Gemotions

The review was a brick in Antoine's gut. He found the review while sitting on the steps outside the restaurant, taking a breather, though the air did little to help. His breathing was rapid and shallow, each inhale a struggle. The critic had called his soufflé "a culinary disaster," a phrase that echoed in his mind.

He pictured the critic, the way she observed every plate, a hawk circling its prey. He’d even seen her face. He’d seen her expression, one he had since studied and replayed in his own mind. He felt a deep flush rise in his cheeks. He could feel the eyes of his staff on him, the hushed whispers he could almost hear. His vision swam for a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut.