Gemotions

The restaurant was packed. She sat alone, staring at the empty chair across from her, where old Mrs. Henderson had always sat. Her mentor, the woman who'd taught her everything about the culinary arts, was gone. Left a cryptic note and a will naming her as the sole beneficiary of the restaurant. Her hands, usually steady when she was cooking, trembled as she surveyed the bustling tables.

She ordered the most expensive wine on the list. Tonight, she'd taste every single item and check the receipts. She’d change the menu. She would make the restaurant *hers*. The thought sent a rush of heat through her, a sensation like being submerged in hot water. She imagined the profit margins, the potential.

She summoned the waiter and instructed him to charge her for everything. Every single thing.