Gemotions

Agnes slammed the cookbook shut, the sound echoing in her otherwise quiet kitchen. A vein throbbed in her temple. She'd been scrolling through food blogs, a pastime she usually enjoyed, when *it* had popped up: “Grandma Rose’s Lavender Lemonade Cake.” A cake that looked remarkably, infuriatingly, like *her* Lavender Lemon Drop Delight. The photo, a pristine slice with delicate lavender sprigs, was practically a carbon copy of the one in her own, unpublished, recipe book.

She snatched her phone, muttering under her breath as she tapped out a furious message to her sister, Beatrice. Beatrice, the only one who had seen her recipe book. The only one who had even *tasted* the damn cake. "Rose’s… Rose’s? Of all the things…" she huffed, pacing the small space.

Her hands clenched, and she felt a prickle of heat crawl up her neck. This was a direct violation, a blatant act of culinary theft, and it was causing an uncomfortable tightness in her chest.