#24 The Nanny Diary

Dear Diary,

            This evening Bartholomew came over for dinner and a “lesson.”  It went better than expected.  I think this young man is exactly what’s needed for Operation Happily Ever After...

                                                            *          *          *

            Bartholomew arrived at Gerald's house with flowers in his hand just as it was getting dark outside.  Per The Nanny's instructions, he entered through the back gate.  The last time Bartholomew was at Gerald's house he left through the same gate after burning down the pool cabana.  Bartholomew was excited about his evening with The Nanny, but entering Gerald's property gave him a chill – a sense of dread.  

            To Bartholomew's surprise, where the charred blackened shell of a cabana used to be now stood a modest size cottage with a pool on one side and gardens on the other three. In the fading sunlight, it looked heavenly.  This was now the home of The Nanny, who Bartholomew could see through the kitchen window pulling something out of the oven.  He could not imagine a more perfect domestic scene than this: a beautiful simple house, a beautiful woman, and amazing food. (The Nanny had picked up very quickly on Bartholomew's taste in food and... him.)

            “No, no, no,” Bartholomew said to himself. “Stop it!  I might have burned this house down last time I was here, but I deserve happiness.  I want a girlfriend and someone to spend my life with.  I deserve to be here – even if everything else is so much...more than me.”   Eyeing Gerald's house, a grand mansion to which another wing was added since he had last seen it, Bartholomew's heart crumpled one more time before he shored it up and went to knock on the cottage door.

            Before his knuckles could touch the vinyl-encased fiberboard, it opened, and there stood Kyle the pool boy.  “Dude, long time, chyah,” said Kyle. 

            “What are you doing here?” asked Bartholomew somewhat confused and irate.  Memories of finding Kyle and Geraldine, who he was then dating, in nothing but towels in the darkened cabana swirled through his mind. 

            “Inventory, hehe,” said Kyle.  “Pool season starts soon.  Just checking on stuff, Dude.”  Seeing the flowers in Bartholomew's hand, Kyle asked, “What are you doing?”

            “I came to see The Nanny,” said Bartholomew.

            “Wrong door,” said Kyle.  “Her door's over there.  This is pool storage, chyah.”

            Bartholomew felt relieved that Kyle hadn't actually been in The Nanny's house.  “Thanks,” said Bartholomew and headed to The Nanny's door. 

            “Dude, you should've stuck with Geraldine.  The Nanny's weird.  She's too perfect and she knows it.  Geraldine was cool, chyah,” said Kyle as he left.

            Bartholomew knocked on an old wooden door.  While waiting, he thought what's wrong with perfection?  True, Geraldine wanted to be with him.  She liked how kind and polite he was and she certainly was up for having sex, maybe every night – or more.  Maybe even a lot more.  But The Nanny was beautiful, and she wanted to be with Bartholomew, too.   She wasn't as driven to have sex, but Bartholomew figured he didn't really need sex several times a day.  Maybe just once a day would be okay.

            The Nanny opened the door.  “Hi Bartholomew!  Come on in.”

            Bartholomew walked into a house that seemed to be very old with dark wooden beams, plaster walls, antique furniture and handmade rugs.  This surprised him since he knew the house was less than a year old. 

            “Do you like my stuff?” asked The Nanny.  “I have collected it over the years and take it with me whenever I get a new job.”

            “Haven't you been a nanny for Gerald's kids for six or seven years?” asked Bartholomew.

            “Six years, eight months.”

            “You're not that old.  What other nanny gigs have you had?”

            “Oh, a few more.  But let's not talk about that.  Guess what I made for dinner?”  Not waiting for Bartholomew to answer she said, “Corn on the cob, green beans, marinated lamb and kale chips.”

            “Kale chips?” asked Bartholomew.

            “Yes, it’s a new recipe I learned.  I think you’ll like them.”

            Bartholomew and The Nanny had a perfectly wonderful meal full of good food and good conversation.  For dessert, a wild berry torte with real whipped cream, The Nanny put on some coffee and suggested they retire to the living room.

            They escorted each other and their desserts to a big comfortable upholstered couch with maple legs.  The coffee table was also made of maple and held magazines, a few chotzkes and a condiment dish full of chocolates.

            “Oh, this light is too bright.  We need candles.  Bartholomew, could you grab me the matches on the windowsill behind you?”

            At this, Bartholomew became a bit nervous.  “Do we need candles?”  Memories swirled in his head again.  This time it was of Geraldine asking him to retrieve some matches from a windowsill in the cabana.   It was one of those matches that started the cabana on fire.

            “Don't be silly.  I promise you, you will be happier with candles,” said The Nanny.

            Bartholomew found the matches and handed them to her.  She lit five candles and placed them on tables around the couch.  They turned their attention to the very tasty tortes and conversed while eating.

            “So, how are your garden plans coming?” asked The Nanny as she ate her last bite.

            “Oh, very well.  Topping, Charlotte, Ned and Claire are all going to garden with me and so are Uncle Jeffrey and Aunt Josephine.  I am very excited.”

            Putting her plate on the coffee table and then moving closer to Bartholomew, The Nanny said, “That's great.  Is there room for one more?”

            “Absolutely,” said Bartholomew as he put down his plate and moved closer to The Nanny.  At the same time, they both moved to kiss each other.  As they pulled their faces away they stared into each other's eyes.  Bartholomew put his arm around The Nanny and they kissed again.  This time they kissed much longer.  They kissed several more times – each kiss becoming longer and more passionate.  Bartholomew wanted to put his hand on The Nanny's breast but wanted to be polite and wait for a signal from her.  Instead, he cradled her head in his hand and then began to stroke her hair while they kissed.

            “Ohhh,” said The Nanny, “that feels so good.  Keep stroking my hair and patting my head.  Oh, that drives me crazy!”

            Bartholomew didn't mind stroking her hair, but he felt a little funny when he patted her head.  But The Nanny's groans indicated that, as silly as Bartholomew felt, he was on the right track.  The Nanny unexpectedly pushed Bartholomew backward on to the couch.  His leg kicked out and knocked over something on the coffee table.  Bartholomew went rigid.  He could see a candle rolling to the edge of the table, wax spilling on a magazine.  The candle fell aflame onto a handmade floor rug.  He was about to yell out, “NO, STOP, GERALDINE!  THERE'S A FIRE!”  but the candle landed on its tip and went out immediately.

            “Are you okay?” asked The Nanny.

            Bartholomew took one more glance at the candle and saw that it was indeed out.  All of his muscles relaxed and he smiled.  He was not with Geraldine.  Things were not necessarily going to be a disaster.  “Yeah, I'm great,” he said and kissed her again with renewed passion.

            With The Nanny lying on top of him, Bartholomew was rubbing her back while they continued kissing.  He slowly pulled her shirt out of her pants and began to rub his hands up and down on her skin.  The Nanny stopped kissing Bartholomew, arched her back and groaned some more.

            “Oh, that feels so good, Bartholomew.  You know just how to touch me, mmmm,” said The Nanny.  “Could you put your hand down my pants and rub my butt?  That would feel so good, mmmm.”

            Bartholomew gladly did as he was told.

            The Nanny groaned more and rubbed her body on Bartholomew as he lay underneath.  “Yesssss, could you rub me just above the end of my spine?” asked The Nanny.  “Like, imagine if I had a tail.  Rub where it would meet my back and my butt, mmmm.”

            Batholomew could have found the spot with out such an odd description.  But he was happy to make her happy and to have her on top of him, making his body feel good, too.  Rubbing this new spot made The Nanny wriggle.  She arched her back even more and could hardly control herself.  She breathed heavily and placed her hands on Bartholomew's bosoms and began massaging them while riding on him.  This felt very good to Bartholomew, until he smelled burning coffee.  Then the beeping started.  Loud long beeps of a smoke alarm filled the air and Bartholomew's head.  The Nanny ignored them for a moment, continuing to ride Bartholomew who had an urge to yell out, “STOP!  THERE'S A FIRE!  WE CAN'T DO THIS!”  But before he could yell out, The Nanny left the couch and went to the kitchen.  She turned off the coffee maker and put the coffee pot in the sink.  She then waved a towel in front of the alarm until the smoke dissipated enough for the loud beeping to stop.

            Bartholomew lay there and laughed.  A calm pervaded his body.  It was not going to be a disaster.  He could be with someone he wanted without it ending up weird.  What a relief.

            The Nanny returned, and seeing Bartholomew smiling, happy and relaxed she said, “Now, where were we before that rude interruption?”  As she sat down on the couch she removed her sweater.  The Nanny grabbed Bartholomew's hands and pulled him on top of her as she lay back.  He rubbed his hands across her skin.  Her skin was so white and warm that it seemed to glow, as if the light of the universe was just underneath it.  Bartholomew felt almost blinded by its beauty.  He also felt her bra and a breast that lay underneath it.

            Bartholomew kissed her neck, her forehead, her ears and her lips.  He moved down on her body and kissed her clavicles and then began to kiss her breasts.  As he did this, he moved his hand down to her stomach and gently rubbed it.

            “Ohhhh, ohhhh, that feels so good,” said The Nanny.

            Bartholomew focused on kissing and rubbing her breasts more and stopped rubbing her stomach.

            “No, no, don't stop rubbing my stomach.  Oh, that feels so good.  Could you stop kissing my breasts and just rub my stomach, mmmm?”

            Bartholomew stopped everything for a moment.  He would much rather keep focusing on her breasts.  He thought twice before he started rubbing her stomach again.  If that was what she wanted, he would do it.  But he also started to wonder when he would get what he wanted.

            The Nanny unzipped her pants and asked Bartholomew to rub lower – but not too low.  She also liked it when he rubbed her ribs with his fingertips.  As Bartholomew rubbed her stomach, her moans became louder and involuntary.  The Nanny grabbed his hands and said, “Stop.  Stop. Oh, that drives me wild.  We should stop here.  This is our first time being intimate, we should stop here.”

            Bartholomew stopped because he thought it was polite to stop when a woman says to stop.  The Nanny zipped up her pants and sat up.  She put on her sweater and kissed Bartholomew again.  Bartholomew kissed her back. 

            “You seem a bit sad,” said The Nanny.

            “Well, I'm a bit frustrated,” said Bartholomew.  “I would have liked to continue what we were doing.  If you’re uncomfortable, I can honor that, but I still want to be on this couch making-out with you and having you rub me where I like it, too.”

            “Oh, Bartholomew, that will come.  But you can understand where I am coming from, can't you?”

            “Well, yes.  I can understand if you don't want to become more vulnerable.  I am not expecting going all the way tonight, but a little more rubbing and a little more sharing of our private parts would have been nice.”

            “Oh, Bartholomew.  I am afraid you don't understand,” said The Nanny with a look of concern in her eyes.  “I was as vulnerable as I can be.  The act of sex isn't what does it for some women.  For some, sex is just a recreation or a way of being close, but what really turns them on is when a man doesn't strive to have sex – when a man strokes her hair and holds her close instead of always seeking intercourse.  That's when a woman really knows that a man loves her, not just what he can do with her.  Do you understand?”

            Bartholomew looked away at the flame of a candle.  He thought it was much more fun with a woman who wanted to have sex first and then figure out all the emotional stuff later.  But then again, nothing burned down this time.  Maybe he was better off approaching things this way. 

            “After all,” said The Nanny, “once you’re in a long-term relationship it's not like you are having sex all the time – I think a couple times a week if you're lucky.”

            “What?” asked Bartholomew feeling like his dreams had been dashed upon the rocks.

            “And besides, there are other people to think about,” said The Nanny.

            Bartholomew was about to ask what she meant by that when The Nanny said, “I really like you Bartholomew.  I think you are the right person.  The time will come when you will be completely satisfied.  But, to get there, we need to work out a few things, learn a few things from each other.  Trust me, I have your best interests in mind, too.  When can I see you again?”

            “Uh, how about Tuesday night?  Do you want to come to my place for dinner?”

            “Hey, there is a great band I want to go see.  They're called The Dionne's.  Can we do that?” asked The Nanny.

            “Sure, I love them,” said Bartholomew.  “Does picking you up at seven work?”

            “Yeah,” said The Nanny as she got up and walked Bartholomew to the door.  “Seven is perfect.”

            They kissed a few more times – and then some more.   Bartholomew didn't want to let go of her. 

            “Good night,” she said.

            “Good night,” replied Bartholomew and walked out the door.

            As Bartholomew strolled through Gerald's back yard he wondered how an experience could be so satisfying and yet so unsatisfying at the same time.  It just made Bartholomew want more.  He wasn't paying attention as he reached the back gate and almost ran smack into Xavier.  Immediately, Khua moved forward and pushed Bartholomew out of the way and was ready to punch him.  Even in the moonlight Bartholomew could tell that Khua's face was bruised and his knuckles were bloody.  But then Xavier recognized Bartholomew and told Khua to stop.

            “What are you doing in my yard, Bart?” sneered Xavier.

            “Just visiting The Nanny,” said Bartholomew.

            “You’re not dating her now, too, are you?  I guess not, the house didn't burn down,” sneered Xavier as he moved to stand in front of Bartholomew.

             “I'm really sorry about the cabana.  I didn't mean for it to catch on fire.”

            “How come you're always apologizing for messing up my stuff?  You burn down my cabana, you break my gun, you drop my stocking and you touched... it.  What did you fuck up tonight?  Ooooh, maybe tonight you did...”

            “Xavier!” a voice rang out into the night air.  “Let Bartholomew go home in peace.  He was here visiting me.  It has nothing to do with you.  Now leave him be,” said The Nanny.

            “You got her protecting you now, too?” said Xavier in a voice low enough that The Nanny couldn't hear.  He continued, “If I ever catch you messing with any of my stuff again, I'm going to take care of you.  This island’s not big enough for the two of us, so leave my stuff alone.”

            “What island is that?” asked Mo.

            “Shut up,” said Xavier.

            “Yeah, like, what island you talking about?” asked Khua.

            “Shut up! Both of you.”  Xavier turned back to Bartholomew.  “Like I said, leave my stuff alone or you'll see what happens when The Nanny isn't around to protect you.” 

Xavier turned to leave and Khua and Mo followed him.  The Nanny waited to see that the boys would leave Bartholomew alone and then waved goodnight to Bartholomew.  He waved goodnight back.

                                                            *          *          *

            Even though everything went really well tonight, Diary, I do have a concern about this one.  I am wondering if he will survive long enough! Until tomorrow. 

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The Nanny Diary is the 24th story in The Book of Bartholomew. The story is written by Mark Granlund and illustrated by Justin Terlecki.

Bartholomew becomes an unsuspecting participant in The Nanny's Operation Happily Ever After. Will Bartholomew fulfill The Nanny's odd requests around intimacy? Could this possibly make anyone happy ever after?

#21 Charlotte Unfolding

          

            “Can you hand me the kale?” asked Bartholomew as he grabbed a colander from the counter.

           

            Charlotte handed over the kale and continued mincing garlic.  Bartholomew ripped the big rough leaves, stem and all, from the stalk, placed them in the colander and washed them in the sink. 

            “You sure you washed them enough?” asked Charlotte.  “They can be pretty dirty inside all those bumps.”

            “This is how my mom used to do it. It should work,” said Bartholomew with confidence.

            “So you used to cook with your mom?”

            “No, I never really did. Both my parents were really good cooks.  They would buy fresh and organic vegetables and things from the farmers’ market and the co-op and  they would cook really amazing meals.  They were so tasty, but for some reason I didn't feel like I should cook with them.  It kinda seemed like something they liked to do together – just the two of them.”

            “Didn't they want to teach you to cook?”

            “Yeah, they asked me all the time.  But I just didn't want to do it.  What they did was so delicious and magical.  I didn't even want to know how it was done.  That would have ruined the magic.”

            Charlotte tossed the minced garlic in a large black cast-iron skillet to saute in some oil.  Bartholomew kept piling more and more kale into the colandar. 

            “How much do you plan on eating?” asked Charlotte.

            “Oh, it cooks down a lot,” said Bartholomew.

            Charlotte removed a lid from a pot of soup she had made the day before and stirred it around with a big plastic spoon.  She made the soup by chopping up vegetables and cooking them in a couple cans of tomato soup she bought at the grocery store.   This was Charlotte's general method of cooking. She would purchase pre-made items at the store and then add a few of her own ingredients to make them better.  “Charlotizing” food made her feel good about her cooking skills.  Topping knew how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, hot dogs and a bowl of cereal but not much else.  In exchange for Charlotte doing all the cooking, Topping would help set the table and clean up afterward – and always tell her he liked her cooking.

            “He sure is quiet back there,” said Bartholomew about Topping who was in the bedroom working on a design for painting Bartholomew's car.

            “Yeah, he wanted to finish it before you got here tonight but had a little more to do.  He has a hard time finishing it, he doesn't know when to stop.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Oh, you know. Topping is just so intense and such a perfectionist about stuff that he always sees something else he wants to change or correct.”

            “Really?”  Bartholomew said.  “I always thought he was just winging along and having fun.  I didn't know he was a perfectionist.”

            Charlotte felt like sharing her thoughts about Topping with Bartholomew, but worried it would be inappropriate.   But she felt she could trust Bartholomew.

            “Yeah, well when he is at a party he is really enjoying himself.  And when he is designing a paint job, he is really designing a paint job.  He is very intense about what he is doing.  Lately, I think because he hasn't had a job, he has been filling all of his time with projects.  Did you know he designed the garden you want to plant?”

            “He has designed it?  Wow, great!  I really haven't thought about any kind of design yet,” said Bartholomew a bit relieved.

            “No, that's not great.  He should be out here talking with us and helping us and being a good friend – and a good boyfriend.”

            Bartholomew said nothing. He didn't want to be in the middle of Topping and Charlotte's relationship.  He washed a few more kale leaves.

            “I'm sorry,” said Charlotte, “I shouldn't have said anything.  You’re his friend, I shouldn't be sharing this stuff with you.”

            “No, that's okay,” lied Bartholomew.  Changing the subject, he asked, “Is the garlic done?  The kale is ready to be cooked.”

            “Oh shoot, it's getting a little burnt,” said Charlotte.

            Quickly Bartholomew threw a heaping pile of kale in the skillet and stirred it all together, hoping to prevent the garlic from burning more.  Charlotte pulled some bread out of a cupboard, removed it from the bag and started slicing it.

            “Did you make that bread?” asked Bartholomew.

            “Yeah, I did,” said Charlotte.  “They have the dough already made in the freezer section at the Food Barn.  I just pop it in the oven and forty-five minutes later it’s bread.  It's pretty good.”

            Bartholomew changed the subject again, “You hear about Claire taking those spoken word classes?”

            “Yeah, I think its great!  I just love how she says what's on her mind.  You should have seen her stick it to Mayor Dick at the Earth Day Celebration.  It was so cool.  I really admire her.  I'm glad Topping met you and Claire.  You guys are good friends.”

            Noticing that she didn't mention Ned, Bartholomew said, “You, too.  I mean you two, too. Both you and Topping.  And Claire.  I like her a lot, too.  And Ned.  He's great, too.  Ned is always coming over to my house.”

            Charlotte continued, “We should go to Claire's performance.  She has one in two weeks.  It would be great to go support her.”

            “Definitely,” said Bartholomew.  “That would be fun.”

            “Hey, when is your garden planning meeting?”

            “Uhmm,” Bartholomew glanced at the calendar in his head.  “On the last Wednesday of the month.  I have you two, Claire and Ned, Aunt Josephine and Uncle Jeffrey and maybe Mr. MacBardon, my neighbor, all planning on being there.  I'm really looking forward to it.  I haven't thought at all about the design, but I know what I want to grow in it and am ordering some seeds this week.”

            “Could we order some seeds with you?”

            “Sure, you can...”

            “Wow, that smells great!” interrupted Topping as he walked into the kitchen.  “Is it almost ready?”

            Bartholomew, who had forgotten about the kale while talking to Charlotte, jerked his head around to see that the kale had indeed cooked down quite a bit.  He stirred what was left in the pan while Charlotte went back to cutting bread.

            “Yes, it’s just about done,” said Bartholomew.

            With that pronouncement, Topping went to the cupboards and started pulling out plates and set them on the card table.  He came back, put his hand gently on Charlotte's shoulder to move her slightly so he could reach the glasses above her head.  He placed those on the table and then did the same with utensils, napkins, salt and pepper and the butter dish.  As Charlotte placed the slices of bread on a plate and Bartholomew scooped the kale into a bowl, Topping grabbed three beers from the refrigerator.  Then they all sat down on three of the four folding chairs around the table.

            “Would you like to give thanks?” Topping asked Charlotte.

            Charlotte was a little annoyed at this.  She liked to give a silent “thanks” before each meal, but Topping would never join her.  He would simply sit and wait.  Now he was asking her to give thanks with a guest, as if this was something Topping always took part in.  A little embarrassed, she turned to Bartholomew and explained, “I only give thanks quietly.  Like a moment of silence.  We don't actually say a prayer or anything.”  With that, she bowed her head and was silent for a moment.  Bartholomew bowed his head, too, but kept one eye open just in case he had to cross himself or mimic some other ritual he was unfamiliar with.  He noticed that Charlotte bowed her head and gave thanks while Topping just stared at her and waited. 

            “Amen,” said Charlotte.

            “Amen,” said Bartholomew.

            “Let's eat,” said Topping as he grabbed the soup and ladled it into his bowl.  Then he chose a piece of bread and scooped some kale onto his plate.  He started devouring the soup.

            “Mmmm.  This is really good!” he said to Charlotte.

            He then buttered his bread, dipped it in the soup and ate half a slice in one bite.  With his mouth   loaded he mumbled to Charlotte, “Whoa, this is great bread.”

            After finishing his soup and bread, Topping turned his fork upon the kale.  He took a big mouthful of the limp green mass.  He chewed it a couple of times.  Then a couple more times.  Bartholomew was waiting for the inevitable compliment, but one never came.  Topping kept chewing and chewing.  Before Topping was done, Bartholomew and Charlotte had taken a forkful of kale, as well.  They chewed and they chewed.  Then they chewed some more.  The texture was rubbery, soggy and crunchy all at the same time.  Bartholomew didn't think that was possible with any food.  Topping finally swallowed.

            “That's... what is that?” asked Topping.

            “Kale,” Bartholomew said while still masticating.

            “Is this how you always eat it?” asked Topping.

            “Well, yes,” said Bartholomew.  “But my mother used to make it ten times better.  I don't know what she used to do.  I wish I knew.”

            Charlotte finally swallowed her mass of goop and said, “I think you need to take the stems of the leaves out.  They really... well, they...I think you should just take them out.  Cut them out and just cook the leafy part.  I think that would be better.”

            No one ate any more kale.  They had ice cream for dessert.  After Topping cleaned up the kitchen, he showed Bartholomew his designs for the car.  Upon seeing them, Bartholomew just laughed.

            “Don't you like them?” asked Topping somewhat unsure.

            “Like them?  I think they're fabulous!”  Bartholomew was looking at three sketches of his car, each with a different flame design.  One design had flames that were more symbolic of flames than actually looking like flames.  The second was more flame-like as the shapes licked down the side of the car from the hood to the back.  The third had what looked like actual flames over the whole front of the car and then disappearing down the sides.

            “Wow, can you really paint these on my car?” asked Bartholo

mew.

            “Well...,” said Topping, “the first design I can definitely do. The second one I could do but it is a technique I haven't really done before.  But I'm sure I could do it.  The third one is probably beyond me. I can draw it, but Uncle Cy would have to help me quite a bit...and that one would take a long time.”

            Bartholomew surveyed the drawings one more time.  “I think we should try the second one, then.  It will give you a challenge and I like it better than the first.  That third one I'm not sure about.  I don't know if I'm that excited about flames to want that.  But the second design would be cool.”

            Topping was a little disappointed to hear Bartholomew say that flames aren't what he is really excited about.  He wanted this paint job to be something Bartholomew really wanted, that expressed something about him.

            “Are you sure?” asked Topping.

            “Yeah, I'm sure.”

            “You really want flames?”

            “Yes,” said Bartholomew grimacing at Topping.  “Yes, I want flames and I want you to paint them.”  

            “Okay,” said Topping.  “My Uncle said the shop would be available starting the first week of next month.  You're going to have to leave the car with me for three weeks.  I hope that's okay?”

            “I'll just walk, or bike or use Uncle Jeffrey's car.  That should be fine,” said Bartholomew.

            “Okay, then.  That's settled,” said Topping, knowing in the recesses of his mind that the design was going to change again before he painted Bartholomew's car.  He would find just the right design for Bartholomew even if he had to work on it every day for the rest of this month.  He wanted it to be perfect.  Charlotte sighed knowing what Topping was thinking.

            Bartholomew looked over the drawings one more time.  “These are really good drawings.  You ever think of just making art?”

            “Nope,” said Topping.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

Charlotte Unfolding, is the 21st story in The Book of Bartholomew. The story, written by Mark Granlund and illustrated by Raighne Hogan, tells of an evening with CHarlotte and Bartholomew cooking together.  Charlotte opens up to Bartholomew about her relationship with Topping.