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.

I’m hyper-aware of the disconnect, the invisible yet

different recipes,

olive

fingers brushing for a moment,

when Karl and I worked

can’t believe I’m thinking this, but with Karl, it was natural

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

chemistry in the kitchen. What should

looking at

of paprika would give the sauce a

my lip. “The

throw it off.”

so as not to rock the boat, but

John? Are you crazy?”

not following the recipe

was to make

own’ shouldn’t mean ruining the integrity

I

puts down the paprika and takes a deep breath, visibly trying to rein in his

chef for this competition. If

here?”

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