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A Mission to the Mustard Museum (Young at Heart #3)
By Beth Mathison
    “I think you’re making this up,” David said, searching for the freeway exit sign. “I don’t think there really is such a thing as a mustard museum.”
    “How could I make up something like the Mustard Museum?” Frannie asked. “I’d have to be a marketing genius. They get tons of visitors every year.”
    “It’s that popular?”
    “It’s that popular,” Frannie confirmed. “Apparently mustard is big business.”
    David and Frannie had been driving for over an hour, all of it dreary freeway landscape. The sky was a cold steel gray, and light snowflakes fell steadily. Farm fields were covered in stark white snow, with the occasional barn and gas station breaking up the monotony. Frannie held printed directions she got off the internet, while David watched the GPS unit affixed to the car’s dash.
    It had been Frannie’s turn to pick a location for their date. It had been a long winter, and by mid-February everyone was getting anxious for warmer weather. Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating, so Frannie had picked a date that kept them indoors and out of the cold. She had heard of the Mustard Museum from a coworker, and thought that a mini road trip might help break up the winter doldrums.
    Although David and Frannie’s two kids Brittany and Steven were old enough to stay at home alone, they both were spending time with friends all day. Frannie was glad that the two of them weren’t going to be stuck in the house together. A fifteen- and twelve-year-old, occupying the same space always ended up with a fight, and sometimes with a call to David and Frannie. The kids were instructed to call only in an emergency, even though they thought that hiding each other’s phones or calling each other names was a capital offense.
    “I didn’t know mustard was so big. Maybe I should rethink my painting business,” David said. “We could open up a ketchup museum. We can build it in the lot next to the mustard museum. Put a hot dog and brat stand between them.” His shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.
    “You’re as bad as the kids,” Frannie said. “They thought the Mustard Museum was hilarious. But you can laugh away, painter man. I’m sure the mustard people are laughing all the way to the bank.”
    “When the kids are older, they can open up a relish and sauerkraut museum across the street. It would be the ultimate American family business.”
    “Seriously, do you have something against mustard?”
    “It’s not my favorite condiment,” David admitted.
    “What is your favorite condiment?”
    David feigned surprise. “We’ve been married for over twenty years and you don’t know what my favorite condiment is? I’m shocked.”
    “If I had to guess, I’d have to say hot sauce,” Frannie said. “Although horseradish and wasabi would come in a close second.”
    “But what kind of hot sauce?”
    “Well, that’s kind of nit picking, but I’d say Louisiana hot sauce,” Frannie answered. “The brand you had on our trip to New Orleans three years ago. You were so excited, even with tears running down your face from the peppers.”
    “You are absolutely correct. By definition, a hot sauce that can make you cry has got to be the best.”
    “I’ll stick to stone-ground mustard. I’d have to say that’s my favorite.”
    “Duly noted,” David said.
    “Before this conversation gets any deeper, I’d like to say something that’s been on my mind,” Frannie said. “I think we should have a mission statement for our dates.”
    “A mission statement?” David asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Like a business mission statement?”
    “Kind of. Something to verbalize what we want to accomplish during our dates.”
    “Is this a lawyer thing?” David asked. “I know you’re a paralegal, but I think that lawyer-eze leaks into your brain when you’re at the office.”
    “No, this is not a lawyer thing. This is a