Pick a Day

Scented with apples, cinnamon and berries, the steamy air in the kitchen swirled when he walked in. Even with the exhaust fan roaring, the room felt as full of flavor as a homemade pie. He stopped and stared at the rows of canning jars on the table and countertops. Then, a grin.

"Busy this afternoon, were you?" A top on one of the dozens of jars pinged and he arched a brow. "Very busy?"

She lifted the final jar from the boiling water bath and deposited it on the counter. There. The day's work was done. Satisfaction swept over her as she twirled the dial and wiped her brow all in one efficient movement. The kitchen was closed for the day.

"Just a little," she answered with a small, albeit tired, smile. "And you?"

Running a hand through his touseled hair, he shrugged. "Just cleaning up the workshop some. Getting things moved so when the wood for the family room floor is delivered we'll have somewhere to put it."

"We're getting that next week, right?"

"Looks that way." He paused. Looked around. "So...what's for dinner?" He covered his head with his hands as if he expected to be slapped with the dishtowel.

A smile playing on her lips, she retrieved three small covered cups from the fridge, along with two bottles of iced tea. She handed them to him, waiting while he arranged everything so nothing would crash to the floor. Silently she grabbed a couple of knives. A jar of peanut butter. A towel-wrapped bundle from inside the oven.

"What's that?" he asked, motioning toward the bundle.

"Bread. I made it this morning before I started the preserves. And in your hands...strawberry jam, blackberry jam and spiced apple butter. Leftovers that wouldn't fit into the canning jars. So," she walked across the room and, using the only two fingers she had left, opened the back door. "are you ready for a picnic?"

He followed. "You bet I am."

"Good," she said, laughing as she dashed out the door. "The last one to the dock's a rotten egg!"