What I Heard in the Kitchen
Thanksgiving dinner smelled like butter and tension.
Kate was trying too hard to be cheerful, which is how you can tell someone is hiding something.
Peter arrived with a stiff nod and a bottle of wine, looking like he’d rather face a jury than a family dinner.
At one point, I noticed him slip into the kitchen.
Kate followed.
Something about it didn’t sit right.
Curious, I walked quietly down the hallway.
Not sneaking.
Observing.
I stopped at the kitchen doorway and listened.
