Tabitha, wearing one of the bakery's pink aprons with some form of melted brown goo — please let it be chocolate — all down the front of it, steps out of the kitchen carrying a plate of charcoal briquettes. Except she wasn't barbecuing back there. She was baking cookies.
"Your oven hates me." Her gaze never leaves the plate of her disfigured chocolate chip cookies.
I cringe, not wanting to have this conversation...again. "I think it's scared of you. You intimidate it."
It's a lie. A big one, but maybe it will help her kitchen confidence.
Or let me kick her out permanently from the baking area. Either option works for me.
"Me? How?"
"Well, yesterday you called it a f*****g gutterslut."
She taps her foot on the tile floor, annoyance obvious in her pinched features. "Well, if the nam
