Gemotions

From his vantage point in the small, cluttered office above the kitchen, Marco could see the last of the diners exiting the restaurant. He had been preparing for this moment for years, and now it had arrived. He sat back in his chair, the leather worn smooth from countless hours spent planning, dreaming. He took a long, slow breath, the air thick with the scent of spices and roasting garlic.

He had built this, brick by brick. His vision had become reality.

The review, when it came, had been savage. A scathing critique of his techniques, his ingredients, his very soul. The paper had sent a well-known food critic.

He remembered her, her stern expression, the way she scrutinized each plate. He had worried. He had doubted. But not now. He picked up his pen and began to write, his hand moving with a sure and steady rhythm. He was finally going to create his own cookbook.
***