Kitchen House Book Novels & Stories

I didn’t comment on it. He led me to the kitchen, which was at the back of the house and opened onto a small yard, and it was warmer than the front of the house somehow, more lived-in, a mug on the counter and a book left open on the table like he’d actually been sitting here before I arrived. “Do you want anything?” he asked, already at the counter. “I’m okay.”

All the parts of the house looked foreign because I had never explored but ine thing that was constant with this house was it's beauty and attention to detail, it was like everything was coated in black and gold and although it looked flashy, it was nice. She opened a door, and it revealed a huge kitchen, one that was bigger than I could imagine. Here, there were about six women cooking and washing some dishes. Despite the fact that I didn't know why I was there, I could not help but admire the design of the kitchen. It also had the black and gold theme but with a touches if white here and there. The grunt of the maid, brought me back to reality and I realised that the woman whom I think was

She scrutinized him a bit before she relaxed, leading him to the kitchen. "Follow me." The kitchen was a small place by the side of what was to be the sitting room. It was filled with the necessary things; a sink, stove, bowls, pots and pans, plates, and ingredients. Some were hers, while some were already in the kitchen when she arrived. Elena was partly surprised that the man kept a good store of all his possessions, especially as he claimed not to have occupied the house and not ever having any visitors. What she thought was more strange was that despite his looks resembling a poor old man, he had a place that most middle-class families might still not be able to afford. The kitchen was c

I read Alpha Farrell’s note with his voice in my head. I dropped the note and looked at the time, he should be back by the time I finished cooking. I slipped off the bed and wore a comfy home dress taking a slippers from the shoe rack to wear before heading to the kitchen. I looked through the available ingredients and thought of what to cook. I was looking through the shelf when I saw the cookbook of his wife. There were different recipes and it was tagged as favorite, the book was dusty as it was obvious it had been kept or forgotten there.

I added quickly, “For beginners.” “Cooking? You mean a recipe book?” “Not a recipe book.” I pressed my lips, trying to explain what I had in mind. “A book that teaches the basics, like techniques, equipment. One that can teach you from scratch.” He furrowed his brows, thinking for a moment before walking over to one of the bookshelves. He climbed onto a step stool, then pulled out one of the books from the very top shelf. He dusted the cover off with his hand, then blew on it before climbing back down and handing it to me.

she said, juggling the books to pull the key from her purse and unlock the door. It was a modest two-story brick house with a little porch attached to it. It was not our packhouse or anything but seemed cozy enough. She pushed the door open wide to allow me to pass before closing it behind her. “Where do you want me to sit these?” I asked, raising up the stack of books in my arms. “Right this way,” she said and led me to the mahogany table in the kitchen.

The floor looks like it’s a warm cherry wood, and they have foam mats in front of the sinks, stoves, and a few along the counters. “Would I be able to bake in here?” Ashton pops his head up from the cutting board, a look of shock across his face. “Of course, you can! You can use anything in the pack house and save the packs individual houses you can use anything in our territory. I didn’t know you could bake though!” “I do here and there, I'm no chef, but I enjoy it.” “Then I look forward to tasting some of your creations.” “I think we left two of my favourite baking cook books back in Scotland. I don’t think that is something Cal would have thought to bring. Do you think we could get anothe

In just a pair of sweats, he left Bias sleeping and walked down the hall into the kitchen. The house was nice. Two bedrooms, each with their own full bath; large front room with built-in bookshelves and a brick fireplace; kitchen/dining room with stainless steel appliances and a butcher block table in the “shabby chic” style where people paid a lot of money for things made to look old and worn. The house was literally on the beach, the back deck stretching out like a pier, with stairs that led down to the sand only a few feet from where the ocean washed up on shore in gently rolling waves.

If I worked hard, maybe I could move up, earn more, build something better for us. By 7:17 the house was stirring. I hurried downstairs to the kitchen, tying my apron as I went. I memorized the weekly menu Zainab showed me yesterday. Today was scrambled eggs and toast—simple enough. I pulled out the eggs, cracked them into a bowl, whisked them with a little milk. The stove was fancy, all sleek buttons and digital displays. I stared at the electric lighter, pressing the button over and over. Nothing. Frustration bubbled up; back home Aunt Clara’s stove lit with a match. This one just clicked uselessly.

Really? ‘Werewolves? Really?’ my beast scoffs in my head. ‘Er… we have a hell of book down here. We packed if up with all the stuff in the kitchen that Rose asked for. Looks like a recipe book but is about three inches thick and weighs a fucking tonne. Bloody thing is wrapped in chains and has a lock on it too. I don't think even Gwynn's recipes warrant such extreme measures to keep them from prying eyes.’ I hear a loud thump from downstairs, which can only be the sound of the book Ryder spoke of, landing on the wooden dining table in the middle of the kitchen. That woman was one hell of a cook, no denying that.