When I step inside, the kitchen hums with quiet activity. Knives move rhythmically against cutting boards, pots simmer gently, and the air carries the fragrant promise of spices. For a moment, I stand at the threshold, absorbing it all.
“Everything is ready, miss,” Renne says softly, handing me an apron.
I slip it over my dress, tying it neatly at the waist. The chefs exchange hesitant glances, unsure if they should hover or step aside.
I smile reassuringly. “Don't worry I won't be a problem just give me space to try” Reluctantly, they make room.
I move among the ingredients, fingertips brushing over fresh herbs, glossy vegetables, and fine cuts of meat.
It feels grounding, like every slice of the knife and every pan stir is stitching me closer to a sense of purpose.
Renne helps q
