"Dr. Cartwright," the guard at the gate intoned through the wall speaker, "your guest is just entering the compound."
"Thank you, Klaus ."
Mitchell took a mental inventory of that evening's preparations. There was pan fried red snapper about eleven minutes away from being finished. In another five he’d start the pickled sauce for the fish. The callaloo would be ready any minute and there was soursop ice cream chilling in the freezer.
Mitchell removed his apron and placed a cloth over the red snapper. He wanted to take one more walk around and make sure that everything was in place. There would be only one time to make a first impression. Mitchell wanted Dara Hickley's to be a favorable one.
His living quarters would never be featured in one of those upscale decorating magazines, but he was proud of it. Six years ago when he’d begun his job at Project Genesis, he’d spent most of his first year’s salary furnishing the two-bedroom apartment just the way he wanted... lots of large, plain surfaces and the occasional leather padding. The singular concession he'd made to his career was an enormous dry-erase board that actually served as one of the living room's four walls. It wasn't just a convenience. Mitchell knew that many of his research ideas came during times of relaxation.
There was nothing relaxing about the evening to come. His colleagues would have been highly amused to see him at that moment. The great doctor was nervous, something none of them could ever remember Mitchell being - not even in the most trying of circumstances. But tonight would be the first time he shared his personal space with anyone. Mitchell never brought any of his dates home, choosing instead to entertain them at venues so obviously expensive that he rarely heard any complaint.
Tonight was different, though.
"Miss Hickley! Welcome to my home. You look lovely," Mitchell said. The teacher wore a simple robin's egg blue dress that gently curved in all the right places.
"Thank you. And call me Dara." She took a deep, appreciative breath. "Something smells good."
Mitchell nodded. "I thought we'd eat at the kitchen island , if that's alright?"
"It sounds perfect."
Time flew by as they enjoyed the meal Mitchell had prepared. He was a pretty capable chef, approaching cooking as he did science. In his mind, both endeavors were merely a series of equations.
Over ice cream Dara recounted several humorous stories about her students. Brick Davies played a heavy role in several of Dara's tales.
The conversation inevitably turned to Mitchell's work. At Dara's insistence Mitchell tried to explain in layman's terms just what he hoped to uncover through his research. He admitted his difficulties and puzzled over the unseen obstacle that prevented any progress where his formula was concerned.
"What about the change in mass?"
Mitchell froze. "What did you just say?"
Dara hesitated. "I just wondered where in the formula were you accounting for the change in mass?"
Mitchell's eyes flew to the dry erase board and he scanned the formula from beginning to end. "Oh, my god! Such a simple thing!" He swung around and pulled Dara into his arms. He gave the stunned teacher an exuberant kiss on the lips. "You're a genius!"
"No," Dara answered shyly. "I'm just an elementary school science teacher. Working with eight-year-olds tends to make you think simply."
Mitchell erased a significant portion of the formula and began to calculate again. This time he included a simple equation that would account for the change in mass, both greater or smaller. "I can't believe this!" Mitchell marveled again. "I have been stuck in that same spot for weeks now. Your observation easily advances me to the next step of my research."
"I'm glad I could help."
"Maybe I should run the rest of my theorem by you," the scientist mused. "There might be something else I'm missing."
Dara laughed softly. "I don't think I will push my luck."
Both Mitchell and Dara started at a booming rap on his door. Mitchell frowned at the unexpected sound. "Excuse me."
"Dr. Cartwright!" Dylan came bouncing through Mitchell's door. Paul followed a bit more sedately. "Can you tell Dr. Barton that-" The young man stopped short. "Oh! Hello, Miss Hickley!"
Dara stared, puzzled, at the two twenty-something-year-old men. "Hello." She tilted her head to one side. "Have we met?"
The pair glanced briefly at one another. "The doctor's two little kids haven't stop talking about you," Paul replied evasively.
"Really?" Dara asked. She turned to Mitchell. "Where are the boys?"
"They're at a sleepover at a friend's house," Mitchell replied.
"We're sorry about interrupting your evening, Dr. Cartwright. We'll just say goodnight."
"Yes," the blond-haired young man nodded. "So, goodnight, Miss Hickley, who we never met before today."
"That was...strange," Dara observed after the two young men left. "But there is something very familiar about those two young men."
Mitchell quickly changed the subject. "I think we should get back to the previous conversation. I believe you were agreeing to stay a bit longer."
Dara shook her head, amused. "I'll just say good evening while you still think I'm a genius." She ignored Mitchell's murmured protests and continued to gather her things.
"Well, at least let me walk you out," Mitchell insisted.
They traveled to the gate in companionable silence. "I've never had an evening quite like this," Mitchell said. "I certainly hope that we can do it again soon." He slid his arms around Dara and kissed her deeply. His tongue lazily explored her mouth, sending her a very clear signal that when the time came, his attention to the rest of her would be as slow and thorough.
"What about your sons?" Dara asked when she was finally able to speak. "Shouldn't we take things slowly for their sake?"
"My sons?" Mitchell found himself staring at Dara's lips instead of listening when she spoke. "Oh, them. Paul and Dylan are crazy about you. So we'll figure this all out as we go along. We'll have to."
