Gemotions

Eliza, head chef and owner, reread the scathing words, the ink practically dripping with scorn. Her stomach churned. The critic had decimated her carefully crafted vision, the love she poured into every plate. She clenched her jaw. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back, focusing on the rhythmic clang of the pots and pans.

She found old Mrs. Peterson, the pastry chef, quietly crying in the pantry. Eliza knelt down, her hand resting gently on Mrs. Peterson's wrinkled hand. "He doesn’t understand, does he?" Mrs. Peterson whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Eliza simply nodded, her throat constricted. She took the woman’s hand and held it. "We do," she said softly, squeezing the hand. "We know what we are doing." Then, she went back to work. She decided that perhaps a new strawberry tart, a simple beauty to remind everyone of joy, would be a good idea.