Title Here : By Kayley Lane
Led by trained hands, the knife sliced through the warm bread smoothly, splitting it down the center. Sarah laid the two halves opposite each other before copying the motion with the other 8 buns she'd cooked. She grabbed the paper carton of cream and poured it into a glass bowl. The liquid slid from its container easily. With that finished, the empty box was promptly thrown towards the trash, though it bounced against the corner of the can and fell to the tiled floor with a dull "thump." The failure was of no concern to her, and it didn't mark a hindrance to the task. Idly humming a tune to herself, a lullaby her mother sung to her every night before she closed her eyes, Sarah emptied a few cups of sugar and two tablespoons of vanilla into the bowl. Cheerfully, the way she always cooked, she lifted the whisk from the counter and beat the mixture until it was smooth. After chilling the bowl, Sarah got to whisking the cream once more until soft peaks, reminiscent of the snow-topped mountains she'd seen on her travels, dotted the blend. Unable to resist the enticing texture, she dipped one finger in and ran her tongue slowly along the skin. Her lips enclosed completely around the extremity as she relished the flavor.
Sarah lifted the whisk and set a dollop of whipped cream atop every half-puff the oven had spit out. She spun in a complete circle once to add an unnecessary flourish to her work. Sometimes, she liked to abandon reality and drift off into the world of her fantasies. She was a princess trapped in a high tower, cooking for the bunnies and the mice as she waited for her prince to rescue her. Suddenly, he'd climb in through the stone window with the grace of a gazelle and the strength of a lion, and she'd embrace him and clutch his cloak, afraid to let him escape. The shiny metal of his blade would glint before her wide eyes, and she'd let out a giggle before burying her nose in his messy salt-and-pepper hair. She wouldn't care if it smelled rusty or was unwashed. He would be enchanting, and she'd accept him with all his flaws, and he would realize the depth of her affection immediately.
"Finished!" Sarah squealed ecstatically, slipped her oven mits on, and carried the pan of cream puffs to her house guest. "Sorry it took so long!" Her tone was far from apologetic. The plump man with the pink, child-like face simply nodded, and in a gruff voice, he replied, "That's quite all right. I don't mind the wait. I hear your shop is the best in town." Sarah blushed modestly. "W-Well…" She stuttered despite herself, then turned and ran back towards the kitchen, her dress billowing with her. "I'll finish preparing the main course now."
Sarah retreated to the safety of her kitchen. Everything was familiar within that domain, and she could perform as much as she wanted to the audience of knives and whisks. "Ah, I'm sure he'll like this!" She reassured herself adamantly. She'd already cooked the meat for the meal, and it was sitting on a red cutting board, waiting to be garnished. There hadn't been much muscle to get out of any one area, and so instead, long strips of the animal had been laid out along the counter. It was a juicy one, she remarked to herself mentally: soft and tender. She grabbed her best serrated knives and cut the meat into small cubes, which she spiced liberally with pepper, oregano, and salt. Pulling out the bowl of sliced vegetables she'd put together earlier, Sarah decorated her shish-ka-bobs. Tomatoes, green peppers, and eggplants followed hunks of meat, which were covered in grilled onions and sprinkled with fresh garlic.
The fat businessman had just finished his share of the cream puffs when Sarah returned with the entrée. "Why, thank you." He spoke up cordially as a porcelain plate of shish-ka-bobs was set in front of him. The food made its way into his mouth, and Sarah couldn't help but remark mentally on how revolting it looked when his cheeks jiggled as he swallowed, when little bits of meat got stuck in his beard. She managed to hide that disgust easily, trained in the art of deceit.
The meat was tender and juicy, and it had a certain tang to it, a zest that the man hadn't tasted anywhere else. He couldn't quite put his finger on what to call it, but it was good. He finished four sticks before he finally leaned back in his seat and patted his bloated stomach.
"I say, that was delicious. I don't know how you do it. I'll certainly be coming back for more, Mrs. Lovett."
Sarah beamed with pleasure.