Chapter 0151
Abby

The restaurant has long since closed, but the aroma of sauteed onions and garlic still lingers in the air.

The sound of sizzling oil on the stove and the faint melody of a song that I don’t like wafting from a

speaker in the corner mix together to create a tense symphony that I absolutely don’t need to be

hearing right now.

I’m stressed, to say the least. Really stressed.

John stands next to me, his eyes focused as he skillfully dices tomatoes. His posture is rigid, the

tension between us as palpable as the texture of the dough I’m kneading for our homemade pasta.

“How’s the dough coming along?” he asks, throwing a quick glance my way.

“It’s fine. Just needs a bit more kneading,” I reply, my palms pushing and folding as I get lost in the

repetitive motion.

John grunts in acknowledgment and moves on to chop basil. There’s an air of seriousness around him,

an unwavering concentration that should make me feel reassured.

And yet, it doesn’t.

invisible yet unignorable gap between us. It

reading from different

pass me the olive oil?” he asks, interrupting

brushing for a moment, but

feel when Karl and I worked side by side in the

thinking this, but with Karl, it was natural to work together. Sure,

well together. I like John and he’s a good cook, but

in the kitchen. What should feel effortless instead feels like

drizzles the oil over the tomatoes, then hesitates, looking at the array of spices laid out in front

touch of paprika would give the sauce

biting my lip. “The recipe

throw it off.”

the boat, but

John? Are you crazy?”

“We’re not following the recipe to the

point was to make it

‘our own’ shouldn’t mean ruining the integrity of the dish,” I retort, a little

than I intend

a deep breath,

competition. If

here?”

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