that clever."
"I guess you're right." I knew it wasn't easy for Brad to admit even that much of a shortcoming, so I shouldn't have been surprised that he didn't let it go. "But that doesn't explain why you look so familiar. Where are you from?"
"Crayswing, Pennsylvania." Kegan looked down to where Brad still had a hand on his sleeve. He looked up again, but even though he smiled, he never quite met Brad's eyes. "How about you?"
"Colorado." Brad paused a moment to let the information sink in. "Ever been to Boulder?"
"Oh, wow." When Kegan lifted the basket of peaches to put both his hands under it, Brad had no choice but to let go of his arm. "Colorado! That's a dream of mine. I've always wanted to visit Colorado. I'll bet the mountains are beautiful. Unfortunately, I've never been west of the Mississippi."
Still thinking, Brad tipped his head. "School?"
"Penn State." We were standing in the front of the kitchen, and much to Kegan's chagrin, he saw that once again, he had become the center of attention. While our students waited for class to start, they listened in on the conversation.
Kegan shifted from foot to foot. "How about . . . how about you. Brad?"
"CU-Boulder. But that must have been years before you were in school. I mean, I know I don't look it, but I'm going to be forty this summer. I'll bet I'm a good ten years older than you."
"Eleven." Kegan's cheeks flushed. His fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm against the peach basket. I could practically see the wheels turning inside his head. He was struggling to find a way to put Brad at ease, and it was no mystery why. Kegan knew that in the same position, he'd be mortified at mistaking Brad for someone else. Being the nice guy he was, Kegan figured Brad felt the same way.
Of course, he didn't know that Brad was a Weasel.
Or that weasels don't have feelings.
When I stepped in, it sure wasn't to help out Brad.
"Hey, it didn't have to be Colorado, did it? You two could
have run into each other right here in the area somewhere." I turned to Brad. "Kegan works for Balanced Planet. You know, that environmental group that's got offices in D.C. You could have bumped into each other there. Or at a Metro station. Or even on the street."
"Oh, I don't know." Kegan cleared his throat. "Even if we did, I don't think Brad would have noticed. I'm not all that memorable."
"Well, you must be!" I laughed and patted Kegan's arm, hoping that would signal an end to their talk. I was all for our students getting to know each other, but if I was going to get through all the recipes Jim expected me to teach that night, we had to get moving. "You must be plenty memorable if Brad knows he's seen you somewhere."
"That would be something, wouldn't it?" Kegan laughed, too. I was glad. He was a sweet kid, and I hated to see him ill at ease. He was still smiling when he took the peaches over to Jorge.
Brad got settled, too. And me?
With a sinking feeling, I realized how much I'd appreciated the diversion. I gulped down the realization that it was time to get down to business.
Ready or not, I had to cook.
Q IN THE INTEREST OF FULL DISCLOSURE, I HAVE TO
admit that there were a couple glitches.
Like the chicken wings that went from plump and juicy to dry and dusty in no time flat. (I used this as a precautionary lesson and reminded Margaret Whitemore and the man named Grant who would be her partner preparing the wings for the class meal to follow the recipe, not my example.)
There was the ratatouille, too. I was pretty sure it was supposed to be fresh and chunky and not look like ketchup. Big points for me. I did not do as I was tempted and throw my hands in the air, sob, and admit my shortcomings. Instead, if I do say so myself, I recovered pretty well. I used the opportunity to ask Damien to give us a demonstration of the proper way to chop.
All
"I guess you're right." I knew it wasn't easy for Brad to admit even that much of a shortcoming, so I shouldn't have been surprised that he didn't let it go. "But that doesn't explain why you look so familiar. Where are you from?"
"Crayswing, Pennsylvania." Kegan looked down to where Brad still had a hand on his sleeve. He looked up again, but even though he smiled, he never quite met Brad's eyes. "How about you?"
"Colorado." Brad paused a moment to let the information sink in. "Ever been to Boulder?"
"Oh, wow." When Kegan lifted the basket of peaches to put both his hands under it, Brad had no choice but to let go of his arm. "Colorado! That's a dream of mine. I've always wanted to visit Colorado. I'll bet the mountains are beautiful. Unfortunately, I've never been west of the Mississippi."
Still thinking, Brad tipped his head. "School?"
"Penn State." We were standing in the front of the kitchen, and much to Kegan's chagrin, he saw that once again, he had become the center of attention. While our students waited for class to start, they listened in on the conversation.
Kegan shifted from foot to foot. "How about . . . how about you. Brad?"
"CU-Boulder. But that must have been years before you were in school. I mean, I know I don't look it, but I'm going to be forty this summer. I'll bet I'm a good ten years older than you."
"Eleven." Kegan's cheeks flushed. His fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm against the peach basket. I could practically see the wheels turning inside his head. He was struggling to find a way to put Brad at ease, and it was no mystery why. Kegan knew that in the same position, he'd be mortified at mistaking Brad for someone else. Being the nice guy he was, Kegan figured Brad felt the same way.
Of course, he didn't know that Brad was a Weasel.
Or that weasels don't have feelings.
When I stepped in, it sure wasn't to help out Brad.
"Hey, it didn't have to be Colorado, did it? You two could
have run into each other right here in the area somewhere." I turned to Brad. "Kegan works for Balanced Planet. You know, that environmental group that's got offices in D.C. You could have bumped into each other there. Or at a Metro station. Or even on the street."
"Oh, I don't know." Kegan cleared his throat. "Even if we did, I don't think Brad would have noticed. I'm not all that memorable."
"Well, you must be!" I laughed and patted Kegan's arm, hoping that would signal an end to their talk. I was all for our students getting to know each other, but if I was going to get through all the recipes Jim expected me to teach that night, we had to get moving. "You must be plenty memorable if Brad knows he's seen you somewhere."
"That would be something, wouldn't it?" Kegan laughed, too. I was glad. He was a sweet kid, and I hated to see him ill at ease. He was still smiling when he took the peaches over to Jorge.
Brad got settled, too. And me?
With a sinking feeling, I realized how much I'd appreciated the diversion. I gulped down the realization that it was time to get down to business.
Ready or not, I had to cook.
Q IN THE INTEREST OF FULL DISCLOSURE, I HAVE TO
admit that there were a couple glitches.
Like the chicken wings that went from plump and juicy to dry and dusty in no time flat. (I used this as a precautionary lesson and reminded Margaret Whitemore and the man named Grant who would be her partner preparing the wings for the class meal to follow the recipe, not my example.)
There was the ratatouille, too. I was pretty sure it was supposed to be fresh and chunky and not look like ketchup. Big points for me. I did not do as I was tempted and throw my hands in the air, sob, and admit my shortcomings. Instead, if I do say so myself, I recovered pretty well. I used the opportunity to ask Damien to give us a demonstration of the proper way to chop.
All
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