perfect recipe (3)

There was a pause. “Oh, Damien, it’s been years since I wrote that down. But tell you what—you come over tomorrow, and I’ll help you figure it out. How about that?”“Deal,” Damien said, relieved.

The next morning, Damien arrived at Grandma Lucille’s house, a cozy brick bungalow with flower beds that were still blooming defiantly despite the November chill. He knocked on the door, and she greeted him with her usual warmth, a hug that smelled faintly of lavender and a touch of the cinnamon cookies she was always baking.

“Come in, come in,” she said, ushering him into the kitchen. “Alright, Grandma, I’m ready for the secret recipe,” he said, pulling out a notepad. “Not so fast, chef,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “I need a few things from the store first. My pantry’s looking a little bare.”