The kitchen filled with the scent of cinnamon, butter, and something deeper—brown sugar caramelizing, apples softening into jam. It smelled like Sunday afternoons. Like forgiveness. Like home.
He showed Kylie how to feel for apples that gave a little when pressed. He made her close her eyes and taste a raw slice. “Sharp,” she said. “Almost mean.”
When the timer beeped, the pie was golden and blistered in the most beautiful way. A single bubble of syrupy juice leaked through a vent, glistening like amber.
Kylie slumped onto a stool, defeated. “I’m a fraud,” she muttered into her hands.
%!s(int=2026) © %!d(string=Fresh Venture)
The kitchen filled with the scent of cinnamon, butter, and something deeper—brown sugar caramelizing, apples softening into jam. It smelled like Sunday afternoons. Like forgiveness. Like home.
He showed Kylie how to feel for apples that gave a little when pressed. He made her close her eyes and taste a raw slice. “Sharp,” she said. “Almost mean.”
When the timer beeped, the pie was golden and blistered in the most beautiful way. A single bubble of syrupy juice leaked through a vent, glistening like amber.
Kylie slumped onto a stool, defeated. “I’m a fraud,” she muttered into her hands.