This Kitchen's Not The Same Without You Novels & Stories

The lights hanging down from the ceiling above us looked like they belonged in a furniture magazine for the wealthy, not in Rose’s kitchen. There was her familiar mess strewn about though, which made it feel more homely to me. It was her. Even in the expensive-as-hell kitchen there was a keyboard missing its keys left on the side, with the removed keys laid out beside it. Next to that was a manual, its pages dog-eared, pressed face down on a particular page. “He’s my mate,” she said, like that made it all so easy and obvious. For most people, I guessed it did.

She looked away. Jake dropped into the seat across from her a moment later, pulling her attention with a warm grin and a noisy sigh about how terrible the cafeteria food was again. She smiled, responded where she could, but her mind was still drifting. When she glanced up again, both Luke and the woman were gone. That hollow ache in her chest grew sharper. She forced a bite of food into her mouth. It tasted like nothing.

I reduced the tone of my voice, making it sound deep and endearing. “I… Uhm..” she cleared her throat and gulped down, “No, your living room is perfect, the house is perfect but i’d love to work on the kitchen though, I have a lot of things to change… speaking to things to change, there are no groceries.” she said all at once. Hmm, so she loves my living room but wants to change the kitchen, .. Of course, she wants to change the kitchen.

He passes Lucian in the doorway and Lucian moves aside and they do not look at each other and the door swings shut behind him and then it is just us. Just us and the cold kitchen and the pale morning coming through the window and three months of everything that has calcified between us like something that hardened while nobody was tending to it. I turn back to the stove. I do not know why. There is nothing there that needs my attention but I need something to do with my hands and my face and the part of me that is very close to the surface right now. “You could have knocked,” I say. “The door was open.” “That is not the same thing.”

The scent of herbs and spices fills the air, creating an intoxicating aroma that instantly awakens my appetite. The kitchen feels warm and inviting, yet there's an underlying sense of melancholy that hangs in the air. The familiarity of this scene stirs up memories of our past, a time when Vivian would have everything prepared for me when I returned home. But now that routine has been shattered, and this ordinary moment feels bittersweet. I can't help but feel a tinge of regret, realizing that these cherished moments of domestic bliss will no longer be a regular occurrence in my life. Vivian is no longer my wife, and this scene serves as a reminder of what I have lost.

Lisa stood in the kitchen, staring down at the plate of food in front of her. The savory aroma of Ace’s favorite dish—pan-seared steak with roasted vegetables—filled the air, but instead of bringing comfort, it only deepened the ache in her chest. She had spent hours in the kitchen, meticulously preparing every detail, hoping that maybe—just maybe—this time he would acknowledge her efforts.

With a sense of curiosity, I left my room and made my way to the kitchen. The aromatic waft of cooking greeted me as I entered the room, Jane bustling around the kitchen with her usual efficiency. "Hello Jane, what’s on the menu tonight?" Jane didn’t even turn to face me as she responded, her attention focused on the contents of the stove. “Waffle sandwich or bruxie, whichever you prefer." My mouth watered at the thought of the golden brown waffles, crispy, and tender, filled with an array of savory or sweet delights. As Jane whisked around the kitchen, it occurred to me that her demeanor had subtly shifted with the return of my parents. Gone was the jovial, chatty banter that had typified o

As he carried me to the kitchen, he understood my unspoken preference, placing me down on the smooth kitchen counter. While perched on the kitchen counter, legs crossed and engrossed in munching on an apple, I observed Logan diligently chopping veggies beside me. The rhythmic sounds of the knife against the cutting board created a harmonious background to our shared space in the kitchen. The domestic scene felt oddly comforting, a simple yet intimate tableau of our routine. My phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call from Mia. As I answered Mia's FaceTime call, the warmth of her virtual presence filled the kitchen.

I can just call him and ask where the hell he is. Nico reaches into his pocket, pulls out my phone, and hands it to me. I snatch it harder than necessary. Too much force. On purpose. For the first time, he smiles. I sigh and walk past him, heading down the stairs. This time, I’m angry for real food. I walk into the kitchen. And stop. For the first time ever, there’s no one here. No Angela. No Nadia. No maids. On the day, this kitchen is always full of people.

My sister hated the kitchen. I grimaced as I realized I hadn't spoken to any of my siblings in almost a year. My parents, longer than that. A bond so close had been broken irreparably it seemed. I missed them. I didn't think of them too often. Not as often as I should. But when I did, the pain was just as deep as the pain of losing Matthew. With the thoughts of my family in mind, cooking wouldn't be as soothing for me as it should be. I looked around at the kitchen. The cleaning people Luca hired had been slacking a little. And he wasn't around much to notice. Even if he were, he hardly entered the kitchen. I was pretty sure the man didn't know how to weld a spatula much less cook with one.