Free Campaigning for Love by K.D. Fleming

out. “What are you doing? That’s a hot pot you put in there.”
    “I know. I put a trivet on the shelf. Trust me, it’ll be fine.”
    “If you say so.
    She shook her head and offered him a rueful smile. “It’s the judge’s favorite. Alice always made this for him on his birthday.”
    “I’ll wait until I’ve taste it before passing judgment.” After a long pause, he continued his questions. “Where did you learn to cook?”
    She was stirring graham cracker crumbs and melted butter together in a bowl. She stayed silent so long, he wasn’t sure she’d answer. “I volunteered for kitchen duty at the group homes where I stayed. The bullies wouldn’t be caught dead doing KP so it was a safe place. The cooks always appreciated an extra pair of hands, no matter how inept. Eventually they shared techniques and recipes.” She dumped the mixture into a glass dish and smoothed it out with a spatula before popping it into the oven.
    She carried the bowl she’d used to mix the ingredients over to the sink, turned on the faucet, and grabbed the soapy sponge. “The hardest thing after I was out of foster care was remembering to reduce the recipes. I was used to feeding twenty people.”
    Nick took the bowl from the drying rack and wiped it with a towel. “Well, we always had a cook. Unless she left milk and cookies on the table, the kitchen was off limits. I learned how to microwave frozen dinners and boil water while away at college, but that’s as good I can do.”
    They stood next to each other, working in tandem. She washed and rinsed. He dried and stacked. When she handed him the last dish, she said, “Maybe you should add cooking to your list of requirements for that partner you’re after. She’s sounding more and more like a hostess. I hear Abby Blackmon’s available. Tell her you’re nice to small children and you’ll score some extra brownie points.”
    He clenched his jaw, but held his tongue.
    “Dinner’s almost ready. Nick, I was teasing.” The ding of the oven timer distracted her.
    He left while her back was turned.
    Their meal consisted of a beef roast she’d cooked in the crockpot with vegetables. Dinner conversation, however, was subdued and stilted. The judge pounced on their lack of communication. “Anything happen while you were out with the dogs?”
    “No, we were fine.” She shifted the carrots around on her plate. “Nick thinks someone should nominate me for Citizen of the Year.”
    The judge choked on his food. Nick leaned back out of the line of fire.
    “Well, you should be nominated.” The judge pounded his fist on the table like a gavel.
    “I completed that volunteer history because of emotional blackmail. I’m still not happy with you.”
    The judge ignored her and turned toward Nick. “I have friends on the committee that selects the Citizen of the Year. This year they’ve asked me to speak. I thought it would be a good idea to have Katherine and other volunteers document the work they do so the committee can see how many charities benefit from the volunteers’ hard work within our community.”
    “I think Abby Blackmon is the ideal nominee,” she said. “Her father donated a truckload of money to build that new children’s wing. She speaks well. She photographs well. She’s used to being in the limelight and attends charity luncheons. People doing the grunt work belong in the background.”
    Uncle Charles nailed her with a stern glare. “Well this time you will be front and center, young lady. I have a table reserved with your name on one of the place cards. It starts at six Friday night. You’d better not be late.” With a smile, he motioned to Nick. “Would you care to join us?”
    Nick took the opportunity to score a point of his own. “My father wanted me to call and see if Abby Blackmon was available.”
    Kat’s glance jumped to his. He smiled. “I told him I could arrange my own dates. I’ll be happy to go and I won’t need a date. I’ll bring