I move toward the standing mixer, throwing ingredients in, taking care to

measure with conviction. Cooking is one thing, but making is another; there is

no room for measuring mistakes. An extra tablespoon of sugar could ruin the

whole dish.

Karl grins, his voice cutting through the tension. “Don’t forget to breathe, Abby,”

he reminds me, shooting me a wink from across the table.

I let out a breath. “I’m breathing.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, sliding the bowl of lemon zest toward me. “Everyone

knows that breathing involves keeping your chest perfectly still, your shoulders

stiff, your face red.”

Enter title…

but chuckle. “Alright, fine.

for a little while longer, zesting

down faster than I expected, but I’m not

to pop open the lid

of cumin.

eyes narrowing. “That’s

I frantically search for the correct spice, but time

labels got messed up.” I pick up

the jar, labeled ‘cinnamon’ this

mutter, my panic rising. “Paprika

here?”

move, reaching into

out another jar labeled ‘nutmeg’ and hands it

bound to be the right one. The other must have gotten mixed

I grab the jar. A quick glance at the clock makes my heart leap

for spices than I would

me, documenting my struggle. Stifling a curse, I dump

and get

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