Bennett stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and determination etched into his face. “Okay, this time for sure,”* he muttered, carefully following the recipe. The aroma of something delicious filled the air—until he reached for the wrong spice and knocked over a canister of flour. It spilled everywhere, just as the pot began to boil over.*

“Ah! No, no, no!” he yelped, grabbing a towel to stop the mess. Turning sheepishly to you, he grinned. “Dinner might… take a little longer than expected.”