What's Cooking by Gail Sattler Page A

you like to do something this afternoon?”
    â€œI was going to invite you to the opening of the new wing at the art gallery.”
    She stifled her groan, but barely. “The art gallery?”
    â€œYes. Since you like scenery so much, I’m sure you’ll find a few paintings there to your liking.”
    Carolyn glanced back at the silent phone. It was the art gallery or Mitchell Farris.
    She turned and smiled at Hank. “Just let me put on shoes more suited for walking, and I’ll be right with you.”
    â€œBut those shoes look so nice with your dress. And they make you taller.”
    She almost snapped that she would change into her jeans and painting T-shirt to match her comfortable shoes but kept her control. “All right. Let’s go.”

Five
    Carolyn watched Hank as he stood back from what could be loosely described as a sculpture and studied it in silence.
    She couldn’t tell if Hank liked it or not. Carolyn couldn’t tell if she liked it, either, because she couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be.
    Mitchell would have said it looked like someone had an accident with a welder after a long day at the factory.
    Carolyn squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to think of what Mitchell would have thought, but she couldn’t help it. She was bored out of her mind.
    At the market, she’d looked at everything imaginable with Mitchell—handicrafts, fruits and vegetables, jewelry, and items of every possible description. Mitchell had an amusing comment about nearly everything. She’d almost bought a little bunny ornament that had fascinated Mitchell because of its lifelike nose. In the end, she didn’t want to buy anything that reminded her of Mitchell.
    But now, even the bunny was preferable over the twisted metal that substituted for art.
    When she thought she would fall asleep on her feet, Hank surprised her and took her out for dinner at an exquisite restaurant she’d never been to, which she supposed was an elaborate way of making up for the miserable time she’d had at the art gallery. Of course, that wasn’t Hank’s fault. He meant well, and she appreciated the thought.
    She enjoyed Hank’s company, as she always did, but when he took her home, she was glad the day was over and she could relax.
    She didn’t invite Hank in, so he left her with a chaste kiss on the cheek at the door.
    The first thing she did was kick her shoes off her aching feet. Carolyn stretched and wiggled her toes, then headed to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. On the way, the flashing light on the answering machine caught her attention.
    When she hit the button, Mitchell’s low voice greeted her.
    â€œHi, Carolyn. I see you’re still not home yet. I wanted to say that I just got back from the evening service at my church, and I was thinking that it sure would have been nice if you could have been there with me. Bye.”
    Carolyn stared at the machine long after the beep, not knowing quite what to make of Mitchell’s message.
    She didn’t want to wonder about Mitchell and his life outside of her classroom or how many times a week he participated in church activities. After his sister’s wedding, which would be before the last class, she would never see him again.
    She refused to let the knowledge cause her any regret. Instead, Carolyn sat in the kitchen with her tea, opened a cookbook, and started looking for chocolate dessert squares.
    â§
    Carolyn jumped at every little noise in the hallway. As usual, she’d come in early to set up for her class.
    â€œHi, Carolyn.”
    The box of rice nearly fell from her hands. “Hello, Mitchell.”
    He walked straight to her and removed the box from her shaking fingers, then stood much too close. “I missed you on Sunday.”
    Although she hadn’t exactly missed him, she did feel his absence after spending Friday evening and all day Saturday with him. With his odd