Gemotions

The review hit Eleanor like a rogue wave. "A culinary ship adrift," the critic had sneered. Eleanor, usually a picture of controlled calm, felt her hands begin to tremble as she reread the words. They were meant to be a destination, her restaurant, a haven. Now, it was a shipwreck. She reached for the phone, the familiar weight a comfort. Her sous chef, Leo, would know what to do. He always did. His quiet efficiency was the anchor she clung to, the steady hand she'd built her entire career around. The connection beeped, but Leo didn't answer. A wave of nausea washed over her.