A Perfect Match by Kathleen Fuller

she could avoid him by making sure she was busy in the kitchen or serving the wedding guests. Then he would go back to Middlefield, and she would never have to see him again. Or think about him. Which relieved her. Or so she tried to tell herself.
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    Naomi set out the mixing bowl on the table and stood back. She had everything ready for her lesson, including an index card with the recipe neatly written on it attached to the gift bag she usually gave her students—a long-handled wooden spoon, a metal eggbeater, a handcrafted potholder, and a collection of her favorite recipes written on cards and bound with a silver ring. She glanced at the clock on the wall above the table. Nine forty-five. Her classes started promptly at nine thirty. Maybe the student changed her mind. Naomi had to admit she wouldn’t mind if that were the case. It wouldn’t take her much time to clean up everything and get started on the quilt, which was weighing on her mind.
    She heard a knock at the back kitchen door. On Saturdays she put a sign on her front door instructing her students to enter through the kitchen. She smoothed her apron, said a quick silent prayer that the lesson would go well, and answered the door. “Oh. Zeke.”
    Zeke’s brow shot up. “Wow. That’s some greeting.”
    â€œSorry. It’s just I’m expecting a student to arrive at any time.” She started to close the door. “So I can’t talk right now, but I’ll see you at the wedding.”
    Zeke put his palm against the door. He didn’t push back, but he held the door in place. “Hold on a minute.”
    She stopped. “What?”
    â€œYou’re expecting me.”
    Naomi frowned. “What?”
    This time he did push back. Not forcefully, but enough to make her take a step backward. “I said, you’re expecting me .”
    â€œZeke, I don’t have time to figure out riddles. I have a cooking student coming any minute. You really need to geh .”
    He stepped into the kitchen and removed his hat. “Naomi, the cooking student you’re expecting . . . is me.”

Chapter Ten
    Naomi gaped at Zeke. “ You’re my surprise student?”
    Zeke nodded and walked farther into the kitchen. “Ya . ” He breathed in deeply. “And from the smell of things in here, you’re going to teach me how to make something appeditlich .” He turned and grinned.
    She stormed toward him. “This isn’t funny, Zeke. My cooking classes aren’t a joke.”
    His smile faded. “I never thought they were. I’m serious. I’m here to take your class.” He dug into his pocket and handed her several bills. “Here’s the payment for the class and supplies.”
    She looked at the money in his outstretched hand, but didn’t take it. He shrugged and set it on the nearby countertop. He looked completely calm, while inside she was bubbling like a pot of forgotten stew.
    â€œPriscilla told me that Margaret had a friend who wanted a cooking lesson.”
    â€œThat’s true.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Since when did you and Margaret become friends? Or did you lie to her to get her to help you?”
    All traces of humor in his eyes disappeared. “Just a minute, Naomi. I didn’t lie to Margaret. It was actually her idea.” He gave her a pointed look. “You’re not the only one who can play matchmaker.”
    Naomi sucked in a breath. “Why would Margaret do this?”
    â€œBecause we both knew you wouldn’t see me otherwise.”
    She couldn’t deny his words. Her gaze dropped to the money on the counter. Three twenty-dollar bills, neatly folded. She picked up one and handed it back to him. “I only charge forty.”
    He didn’t take the bill. “The twenty is to pay for quilt fabric, since I ruined yours.”
    She hesitated, then put the twenty back on the counter. By the