of high school.”
“That is weird,” William agreed, not taking his eyes off the painting.
“I don't know why I painted it,” Casey told him. “I never start painting with an
idea. I let the brush decide what it wants to paint.”
William didn't respond, continuing to stare at the painting.
“I hate empty walls so I grabbed the closest three paintings and hung them up as
placeholders,” she informed him. “My recent paintings are much better.”
William turned to Casey but then back to the painting.
“It's good,” he told her. “I can't wait to see your new stuff.”
“Let's get you into the kitchen,” Casey said, grabbing his hand and leading him to
where he would make her dinner. “Now this is where the magic will happen tonight.”
“I hope I didn't talk up my pancakes too much,” William said. “I don't want you to
be disappointed.”
“You don't have to worry about that, Will,” she reassured him. “When I was in
college, I ate frozen pancakes. They're not great but they'll do in a pinch.”
“Well, mine are definitely better than frozen,” he bragged.
“What can I do to help?” Casey asked in a flirtatious voice.
“Well, I'm going to need a measuring cup, mixing bowl, a pan, spoon and a spatula,”
he responded.
“Do I get to help you mix the pancakes or flip them?” she asked.
“No, you can sit on the counter over there and watch the magic,” William responded.
“Oh, my,” Casey said, hopping up on the counter next to the stove. “I can't wait.”
William unpacked the bag, placing flour, baking soda, sugar, butter, vanilla
extract, syrup, and a half gallon of milk on the counter.
“Wait!” Casey exclaimed. “You're making real pancakes? No store-bought mix?”