Gemotions

Agnes nearly choked on her tea. The newspaper, usually a source of mundane gossip, displayed a picture of a towering, golden-brown pie. “The ‘Celestial Cloud’ – A Parisian Patisserie’s New Sensation!” the headline screamed. Her jaw dropped, and she felt a prickle of heat run up her neck. This was her Granny Mildred's recipe, the “Whispering Wheat Pie,” passed down through generations. She slammed the paper down on the kitchen table, the sudden movement rattling the bone china. Her hands flew to her mouth, fingers splayed across her lips as if trying to physically contain the words struggling to escape.