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A Winning Recipe: For meatloaf magic and love everlasting

By Bonnie Engstrom

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Kate Williams leaned over the snaking line of moving luggage, anchored her feet firmly, bent her legs and reached for her suitcase.
“Watch it!”
A man three times her size elbowed Kate aside. Her suitcase passed by, out of reach. She sent him a venomous glare as he strolled off in his three-piece navy suit. Frustrated, she put her hands on her hips and bit her lip. The bags came around the carousel again, and she snatched at the handle of the oversized case tugging with all the toned muscle in her slender arms. Just when she thought she could pull it over the rubber edge, she lost it.
“Dog gone it!” The black monster with its identifying pink ribbon lumbered around the carousel for the third time. Maybe if she ran to the other side where there were fewer people.
But then she’d have to schlep her bulky carry on, and by the time she got there the errant bag would be back here. It was the crowd around her, people pushing close to get their own bags, that prevented success. If only everyone would give each other a little space. She decided to yell.
“Excuse me!” No one moved. Her voice got louder. “Excuse me!”
Still they ignored her. If she didn’t get through it would pass by—again.
“Please!” Her throat hurt. “Let me get my …” The bag spun by again. The muscles in her neck tightened and she clenched her fists turning toward the passengers who had ignored her. They were chatting among themselves in a language she couldn’t understand.
“If you’re wondering if they understood you, they probably would have if they’d been listening. I don’t think they meant to be rude, just preoccupied.”
The deep voice startled her.
Turning to give the stranger a retort, she changed her mind when she saw him. She bit her lip and thanked the Lord for keeping her normally errant mouth quiet. She gazed at the young man who had spoken the discreet words near her shoulder. He wasn’t movie star handsome, but he had an appealing crinkling around his eyes. She was glad she’d avoided releasing her vengeance on him. She studied him a little more.
He was not terribly tall, maybe just under six feet, but the smile on his full face captivated her. Trying not to stare, she noticed he couldn’t be much older than she – perhaps thirty-three – and although the brows above his twinkling blue eyes were full and his lashes were long, his hair was thinning at the crown. Hmm, not a bad looking specimen for a semi-balding guy. Wonder if he could heave my suitcase off the carousel?
“Is that it coming, the one with the pink ribbon?”
Had he been watching her struggles? He grabbed the bulky case quickly and heaved it with ease onto the baggage claim floor. Although she noticed with a bit of satisfaction he used two hands.
Whatever happened to porters, she wondered? Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix had a number of them who wandered around encouraging arriving passengers to accept their services. Sometimes there were personnel stationed at the exits of baggage claim to check and make sure you weren’t absconding with someone else’s belongings. There were no porters at John Wayne Airport in Orange County. Passengers simply grabbed their bags (if they could lift them) and dragged them out to the curb.
“Thanks so much.” She emphasized the last word. “I don’t think I could have done it without your help.” She smiled and proceeded to wheel the cumbersome bag and drag her carry-on toward the sliding door. Now to find the hotel shuttle.
She waited several minutes at the curb watching cars pick up passengers. Where were the shuttles? Her hotel had promised one. She detected an odor of spice behind her and turned.
“Hi. Waiting for a shuttle?” Deep voice again. “Did you know they’re across the street?”
She turned to him with a smile of thanks. As she tugged the two cases behind her across the underground street to the area he’d indicated, she noticed the prominent sign saying “Ground Transportation, Shuttles, Taxis” with a large arrow pointing forward. She had practically been standing in front of it. Kate felt her cheeks warm. How embarrassing to be so dense.
The hotel shuttles were lined up, and finding hers she struggled with the bags until she realized the driver would gladly lift them into the luggage compartment. Relieved, she located a seat not too far from the front. Kate liked to be able to see where she was going, to have some sense of her surroundings.
“Hi!” She recognized the now familiar deep voice. “I guess we’re going to the same hotel.”
“Looks that way.” She hoped her remark would end the conversation before it developed further.
Probably just being friendly. She glanced at very broad shoulders out of the corner of her eye. Must work out. If it hadn’t been for his take-charge personality, she might still be trying to hoist her bag off the carousel and find her shuttle.
She really should be more grateful and more gracious. He was being what she always complained most young men aren’t nowadays – gentlemanly.
Although there were other people on the bus taking them to the small boutique hotel off the beaten path, all were couples. Rather strange for a single young man (she’d checked his ring finger) to be staying at what was described on the internet as a romantic hotel with French country décor and canopy beds. She was staying there by courtesy of the contest promoters. That was part of the deal. If you won a top spot in your division you were given round trip airfare and accommodations for the duration of the final Cookoff.
Kate settled back in her seat for the ride and tried to ignore him.
The van pulled into the hotel parking lot, and he offered his hand. “By the way, I’m Lance. It was nice to meet you. I hope you have a good stay.” He sped off before Kate could speak.
How odd he hadn’t asked her name. What a strange man.
###
The driver hoisted her cases onto the cement, and she offered him a tip he refused. Company policy he said. He pointed her in the direction of registration and departed. She pulled her bags behind her, took a number from a little machine and found she was number ten to register. For once she was happy to forego irritation. She left her bags in line and sank into an overstuffed sofa in the lobby. Stifling a yawn behind her palm she heard a shrill female voice. “Next! Who’s next in line? Number ten, please.”
Kate scrambled to the registration desk apologizing and gave her name. The young woman with the purple hair looked at her curiously. “You’re one of the contestants. We have special rooms for you in a separate wing with a community kitchen where you can practice. Here’s your key – number 335.”
“Do you need help with your bags?” It was said as an afterthought. Kate shook her head no, and purple hair gave her a little map with directions to her room. She marveled at the rhinestone stud in the girl’s nose. Wasn’t that painful?
She noticed the man with the thinning hair next to her registering with another employee. She glanced toward him, but he was engaged in conversation. She wondered why he’s here. A businessman? Maybe a salesman? But, he only had one case. Didn’t they usually have all those huge cases of displays and samples? Maybe he just carries brochures.
She was annoyed that Miss Stud Nose directed her to an obscure hallway off the side of the lobby, the only way to reach the section of the hotel where most contestants would be housed.
The elevator in this wing of the hotel was small and excruciatingly slow, probably an original. She wondered when the hotel had been built. Newport Beach was an old town, so the hotel may well be a hundred, or more, years.
As she traipsed down the long hall to her room she had doubts about the hotel. It looked nice by outward appearances, but it also seemed odd that the contestants were housed in a small section of the hotel away from the mainstream. Too tired to think of alternatives, she would stay one night at least, then scout out another hotel in the morning when she got her bearings.
She inserted the plastic card posing for a key in the slot. Fumbling for the light switch she momentarily regretted not agreeing to a bellman. She hated going into dark rooms alone. What if she couldn’t find the light switches, or how to adjust the air conditioner?
Her fingers found a switch, flipped it, and she gasped with awe. Centered against the left wall was the most elegant bed she’d ever seen, other than in magazines. The tall curved walnut spirals that held up the white ruffled eyelet canopy almost reached the high sloped ceiling. The puffy comforter of matching white eyelet seemed to have a life of its own. A small step stool with curved legs and an embroidered upholstery top was perched next to the bed. Perhaps for getting in and out of it? The heavy drapes matched the tiny stool in upholstery and pattern. Checking out the bathroom she found an antique-like vanity of walnut and marble, a modern shower stall and a huge oval tub.
Maybe she could stay here for the night, especially since it’s complimentary. “Wow, Lord, thank you,” she whispered.
###
Lance felt unsettled, a word his elderly aunt used when she felt out of sorts. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t asked the name of the striking auburn haired girl with the sparkling jade eyes. Maybe because she seemed a bit remote, even tense. That was it, he didn’t want to embarrass her, or have her think he was trying to hit on her. At least that was the excuse he made to himself. But, wow, what a dish. Now he regretted not at least asking her name. He mentally slapped his forehead for not checking the ring finger of her left hand. As he approached the reception desk of the hotel he hoped he would see her in the lobby and be able to strike up a conversation.
He pushed the thought aside as the sleek blonde behind the counter asked for his reservation. When he explained why he was there her ruby lips widened showing a pronounced dimple in her left cheek. He was sure she batted her eyelashes more often than necessary, and her long fingers touched his hand several times when she handed back his driver’s license and credit card. Maybe she was trying to hit on him or, to give her the benefit of the doubt, she was just being friendly. Didn’t matter since he’d never been attracted much to blondes, especially unnatural ones.
His peripheral vision caught the blur of a green sweater. The girl from the bus, the one whose name he hadn’t asked, but wished he had. He’d love to catch up with her, but “Blondie” wouldn’t shut up, kept drilling him about the most senseless things – like had he been to Southern California before, how was his flight and did he miss his girlfriend? How obvious was that? Even if he had a girlfriend he’d only been on a one-hour flight, hardly enough time for pining away.
Finally using the excuse he was tired and wanted to get to his room, she fluttered her lashes again and reached to squeeze his hand. “You have a good stay now, and good luck.”
Nodding, he raced in the direction the girl from the bus probably had headed. His heart was fluttering wildly, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe the memory of those verdant eyes. Breathing hard and dragging his suitcase, he turned the corner quickly into the alcove that housed the bank of elevators where he hoped to see the elusive girl. All the elevators were unoccupied, and on the lobby level. She was gone, she’d escaped. There was no way to catch up with her, unless God arranged for them to bump into each other during his stay.
###
Kate woke the next morning to the dull hum of planes. She had forgotten to close the drapes the night before. She’d been so tired. No matter. She needed to finish unpacking and start practicing. The competition was only two days away.
After showering, she threw on some lightweight sweats and unpacked the wrinkle-free clothes she’d brought for the trip. Avoiding the anemic elevator she took the stairs down to the dining room. She served herself from the buffet of eggs, sausages, bacon, toast and fruit and chose a small table near a window looking out onto the courtyard. The California sun glistened on cascades of water tumbling from a central fountain. Shadows from the encircling hotel buildings formed a sort of canopy emphasizing the splendor of the three-tiered waterfall. Half closing her eyelids Kate could see tiny rainbows in the droplets. Her mind drifted to the last time she’d seen Tad. The memory caused her stomach to churn and her fork shook in her hand. She sucked in a deep breath and silently asked God to erase the scene from her mind. Maybe if she focused on something else, something pleasant.
“Mind if I join you?” The now familiar voice startled her.
Before she could respond, Mr. Hair-challenged placed his plate overflowing with eggs across from her and eased his frame into the vacant chair. What choice did she have? She wished she could think of an excuse, but rather than make a scene she would make the most of it. She would be polite. That was all. She chastised herself for mentally referring to him by a silly name. What if she slipped and actually addressed him that way?
Lance must have noticed Kate’s eyes widen at the contents of his plate. He laughed and patted his flat belly. “I’m a growing boy.”
He would be growing quite a bit, and rapidly, too, if he always ate that way. Kate kept her thought to herself and just smiled.
“So,” he announced around a bite of toast, “I never caught your name.”
No, he hadn’t. She hadn’t thrown it out for grabs. In fact, he wasn’t asking now. She pushed a sarcastic retort aside and reached her open palm across the table. “Kate – Kate Williams at your service,” she quipped. “Thanks again for helping me with my bag last night.”
“No problem. Just glad I was there.” After clasping her hand firmly, he grinned and continued to attack his enormous meal.
So much for that. Mr. Conversationalist he wasn’t.
She finished her breakfast, signed the check and picked up her coffee mug taking it along to sip. “See you around.” She waved lightly and returned his mouthful grin with a smile. My, that man does love to eat!
###
Lance grinned to himself while devouring his pile of scrambled eggs. Kate, huh? Perfect name for a russet-haired, well, almost redheaded, girl with brilliant green eyes. She seemed the defiant sort, very abrupt, certainly not blabby. He liked that. Too many women seemed to need to monopolize conversations. This Kate woman was right to the point. He probably should have stopped stuffing his mouth and made some conversation himself. But, by golly, he was really hungry, starving actually. Restful sleep had been elusive last night. Every time he’d drifted off he was awakened by traffic noises, then early morning by the droning of planes. Lack of sleep always gave him hunger pangs. He’d showered hastily, brushed his teeth and read a Psalm. So much for a long Bible study. Surely God would understand he couldn’t concentrate when his gut was grumbling so loud. Still, God did honor his prayer to run into the redhead again.
###
The contestants were all given use of the hotel’s auxiliary kitchen by signing up for two-hour times throughout the day and evening. Wandering into the kitchen after breakfast to check out the setup Kate understood why this hotel was chosen. Although not exceptionally large, the gleaming stainless steel counters were more than adequate for prep. Two double sinks with garbage disposals; a six-burner gas professional range and a four burner electric cooktop were squeezed into the well-designed room. A four by six foot island with a maple butcher-block top served as the anchor and center. Pots, spoons, spatulas all hung on stainless hooks and racks along the walls above the counters.
Perhaps two, at the most three, cooks could work together in the room, depending on what each was preparing. She had signed up for the two to four slot hoping most contestants preferred early morning. By afternoon she was more relaxed, more in control. She prayed she might be alone. Wouldn’t that be a gift!
Pulling the heavy suitcase down the hall at ten minutes to two she waited until the other contestants filed out.
She hoped they’d cleaned up properly.
The first person to emerge was a woman in her fifties with long straggly hair hanging over her shoulders, a hippy-type throwback to the sixties. Kate wondered how she could prepare food without getting errant hair in her eyes. Maybe she had worn a hairnet.
Next a large portly man, perhaps weighing over three hundred pounds, pushed open the swinging door. He was mopping his brow with a paper towel and grinned at Kate. “Whew! Hot as the dickens in there.”
Kate looked at the roster on the door and saw they were the only two scheduled for noon to two. She wondered how they’d gotten along sharing a kitchen and hoped to be compatible with her partner who was noted on the list as Mary Samuels. She unpacked her stuff and stopped abruptly when she heard loud laughter. Naw - couldn’t be.
Rummaging through the provided pantry she pulled out olive oil, canola spray, spices and canned tomatoes. Task completed, she turned to see who was laughing and dropped a huge can of diced tomatoes just missing her foot.
“What are you doing here - Lance?” She’d barely remembered his name.
“I’m your cooking partner for today. And forgive me. I wasn’t laughing at you, but laughing in delight at this marvelous kitchen. Although you did look kinda cute foraging the pantry.” He chuckled bending over to retrieve the can of tomatoes.
The man certainly was an anomaly. “Where is Mary Samuels? She’s supposed to be my partner. What are you doing here?” she repeated. Then it hit her – Lance was a contestant, too. How weird was that?
“Oh, I traded times with Mrs. Samuels. She was actually relieved, said she was still dealing with jet lag – came from Ohio, had to change planes twice. Hubby wasn’t feeling too good, either.” His mouth broke into a grin and one eye winked. “Since we both flew from Phoenix, I assume you’re from Arizona like me.” He formed the question into a statement.
“Yes, Scottsdale.” May as well be friendly, or at least courteous, if they were going to share a kitchen. “What part are you from?” She asked without much enthusiasm.
She’d never shared a kitchen, even at home, with a male. The few times her brother Rob or Dad insisted on “helping out” had been a joke. They only got in the way, and she’d gotten distracted. If she had to share with anyone, she much preferred experienced female cooks who were highly organized, like her friend Val.
“Glendale, not too far from the University of Phoenix Arena. Say, do you mind if we share this big counter? The other one is pretty small, and I’m used to spreading out.” He proceeded to pick through the pantry.
Kate gripped her hand around the handle of her mixing fork and closed her eyes. This will never do.
“I’ll be fine at the smaller one, thanks. I’m actually used to working in a small kitchen. I don’t need much space.” She quickly moved the items she’d chosen to the opposite side.
She mouthed a barely audible litany to herself, hoping the clattering of metal bowls and cooking gear muffled it. “Try not to be grumpy, Kate. When it comes down to the wire the day of the finals, you will have to work side by side with others, probably one on each side. Get used to it, girl.” But, she wasn’t ready to get used to it just yet.
Lance turned at the sound of Kate unpacking her monster suitcase to remove bowls, pans, a well-worn cutting board, her favorite mìs en place dishes and her lucky mixing fork. She thought she saw him part his lips to make a comment, but he said nothing. Although, his eyebrows were raised. For the next twenty minutes they worked in silence, except for the sounds of chopping, dicing and the whir of the food processor churning on Lance’s counter. She reached in the industrial size refrigerator to pull out the packages of ground turkey she’d ordered ahead to be labeled with her name when Lance grasped the door handle. “Hey, before you close that monster, let me grab my meat.”
As his hand swept past hers to pull out two packages, one of ground beef, and another she couldn’t read the label on, she noticed the fine hairs on his knuckles and caught a whiff of spicy cologne. Annoyed that he would wear cologne while preparing food when every chef knows it can clash with the aromas of cooking spices, she simply said, “Sure,” and turned back to her prep counter.
Why did this man annoy her so much? She supposed she could have gotten Ms. Straggly-haired Aging Hippy as a partner. That would have been worse. At least Lance is clean. His apron wasn’t even spotted, and hers was already a mess.
Kate and Lance had both set the big side-by-side ovens for 350° ten minutes ago. They laughed together as each approached the ranges holding loaf pans, hers glass, his metal. Seeing the contents of his she did a double take. What a coincidence. She had assumed he was making some kind of exotic hamburger patties, or meatballs, or maybe even a taco casserole. Would the contest organizers really put two cooks together in the practice kitchen who were making the same thing?
He seemed to be reading her thoughts. “I guess we’re in the same division. Meatloaf, right?” He acknowledged her nod. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.
“This wasn’t my idea – I mean cooking at the same time with you. I was actually doing the Samuels a favor. They approached me. Sweet couple, but not as resilient as we are. A lot older.”
Kate smiled weakly. She sort of remembered an older couple, both in their seventies, on the hotel van. Both had gray hair, hers in fluffy curls and his full head swept back in a fifties style with comb marks showing. They had looked very tired. Thinking it through in the millisecond she had, she realized Lance was just being nice to the Samuels. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. She wondered why she’d thought he was in the first place?
“I – I’m sorry, Lance, if I seemed a bit off. I guess I have trouble sharing a kitchen as it is. Much more with a man. I hope I didn’t offend you. In fact, you’ve been a great cooking partner.” She chuckled, hoping to sound lighter. “How do you keep from making a mess, or without staining your apron?”
He waved a hand in the air and pasted that infectious grin on his face – the one she remembered from the bus ride. “No need to apologize. I know I took you by surprise, but it wasn’t planned. It’s just something I do. Try to be flexible. When I saw the worry in Mrs. Samuels’ eyes last night at the welcome party, God put it on my heart to help her. Say, why weren’t you at the party? I looked for you.”
“Party?” She wiped her hands on her apron and squeezed the calico fabric into a clump. “I guess I didn’t know there was one. I was so exhausted I fell right into bed without unpacking.” Did he hear the regret in her voice? She should have paid more attention to the schedule.
“Have you checked your contest schedule? There’s another event tonight so the contestants get to know each other. Who knows whom we’ll be paired off with? Better we at least meet them beforehand.” He paused to roll his eyes. “Hey, maybe you’ll get the big, sweaty guy!” His eyes twinkled, then looked contrite for having made fun of the poor man.
Kate laughed with him, also feeling a bit guilty. Lance had a good sense of humor, something she could use now, and maybe even learn from. People, even total strangers, often commented on her serious demeanor. “Smile, lady, grin, be happy,” they would say. Tad used to call her “Miss Malcontent.” That is when he wasn’t referring to her as “Quirky Kate.”
###
It was two-forty-five. Time to clean up for the next team. Waiting for her meatloaf to bake Kate took out the schedule provided for the contestants. She noticed tonight, the first evening after trial cooking, it was suggested the contestants bring their entries to the reception for all to taste. Warming trays and chafing dishes would be provided. She had no problem, no fear, about sharing. Right?
Taking her turkey meatloaf out of the oven, she rushed it to the hotel kitchen to be kept warm. Returning to the test kitchen, she found Lance putting bottles and spices away in the community pantry.
“Lance, no need, so kind of you.”
“No problem. My meatloaf needs to rest a little, and I know those professional warming ovens keep everything at the right temp. Did you get yours there okay?”
Kate nodded and swiped at the prep counters with a damp towel. Lance grabbed a dry one and followed her motions. When his arm brushed hers, a tingle crept up to her neck and ended in what she was sure were crimson cheeks. He smiled and turned back to wiping the counter, leaving her with wobbly knees.
###
I don’t like this feeling.
Lance strode purposefully back to his hotel room. Why was he sweating? Why did he have trouble inserting the key card into the door slot? Oops, turned the wrong way. Not like him at all. What was bothering him? His palms were moist; he felt the wetness as he rubbed his hand over his sparse hair. No, not like him at all.
He always thought of himself as an in control guy. Seemed like Kate is also an in control gal. “So, Lord,” he whispered in the silence of his hotel room, “what’s the problem? Is it me, or is it her green eyes?”

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