Gemotions

The aroma, a familiar blend of cinnamon and spice, drifted from the bakery window, drawing a crowd. “Gingerbread Delights,” it was called. The name alone set Clara's teeth on edge. It had been *her* gingerbread, *her* recipe, that had earned her a reputation in the town. Now it was the face of a newcomer.

She crossed the street, her footsteps loud on the pavement. The happy chatter of the customers grated on her nerves. She walked in and saw the baker smiling and chatting. She approached the counter, the air thick with tension.

"That's a lovely gingerbread," Clara said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. The baker beamed, oblivious. Clara stared, waiting for her chance, her hands itching for something.