Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the kitchen floor as Beatrice hummed, expertly rolling out a perfect circle of dough. Steam curled from the kettle, promising a soothing cup of chamomile. She paused, stretching, her back cracking in a satisfying way. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg, her favorite spice combination, filled the air. Soon, the tart dough would be cradling a generous filling of apples, ready for baking. She would have some for tea, and some to give to Mrs. Gable next door.

A notification pinged on her phone. Ignoring it, she took another deep breath, the soft floral scent of the tea brewing filling her lungs, before finally glancing over. It was a link from her cousin, chattering about a new bakery that just opened, and their incredible "Autumn Kiss Apple Tart."

Beatrice’s jaw dropped. The description… the ingredients… it was her grandmother’s recipe, word for word. She squinted, then clicked on the link. There, on the bakery's website, was a picture of a tart. Her tart.