Gemotions

He watched the interview on the flickering television screen, the celebrity chef beaming, holding up a plate of what she called her “Grandma’s Secret Biscuits.” It was his grandma’s recipe. He knew the precise pinch of salt, the precise moment to fold the dough. He could feel his face flush, the heat spreading from his neck up to his temples.

He slammed the remote control down, the plastic clattering against the coffee table. He should have patented the damn thing.

He walked to the window and stared out at the rain-swept street. This woman, with her designer clothes and fake smile, was taking credit for something his grandma had taught him, something sacred. He felt like his stomach had dropped to the floor.