Gemotions

Eliza reread the review, her lip trembling slightly. She’d spent weeks perfecting the duck confit, the dish the critic had savaged. The words, so carefully chosen, felt like venomous barbs. She crumpled the paper, then immediately smoothed it out, smoothing it as if to erase the words. Her stomach did a flip, a sudden, unwanted somersault.

She walked towards the walk-in, the cold air doing nothing to calm the internal turmoil. The cool stainless steel of the door handle felt alien under her touch. She reached for the garlic, then hesitated. The thought of chopping, of anything, seemed a monumental task.