Henry's family barbeque is on Sunday. I decide to take advantage of having an empty, beautiful, professional kitchen at my disposal and make my contributions to the potluck at Lovebird Café.
I get the potatoes and eggs for the potato salad boiling, then start cutting up the pickles and onions. While I'm working with veggies, I shred a few carrots for the homemade carrot cake I promised Henry. Apparently carrot cake is his mother's and his favorite, but his aunt isn't a fan, so no one ever makes any. I'm hoping I won't tick off his aunt and will earn some brownie points with his mom.
I know a bit about Henry's family. He has two sisters who live out of state, both married with kids. His father isn't in the picture, though I'm not sure why, and he and his sisters were raised by their mom.
His mom and his aunt, uncle, and cousins live in town, so they all get together every other Sunday or so for dinner. Often they're celebrating what Henry calls "one of the little victories in life" like a good grade on a school project, a work promotion or new job, or a part in a play. Sometimes they celebrate bigger things: engagements, pregnancies, etc.
It sounds nice and almost makes me wonder if I should move back to Idaho. I love my family and I hate that I'm missing all of the get-togethers I know are happening.
At the same time, I love Charlotte. I love the history, the food, the people, and the culture. I feel like I've found the place that I belong. Even though I had only seen pictures, I felt at home the minute I stepped off the plane when I came for a campus tour just before my senior year of high school. That feeling has only gotten stronger in the years I've been here.
Turning my attention back to my food, I'm just mashing up the eggs and potatoes before I add in the rest of the ingredients for the salad when I hear the back door close. I look up and find Everett staring at me in confusion.
"It's our day of today. . ." he says in a way that feels more like a question than a statement.
"Yes."
He lets out a sigh of relief. "I was so worried for a moment that I had forgotten about something at work or gotten my days mixed up or something. Do you usually sneak in and commandeer the kitchen on Sunday mornings?"
I laugh. "Well, technically it is my kitchen. I don't have to commandeer it."
"Fair enough. Though, I would say that during work hours, it is MY kitchen."
"Eh," I answer with a shrug.
He sputters a bit, then changes the subject. "So what's happening here?"
"Potato salad and carrot cake," I answer as I carefully measure the vinegar and sugar into the potato, onion, pickle, and egg mixture.
"Hmmm." Everett stands next to me and watches silently as I add the mayo, milk, mustard, and salt.
It's only as I'm mixing everything that he comments again. "That doesn't look like a potato salad."
"It's a mashed potato salad, as my grandma always called it."
"Interesting." He smiles. "May I have a taste?"
"It's better cool," I warn, handing him a clean spoon.
He doesn't answer except to take the spoon anyway and scoop out a large bite. "Mmmmm," he says after he swallows. "That's really good! Can I get this recipe?"
"Sure," I answer. "But the best I can really give you is the ingredients. I don't think anyone has ever actually measured most of what goes into it. We just add a squirt of this and a sprinkle of that."
"Those are the best recipes. They leave lots of room for personalizing and fitting to my own taste."
"True." I wish I had the intuition to do that, but I don't mention something so personal. Instead, I cover the salad and stick it in one of the large fridges, then start on the cake batter.
"So what are you doing here?" I ask as Everett continues to watch me.
"I was going to steal a couple slices of the apple strudel Alex left in the staff fridge tonight. I know someone who will really appreciate it."
"Ah." Right, probably his mysterious girlfriend. I consider asking about her, but I decide not to. When he's ready to introduce her at work, he will. He may just be waiting to make sure things are going to work out before he takes that step. After all, I've often felt like our close-knit little staff has taken the place of family for many of us who have on one nearby.
"But now I'm intrigued. I've never been great with desserts, but seeing Alex's work and the treats you keep us stocked with in the employee break room, I find myself wanting to try my hand at baking."
"I'll warn you now that I find baking less forgiving of mistakes than cooking."
"I have heard that. Is this recipe good? I love carrot cake. It doesn't look too complicated."
"I find it fairly simple. I'd be happy to give you the recipe."
"Thank you." He doesn't move, just settling against the counter and watching as I mix the batter with a large whisk.
"Do you always mix desserts by hand?"
I smile. "I'm not much for exercise, so I take it where I can get it," I tease. "Honestly, I didn't have the extra money for an electric mixer in college, so it became a habit and I've just never gotten past that."
"But you do have an electric mixer now?"
"Yes. My mom and dad got me one for Christmas last year."
"You still don't use it though?"
"I use it to whip cream and eggs. I was happy to not do that by hand anymore."
He laughs. "I bet. Beating eggs and creams by hand is quite an undertaking."
"It certainly kept me in good shape." I shoot him a wink before returning my attention to my cake. "If you wanted to make yourself useful, you could prep that cake pan for me."
"Spray it?"
"No. Butter and flour."
He groans. "The old-fashioned way."
"That's the only way if you want your cake to come away from the pan."
He just shakes his head and he gets the cake pan ready.
Once he's finished, I pour the batter in and smooth it out, then quickly set the pan in the oven and set a timer. I turn back to find Everett holding the bowl, the spoon in his mouth and a guilty expression on his face.
"I get first dibs since I made it," I protest, grabbing the bowl and a fresh spoon to scoop up some of the batter for myself. Once I've gotten my fill, I pass it back to Everett and he cleans it out.
"That's really good," he groans, setting the well-cleaned bowl and spoon on the counter near the sink.
"Thanks."
"You don't put any nuts or raisins in?"
"Personal preference. You certainly could add them and it wouldn't ruin the recipe at all."
"So now what?"
"Now we start on the frosting. I know most people don't like to frost warm cakes, but I frost my carrot cakes warm. It makes the frosting easier to spread without ripping the top off the cake."
"Okay. Tell me what to do."
I direct Everett and together we quickly whip up a delicious cream cheese frosting. I give him a spoonful as a reward and save the rest for when the cake comes out.
"So, potato salad and cake. I assume you've got a barbeque tonight?"
"What gave me away?"
"The potato salad. What's a barbeque without it?"
I laugh. "Yeah. I'm meeting some of Henry's family tonight. I really want to make a good impression."
"And why isn't Henry here helping?" Everett asks, his eyes and expression hardening.
"He had some work he needed to finish up. They caught a break in one of their cases late last night so I told him I'd take care of our offering for the potluck."
Everett just grunts in response.
I change the conversation to something else, talking to him about one of the other articles that came out in this week's edition of Charlotte Taste until the timer goes off and I can finally pull the cake out.
He stands next to me and watches in fascination as I frost the cake. Once I finish, he smiles.
"Now time for a taste test!"
"Oh no you don't," I answer, grabbing the arm reaching for a spatula.
"But we've got to make sure it tastes good!"
"The batter tasted good and the frosting tasted good, so the finished product will definitely taste good. I'm not going to take a cake missing a slice when I go meet my boyfriend's family for the first time!"
"Boyfriend, huh? It's official?"
"Yes. But I'll save you a slice and bring it to work tomorrow. Thank you for your help."
His eyes soften and he gives me a quick hug. "It was good to see you, Lace. Take care. And you'd better bring me some cake tomorrow."
"You take care too. Have a good Sunday."
"Yep!" He waves before ducking into the break room. Soon he heads out the back door, a bag in one hand, waving with the other. I wave, then start packing and cleaning up my kitchen mess. I've got to hurry home and get ready for the barbeque before Henry comes to pick me up.