The kitchen smelled like garlic, rosemary, and something burning. Grace looked up from her laptop, where she had been struggling with a particularly difficult chapter about trust and vulnerability, to see Max standing over the stove, intensely focused.
"Please tell me you're not trying to recreate that dish from the restaurant again," she told me.
I'm not attempting to reproduce anything. I am innovating.
"Is that what we're calling it when you set off the smoke alarm?"
"The smoke alarm hasn't gone off."
As if prompted by his remarks, the smoke detector's piercing cry filled the flat. Max lunged for the offending pan, and Grace grabbed a dishtowel to wave at the ceiling-mounted device.
"Innovation successful," she announced over the din.
"Shut up and help me save dinner."
This was
