Epilogue Kitchen Novels & Stories

"...Fine. I was distracted." I laugh before I can stop myself. "You admitted it way too easily." He shrugs with a helpless smile. "I've already lost this battle." The younger cook walks into the kitchen carrying a tray of fruit, looks from me to Alejandro, then dramatically places a hand over her heart. "I love happy endings." Mrs. Harper points her spoon toward her. "They're not at the ending yet." "Oh." The cook grins. "So we're still in the romantic episodes." Everyone laughs, everyone except me. Because my face feels hot enough to cook breakfast by itself.

“Trying. You’re the expert.” She watched me plate everything—eggs, toast, sautéed mushrooms—before I joined her. I hadn’t spoken about the board meeting yet. Not in detail. But she knew. Evelyn always knew. I finally exhaled, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “They almost ruined him.” “Chris?” I nodded. “He didn’t deserve any of it.” That night, Evelyn took over the kitchen. Duck confit with truffle potatoes. Wine from Burgundy. A tart that smelled like home and rebellion. She needed this—movement, heat, control. I watched her from the doorway, realizing all over again that the kitchen was her battlefield and her cathedral.

"Thank you guys! Go grab a drink, you’re trending number one in Los Angeles!" Darting away into the crowd, the ring light vanished. "You didn't have to give me all the credit," I murmured, turning back to him. "I only state facts on camera, Cole." Jeremiah tipped his plastic cup, taking a slow sip of whatever toxic mixture Toby had poured him. He grimaced slightly, lowering the cup. "Okay, that is pure gasoline. I’m getting you water." "Kitchen is this way." Leading the charge, I pushed through a dense cluster of students near the hallway. The kitchen was massive, featuring double marble islands and stainless steel appliances. The bass was slightly muffled in here, making it easier to hear t

I explained briefly, pushing the cup gently in front of him. “Ah!” He exclaimed, looking at the disposable fork and spoons on the table. Kayla and I noticed how he creased his forehead, eyeing the cutlery on the table. “Don’t wonder, Alex. She used to live alone, remember? She has one of everything. You need to go shopping,” Kayla said, eating the ravioli, then her eyes sparkled. “Mmm… This is good. Where did you buy this?” “My Kitchen by Chef Allie. I know the owner,” I said proudly, copying Alaska as she told us yesterday and causing Alex to chuckle.

Silence. The kitchen’s aroma drew her in, and she nearly groaned. This was a chef’s dream—gleaming wooden cabinets that blended with the natural surroundings, a massive stove, and double ovens that screamed serious cooking. Nita loved baking, though she wasn’t on Tally or Gerri’s level. She hadn’t poisoned anyone yet, so that was a win. This kitchen alone earned her mystery date points, even if he was a no-show.

I muttered to myself. The grand kitchen was so beautiful and well arranged,the colors used for the decorations of the walls are just so perfect. The utensils for the Mafia boss are made with gold and are arranged in a special cabinet. I meekly went where the maids plates were kept,I was easily able to know which one for the maids because there was a tag by the other cabinet boldly written 'MAIDS',I open the cabinet and study the way the plate were kept in the cabinet,it wasn't the way I imagine it to be there was a tag with names of each of the maid on it. I located my name immediately and took a plate from mine then I served myself some food. When I was done I took a seat on one of the chai

Ed finished chewing, swallowed, and then rolled his wheelchair back into the lab. ‘Ugh! Weird old man!’ Ina rolled her eyes. ‘How could he do that to a great chef? It’s disrespectful to the food!’ I then rolled my eyes at her. Not bothering to reply, I stood up and started gathering the dishes and dumping them in the sink. “Boys,” I said aloud, “you do the dishes while I take Colin to the public market.” * * *

If she did, I was likely to uncontrollably explode. She seemed to understand me and what I was trying to say to her. Her gaze softened and she reached out with her hand and grabbed mine. She squeezed it for a second before letting go, without saying a single word. I smiled at her, this time it was real and she returned it. Clara and I reluctantly made our way back into the bustling kitchen, weaving through the chaos of other maids chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and attending to various tasks. The chaos in the kitchen swirled around us as Clara and I returned to our duties. The clattering of pots and pans, the sizzling of ingredients, and the hurried footsteps created a symphony of culin

As I stepped into the kitchen, the polished wood underneath my feet was reassuring, allowing my thoughts to be taken off the ice-slippery cement outside. Looking around, a condensed dew left my lips, spilling into the air and fading into nothingness. Everything was squeaky clean, courtesy of the housekeeper—Beth. The kitchen was huge, like a party hall with a four-chair dining table set in the corner. Indeed those chairs were used by omegas to sit and chop and clean the vegetables. My eyes gleamed at the matching cabinets, latest stovetop and built-in oven.

Flopping onto the plush couch, I watched Penelope move towards the kitchen. From my vantage point, I observed her with a quiet admiration. Penelope was at ease in the kitchen, where she had prepared countless meals over the years. Her movements were graceful and efficient, a dance she performed with the confidence of someone who knew every inch of the room. She moved from the fridge to the counter, her hands skillfully selecting ingredients, focusing entirely on the task at hand.