With hands encased in thick oven mitts, she extracted the white porcelain dish and set it down gently on the cooling trivet on her counter before turning to quietly close the oven behind her. Then suddenly something happened that she had never thought would happen — Finn Bennet was standing in the middle of the Malloy family kitchen, now her kitchen, having followed her inside.
“I hope it’s all right,” he began.
“Shh,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Speak more softly, please. The soufflé,” Rose said, indicating the dish.
Finn shrugged though he looked hesitant about opening his mouth.
“I have heard that a loud noise can make it fall,” she whispered.
“That sounds unlikely,” he muttered, then he cocked his head. “Let’s try it.”
“What if it sinks?” she protested.
“There are far worse things that can sink.”
They eyed each other, letting a hundred thoughts pass between them. Then he smiled.
“Anyway it will still taste as good, don’t you think? Shall we?”
Rose shrugged, belatedly recalling how unfeminine her mother thought the action. Anyway, the idea of testing the soufflé appealed to her, and doing so with Finn appealed even more.
“Fine,” she said in a normal tone. “First, try shouting.”
Finn grinned, kept his gaze locked on hers, and then bellowed, “Rose Malloy is the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Her eyes widened and she grinned at him, then glanced at the soufflé. It looked precisely the same, a burnished brown on top and raised about three inches over the rim of the dish. Still perfect.
“My turn,” she said. Looking around, she spied her smallest cast iron sauté pan. Snatching it up with both hands, she slammed it down on the counter with a bang.
They both leaned in to examine the eggy creation.
“No change,” Finn said, “but if it had sunk into a flat mess, it might’ve been due to the vibration of the counter. That wouldn’t have been a good test.”
Even in this bit of fun, the precise brain of a builder was working.
“You’re right,” she acquiesced. “Anyway, that was more of a thump.”
He surveyed the room. Hanging neatly from a cast iron rack were her steel pans and lids. He took down two lids, and with his hands directly over the soufflé, he clanged them together like concert band cymbals.
Nothing happened.
“Hm, I guess it was a myth.” Rose would mention that to Fannie in the morning.
“Glad to be of service,” he said, as he hung the lids back in their places. Moreover, he did appear quite cheerful.
Just like that, Rose saw him anew, through older eyes — perhaps not a great deal wiser but, she hoped, less capricious. She still appreciated the man but for different reasons. What’s more, in her mind, they were now at a new beginning.
She didn’t even mind when Finn picked up a serving fork and used it to stab the soufflé. As the air escaped and it sunk to the rim of the cooking dish, he stared at her with shocked eyes.
“Ballocks! I am sorry. I thought it was solid cake.”
She laughed until she nearly cried. Then she grabbed two plates and served them both a generous piece. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes.
“You were right,” Rose told him. “It did taste just as good. Let’s go into the sitting room. You can tell me to what I owe this unexpected visit.”
