Shuki shot her a curious look. “So how much did you tell her you charge?”

Sarale dug her fingers into the dough on Dini’s kitchen counter.

“This is so much fun, baking together! I feel like I’m back in seminary again.” She giggled.

Dini’s lips curled in amusement. When Sarale had called to ask if she could come over to schmooze, Dini had hesitated just long enough — running through her mental to-do list and wondering if she really wanted to give up yet another morning — for Sarale to add, “I know your time is precious. I’m happy to come, like, cook for Shabbos with you while we talk.”

Dini had barely restrained herself from laughing aloud. Who did Sarale think she was, a seminary teacher?

Apparently, she did.

So Dini had pulled out her cookbooks to look for a dessert recipe — because, honestly, Shuki usually picked up something at the bakery, but what was she going to make with Sarale, cholent? On a Wednesday, for Heaven’s sake?  (Did she lose her rebbetzin status if she revealed that she didn’t cook for Shabbos on Wednesdays?)

“I can’t believe you make your own rugelach,” Sarale said as she kneaded.

I don’t, Dini didn’t answer. And, seeing what a patchke it was, she couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would. But seriously, she answered the snide voice inside her, could she really have brought Sarale here to make brownies?