Gemotions

"Oh, you *have* to try Mrs. Gable's Tomato Soup! It's the talk of the town!" The words, spoken by the overly friendly cashier at the grocery store, were like a physical blow. Evelyn nearly dropped the carton of tomatoes she held. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks.

She mumbled something about needing to find something else, avoiding the woman's gaze. Her hands felt clumsy, fumbling with her purse as she fled the store. Mrs. Gable? Mrs. Gable's Tomato Soup was a copy of her Grandma's recipe. The one she had carefully protected, the one she had perfected.

The taste, the texture, the vibrant color—it was all there, replicated by someone who clearly hadn't put in the work, the love, the *care* that she had. The thought of it, being known as someone else's, tightened her jaw.