“This island is beautiful,” Clara said, running her fingers along the grain. “Did you build it?”
“Sorry,” the woman said. “I’m Clara. From 3B? The building next door? My oven died in the middle of baking this, and your light was on, and I thought—well, I thought maybe you’d let me finish it here. I’ve knocked on three other doors. You’re my last hope before I eat raw pie dough in the stairwell.” abby winters kitchen
Tonight, the kitchen was her witness.