something we haven't seen?”

“Just two sections. If you want to go sit down and watch television, I don't mind.”

“No. If I wanted to watch television, I would have stayed home. I came here to be with you.”

Carolyn's throat tightened. By now, most of the men who had accompanied their wives and girlfriends were in the men's area, many of them having consumed far too much beer. Yet except for the time she'd spent in class, Mitchell hadn't left her side. Many times, when he didn't think she was looking, she'd glanced up to see him staring blankly at nothing, obviously bored to death, but he never complained.

“Forget the other two sections. I think we've seen enough, and I'm tired anyway. Let's go home.”

His relief was almost tangible, and Carolyn knew she'd done the right thing.

On the way out, they passed a booth selling the same vegetable chopper he had purchased earlier in the day. He grinned and pointed but didn't slow down. “I got mine cheaper.”

“It's only a bargain if you actually use it.”

He laughed and held the door open as they left the building and began the long walk back to the car.

“I'm hungry. Can we go somewhere for supper?”

Carolyn rested one hand on her stomach. She'd consumed so many samples, she didn't think she'd be able to eat for a week. “I couldn't eat another bite, but if you're hungry, let's go through the drive-through.”

“The drive-through? But. . .” Mitchell's hand drifted to the breast pocket of his leather jacket, he patted something tucked inside, then rammed his hands in his pockets as they walked. “I guess so,” he mumbled.

They trudged in silence the rest of the way to the car, but once they were on the road going home, Carolyn could no longer contain herself. “Did you see that lady who was making the crepes? And how thin she could make them with that fancy pan?”

Mitchell checked for traffic over his shoulder. “Uh, yeah.”

“And those tiny sausage rolls made on that specialty rack that fit into a toaster oven? I couldn't care less about the rack, but I wonder where those sausages came from. They were absolutely delicious and not dripping with fat.”

“They were okay.”

“And those brownies made in that special pan in the microwave. I've never been able to make cake with a decent texture in the microwave. But you know what was the most ridiculous thing I saw? That potato peeler tub thing, where you run water into it and between the water itself and the water pressure turning the grating unit inside, it peels the potatoes by itself. I timed it. Could you imagine taking fifteen minutes to peel potatoes?”

“I guess not.”

When Carolyn didn't speak, silence hung in the air. Other than the soft music droning from the CD player and the hum of the traffic, the car was quiet.

“Mitchell, are you okay?”

“Huh? What? Oh, I'm fine. I'm just tremendously underwhelmed with the wonders of the modern kitchen. I didn't know what I was missing.”

Not sure if his sarcasm was meant as a joke or not, Carolyn said nothing. After a few minutes of silence, she made a few more comments about things she'd seen, but he continued to respond with few words. When silence hung in the air periodically, he kept reaching to his breast pocket, feeling something, and then dropping his hand back to the steering wheel, making Carolyn wonder if he'd recently quit smoking.

Closer to home, he pulled into the drive-through of the local hamburger joint and ordered. Carolyn held the warm bag in her lap until they pulled into her driveway.

Carolyn made a pot of herbal tea while Mitchell ate the burger and fries, and then they moved into the living room.

Mitchell sat in the middle of the couch, which meant Carolyn had to sit beside him.

Carolyn stretched and wiggled her toes before sagging fully into the soft cushions. “I didn't realize my feet were so sore or that I was so tired until now.”

Mitchell shifted his weight so she sank in his direction. “Same.”

She flipped the television on for lack of something better to do. “I can't believe the time. We spent the whole day there.”

“I can believe it.”

She turned toward him. “Thank you for taking me, especially on short notice. I really had a wonderful time.”

He smiled and slipped his arm around her back, drawing her against him. “It's also nice to be able to sit and relax with a good friend after it's all over, too.”

Carolyn smiled back. She didn't think it appropriate for “a good friend” to have his arm around her, but she was so tired, she couldn't help snuggling into his warmth.

She thought of his words. If she had to put a label to what was happening between them, then calling Mitchell a friend was safe and probably quite accurate. She'd never before come to know someone so quickly or so easily. She already knew most of Mitchell's likes and dislikes, the movies he liked to watch, and the books he liked to read. She'd learned a lot about his job and told him a lot about hers. She enjoyed his quirky sense of humor, and she'd even started to miss him when they weren't together.

“Yes, this is nice,” she muttered and sighed as she let herself continue to relax. “I'm so tired. I think it's tripled in size since last year.”

He mumbled a reply she couldn't understand, and Carolyn didn't ask him to repeat it. Instead, she let herself relax even more with the steady and soothing rhythm of his breathing. Her eyes drifted shut of their own accord. She would open them in a minute.

She shifted with the movement as he reached up and patted his shirt pocket. Mitchell's voice sounded deeper when she was pressed up against him. “I was wondering. I've really enjoyed going with you to your Bible studies and church on Sunday morning. I'd like it if we went together all the time. What do you think?”

“Mmm.”

“Was that a yes or a no? Carolyn?”

She wanted to answer, but she couldn't. All she felt was peace as everything faded into softness and warmth.

Eleven

Beeping sounded, jolting Carolyn from a sound sleep. She opened her eyes and started to roll over, squinting to focus on the time.

The clock was missing. And she wasn't in bed. She was on the living room couch.

As soon as she gained her bearings, she located the source of the beeping, which was a man's watch, lying on the coffee table. She picked up her glasses, which were beside the watch, and put them on.

Eight thirty.

Carolyn blinked, trying to figure everything out, starting with what day it was. The last thing she remembered was watching television with Mitchell after attending the Kitchen Showcase.

Her stomach churned. She'd fallen asleep on the couch. She clutched her blanket, which was the one from her bed, and glanced to her side. He'd also brought her pillow.

The warmth in her cheeks escalated to a burn when she found a note, next to where the watch had been.

Good morning, Sleepyhead!

I hope you had a good night's sleep. I had to use your keys to lock up when I left, so I'll be back for church in the morning. Expect me at 9:15. I'll bring breakfast.

Love, Mitchell

Carolyn buried her face in her hands. The thought of Mitchell tucking her in at night, even if it was just on the couch, made her cringe with embarrassment.

Without wasting any more time, Carolyn bolted off the couch, heading straight for the bathroom. She didn't know how she was going to get ready before Mitchell arrived.

She'd barely finished applying her mascara when the doorbell rang.

Mitchell stood in the doorway holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a cardboard holder containing two steaming cups in the other. He smiled brightly. “Good morning. Sleep well? You look nice. That color really suits you.”

Carolyn opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“Aren't you going to let me in? I have food. And coffee.”

She shuffled to the side to give him room to pass. “Of course.”

Mitchell walked straight past her into the kitchen, but her feet remained glued to the floor. She didn't want to share breakfast in the kitchen with Mitchell. She didn't know how she was going to sit across the table from him and carry on an intelligent conversation.

When he was halfway through the living room, he stopped and turned around to smile so sweetly that she nearly cried. “Don't worry, you didn't snore or do anything embarrassing. Come on, before everything gets cold. These fast-food hotcakes are bad enough when they're warm.”

Cold food was the least of her worries. Somehow she managed to talk to him while they ate their breakfast, although by the time she got to the last mouthful, it tasted like cardboard.

Sharing breakfast with him was one more reminder of how much Mitchell had become ingrained in her life.

Her friends now expected him regularly at the Wednesday night Bible study, and they asked about him when he wasn't with her on Sunday, whether Hank was there or not—which was rare. Her night school class definitely thought of them as a couple. Even his dog liked her.

Now they would be attending Sunday service together, again.

Mitchell rose and went into the living room to pick up his watch. “I guess it's time to go,” he said as he walked back into the kitchen. “Are we going to your church or mine? I don't think I've been to my own church for over a month.”

Carolyn sighed. She was too tired to meet new people, even though it meant that the entire congregation would be seeing her with Mitchell on yet another Sunday. “It's getting late. We can go to your church next weekend.”

Carolyn bit her lip, but it was too late. The words had already been said.

“That's a good idea. You can also see it before the wedding. You are coming with me to Jake and Ellen's wedding, aren't you?”

“Uh. . .”

She opened her mouth to decline, but his eyes stopped her. She'd seen that look before, the day he begged her to give him remedial help with his cooking skills. She didn't want to go through that again.

Carolyn sighed again. “Sure.”

“Before I forget, I can't see you for dinner tonight. I've got a family thing I have to do. Can we do dinner tomorrow night after work?”

Carolyn stood. There was no point in trying to decline. He would only bamboozle her into going out with him another time and another time after that.

When she sighed again, the corners of his mouth quivered.

“Yes, I'd like that.”

Strangely, she meant it.

❧

Mitchell drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the red light. If all the lights from here on out were green, then he had a chance of running into the cooking class on time—barely.

In the past, he had never minded the overtime. It wasn't like he ever had anything better to do, and the extra money on payday was always a treat. Now, he had changed his mind.

His supposed date last night with Carolyn hadn't happened. Just as he was about to leave, the dock foreman had come running in to say that someone had driven through the fence between their compound and the adjoining business. Not only did he have to call the police, but he also had to arrange to have someone come in at an unbelievable fee to fix the security fence at night. Then he had to deal with the police report and file charges, since there would be an insurance claim and criminal charges against the man who did the damages. Worst of all, he had to stay until the repair crew actually arrived and started working.

Instead of sharing an intimate dinner, he'd ordered a pizza, Carolyn heated up some leftovers, and they'd sat and talked on the phone while they ate, him at work and her at home. Again, he'd been unable to give her the ring, which seemed to have become a permanent fixture in his pocket.

He ran into the classroom to see Carolyn holding up some kind of gadget he'd seen at the cooking show, but he couldn't remember what it was called or what it was for.

The room suddenly went deathly quiet as he made his way to the only empty seat, which was in the exact center of the classroom—the same chair he'd sat in during the first class.

Without making a major production out of his late arrival, Carolyn held up a tray of food for all to see. “There was a question on the registration form asking if anyone here was allergic to seafood. Before we continue, does anyone here have allergies who may not have noticed the question on the form?”

When no one spoke up, Carolyn continued. “That's good. We're going to make battered shrimp, which will be dipped in various sauces. This works with many types of seafood, but shrimp is the most popular. It's much better to use fresh shrimp, so that's what we're going to do.”

She then went through a gruesome process of pulling a shrimp apart, coating it with some stuff she mixed up, then frying it until it was cooked.

It smelled much better than it looked, and the mouth-watering aroma made Mitchell's stomach grumble—a nasty reminder that he hadn't had time to eat supper in his rush to get out of work and to class on time.

Carolyn then put together something else with a fancy name he couldn't pronounce and sent everyone to their kitchen units. As they got organized, she made the rounds to each kitchen, gave each person four shrimp, then returned to the demonstration table.

“Okay, everyone. As a change of pace, we're going to all do this together. Watch me, and we'll do it step by step.”

Mitchell picked up one shrimp by the tail and examined it. He'd never seen a whole shrimp before. It wasn't what he'd expected. He thought shrimp were brown, but it was a grayish color.

“Is everyone ready?”

Several of the ladies around him nodded unenthusiastically.

“First you break off the legs, like this.”

He did like she said, repeating in his mind that the poor creature was already dead and didn't feel a thing.

“Good. Now put your thumb and pointer finger at the point where the head meets the body and pull off the head.”

If he was hungry before, he certainly wasn't now. His stomach contracted as he placed his fingers in the position Carolyn demonstrated.

“That's the worst part.” Carolyn grinned, and he hoped she couldn't tell he felt sick. “The shell will peel right off quite easily now; just pull here and voilà!”

Mitchell pulled, but it didn't come out quite as easily as Carolyn's did. He pulled again and nearly dropped it at the unpleasant slimy feel of the thing inside. Canned shrimp didn't feel like this. He let it fall to the plate.

Carolyn held up her shrimp. “This next step is called deveining. Does everyone see that line down the back? Take your knife, make a quick slice down the back, and sort of scrape it out, like this.”

Mitchell's stomach rolled. He sucked in a deep breath to stop it, but the smell of the raw seafood permeating the room only made it worse.

“You might think this is the shrimp's spinal cord, but it's not. It's just an intestine.”

“Just” an intestine. Mitchell worked to control his breathing.

“You don't have to remove it, but it makes a more pleasant-looking appetizer.”

With shaking hands, Mitchell inserted the tip of the knife and slowly ran it along the line, but the slice didn't go as neatly as Carolyn's. Instead, it made a jagged tear, and the shrimp started to come apart in his hands. For a moment he considered running to his car, first to get a breath of fresh air and then to bring back his needle-nose pliers to hold the shrimp steady so he could get the job done faster.

Finally, he managed to lift the dark, threadlike vein out, but in pieces, not like Carolyn had done. As soon as he did, he laid the shrimp down and looked away. Carolyn was trying to get an overview of everyone's progress from the central location of the demonstration table, so he concentrated on her until his stomach settled.

“You all look like you're doing fine. Now do the other three. And when you're done, we'll heat up the frying pans, dip the shrimp in the batter, cook them for four minutes, and then you can all do the next project without me.”

He struggled through disemboweling the other three shrimp, but with each one, the process became slightly less revolting. By the time he began to cook them, the aroma made his appetite return, and he could hardly wait to eat them.

As they reached the point halfway through the second project, his stomach was grumbling so loudly that Lorraine and Sarah were giggling, and Mrs. Finkleman felt so sorry for him that she snuck him one of her shrimp to eat before Carolyn gave them permission.

When that permission came, not only was he the first one finished eating, but he'd managed to mooch an extra shrimp from Lorraine and Sarah, as well.

As usual, he loitered when class was over until he was the last person out.

“I'm sorry I was late, Carolyn.”

She hesitated for only a second, then continued packing up her area. “It's okay, Mitchell. I understand if you had to work late.”

“Yeah, I did. I also haven't had supper, and I was wondering if you'd like to go grab a burger or something. The things we made today were good but not enough to constitute a real meal.”

“I really can't, Mitchell. Believe it or not, I have a bunch of reports and tests to mark. Even the home ec department has to do them. I wish I could, but not today. How about tomorrow?”

His heart soared to think that she had suggested an alternate day, but just as quickly, his heart sank. “I can't. Our major competitor served strike notice today. That's why I had to work so late. Businesses can't afford to have their stuff tied up in a labor dispute, so a lot of people shifted over to us, and we weren't prepared. It will take a few more days before we've adjusted, and by then I'm sure the dispute will be settled and it will be back to normal. The way it looks, it's going to be like this all week.”

“Then I guess I won't see you until the weekend.”

“Yeah. It looks that way.”

Mitchell raised his hand to his pocket. It was going to be a long week.

❧

Carolyn shut off the vacuum cleaner and ran to the door. She didn't have to wait a second time to confirm that she was hearing correctly. In a way, she was almost expecting Mitchell. She didn't want to admit it, even to herself, but she hadn't seen him since the last cooking class, and she'd missed him.

She turned the lock and flung the door open. “Mi—Hank? What are you doing here?”

Hank stood before her with his raincoat open. Beneath it he wore his usual dark suit and matching tie, which she thought odd for a Saturday afternoon. In his hand was a bouquet of red roses.

“May I come in?”

She stood aside and ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it and smoothed the folds out of her sweatshirt. “Certainly.”

Hank walked past her with the flowers, then waited for her to close the door behind him, which she thought rather strange. If it were Mitchell, he would have given her the flowers, tried to kiss her, and he would have closed the door behind himself. She envisioned Mitchell's impish smile, but as she blinked, Hank's solemn face came into focus.

He cleared his throat. “I brought these for you.” He held out the roses.

Hesitantly, she accepted the bouquet. The only time Hank had given her flowers had been a corsage at last year's Christmas banquet because she had sung a solo. Other than that, the only time he had given her anything was at Christmas and on her birthday. Her feet didn't move as she stared down at the flowers, wondering what the occasion was to warrant them.

He straightened his tie. “I've been giving this a lot of thought lately, and I'm asking if you'll marry me. I didn't buy you a ring because I thought you might want to pick one out for yourself.”