Offer to help

“That sure smells delicious.”

Annette said, “Mikey! So nice to see you,” without missing a beat as she continued chopping vegetables. “Oh, pardon me. You prefer Michael don’t you?”

“You can call me anything you like, Mrs. Powell, as long as you don’t call me late to supper.” I winked at her.

She scoffed at my remark.

“Why that joke’s older than I am. And please call me Annette.”

“I’m happy to, Annette. I’m also happy to help out in any way I can. What needs doing?”

“Well,” she looked around thoughtfully, ‘I’m nearly done with all this. Would you set the table in the dining room?”

“Of course.”

The task itself was rather simple. I could have had it done already with a single thought but instead I placed all the cutlery and flatware at one seat. Then all it took was to turn around, will it into being, and the table was set for an immaculate dinner for what looked like a dozen people. All the dishes were either on the table or the buffet off to one side. The candles were lit, the wine uncorked, and the bright light of day replaced with the setting sun outside.

I walked back into the kitchen to see Annette hanging up her apron by the refrigerator.

“All set. Is there anything else you need help with?”

My mind surged with increasingly lewd possibilities.