Recipe for Panic

Stella

“Shit!” I call out, tossing the soggy spinach into the trash. “Wet. All of it.”

My ingredients got wet from the mini-flood—almost all of them, at least. I’ll have to buy new ingredients, and in this city, driving is slower than walking. Before Gustav or Briggs can utter a word, I’m already bolting out of the restaurant and down the street.

The grocery store is a short sprint away, and I’m