Gemotions

The steam from the deli's coffee machine seemed to claw at Agnes’s throat. She tapped her foot, a rapid, nervous rhythm against the tiled floor. Another day, another brunch rush at "The Golden Spoon," and another hundred plates of "Aunt Millie's Famous French Toast." *Aunt Millie's?* Her grandmother, Millie, couldn't boil water without burning it. Agnes had created the recipe herself, painstakingly perfecting the ratios of egg, milk, and vanilla. A recipe she'd *given* to Millie, hoping for a little help getting her own small business off the ground. Now, Millie's grinning face was plastered across the menu, a thief in a floral apron. Agnes gripped the edge of the counter so tightly her knuckles were white.

The bell above the door chimed, announcing another customer. "Morning, Agnes!" chirped Mrs. Henderson, a regular. Agnes plastered on a smile that felt brittle. "Morning, Mrs. Henderson! French toast for you today?"

Mrs. Henderson beamed. "Absolutely! Aunt Millie's, of course. My grandson practically *begs* for it." Agnes's jaw clenched.