It was raining so hard the window sounded like it was hissing at me. cold, coastal, sideways rain—the kind that blurs the sky and makes …

Recipes Inspired by Martha Stewart, Cooked in Real Life

It was raining so hard the window sounded like it was hissing at me. cold, coastal, sideways rain—the kind that blurs the sky and makes …

It started with the cinnamon. Just a little, barely there. I opened the drawer too fast and the jar tipped sideways like it always does—because …

It started cold. Not a metaphor. Just cold. The kind that gets inside your elbows when you’re reaching into the back of the fridge for …

The smell clung.Tomato, wine, something herbal and too warm. The kind of scent that sticks in fabric, even after the dish towel’s been washed twice. …

It was too hot to think.Not real heat—just the kind that creeps in when the windows don’t open right and the fan clicks like a …

It was quiet in that hard kind of way. Like the kitchen didn’t want me in it.Fridge was humming louder than usual. I hadn’t done …

The butter wouldn’t soften.The banana chips were stale.And I was already annoyed because Mae had said something sharp over text that morning—nothing big, just a …

The kitchen was still cold. I hadn’t turned on the heat yet because I was pretending spring meant something up here. But my hands were …

It was gray in that way March gets cruel with. not dramatic. just dull.Mae was out. The house had this hum to it—dishwasher running, fridge …

I didn’t mean to make anything.There was still toast on the counter from the morning, still coffee in the pot I hadn’t touched since eight, …