Cough. Cough. Cough.
Thick smoke curled through the air, stinging her eyes and nose. Rose coughed, waving a hand frantically in front of her face, trying to disperse the smoky haze. This was the third time she had burned the food, and frustration clawed at her chest like an impatient beast.
With a sharp sigh, she grabbed a thick hand towel and carefully lifted the smoking pot off the stove, wincing as the heat seeped through the fabric. Moving swiftly, she dumped it into the sink, the loud clang echoing in the quiet kitchen.
Her heart pounded.
Not because of the burnt food. Not even because this was becoming a routine disaster.
But because Rylan could walk through that door at any moment.
She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. If not for the pay—and the fact that she lived with him—she would have quit by now. Cooking was the only thing giving her trouble, no matter how hard she tried. And today? Today was just another humiliating failure.
