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…

help but chuckle. “Alright, fine. You’ve got

sync for a little while longer,

faster than I expected, but

the nutmeg—only to pop open the

scent of cumin. “What

eyes

I frantically search for the

“Maybe the labels got messed up.” I pick up another

and inhale. But the jar, labeled

panic rising. “Paprika in the cinnamon

here?”

on the move, reaching into our spice

out another jar labeled ‘nutmeg’ and

to be the right one.

jar. A quick glance at the clock

more time hunting for spices than I would have liked, and

my struggle. Stifling a curse,

and get

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