Gemotions

"Again?" Chef Jean muttered under his breath, staring at the front door. He felt a prickle of sweat crawl down his back. His hands, usually so steady when filleting fish, were now clammy as he glanced at the door once more. The critic's review of his new restaurant was brutal, a scathing indictment of his life's work. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest. He thought of all the sleepless nights. All the careful preparation. The hours spent sourcing the best ingredients. His carefully assembled team. He leaned against the counter for support, his legs suddenly feeling weak. He closed his eyes.