Abigail walked back toward the kitchen, her recipe book in hand. She didn’t really need it. Anything that she cooked these days she’d made thousands of times before, though she needed to halve or quarter the recipes to serve one. Long gone were the days of dinner parties and entertaining. Perhaps not forever. She’d only been at Golden Sunrise for six months. The days seemed longer, quieter without students, but she could still make new friends. The Ping-Pong tournament hadn’t gone well in that regard, but at least she’d been there. She’d put herself out there.  

            She heard the doggy door swing open and the patter of feet. She walked down the hall. It ended with the kitchen...

Please subscribe to keep reading.