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.

hyper-aware of the disconnect, the invisible

different recipes,

me the olive

him, our fingers brushing for a moment, but there’s none of the warmth

feel when Karl and I worked side by side

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

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

the kitchen. What should feel effortless instead

looking at

think a touch of paprika would

don’t know,” I say, biting my lip. “The recipe is already pretty balanced. Adding more

throw it off.”

so as not to rock the boat, but in reality, I’m thinking to

John? Are you crazy?”

looks up, eyebrows furrowed. “We’re not following the recipe to the letter, are we? I thought

point was to make

the integrity of the dish,” I retort, a

than I

takes a deep breath, visibly trying to rein in

to be your sous chef for this competition. If you don’t trust my judgment, then why

here?”

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