Gemotions

The scent of roasting coffee beans, once a delight to Beatrice, was now tainted with annoyance. Her daughter, Olivia, had taken up the art of coffee roasting. Olivia, of course, was using Beatrice's finest equipment.

“Olivia, maybe we could start with a French press?” Beatrice asked, trying to sound calm, but her hands were clasped so tightly they ached. Olivia just gave her a dismissive wave and added another scoop of beans to the hopper.

“This will be *my* blend, Mum!” Olivia declared. A wave of heat washed over Beatrice. She'd spent years perfecting her signature roast, a carefully guarded secret. She wouldn't let Olivia ruin it. Beatrice retreated, her jaw locked, and poured herself a glass of cold water.