Chapter 4 — The Recipe Box

Emma

Emma stood in the dimly lit office of the Calloway Café, the faint scent of old paper, coffee grounds, and wood polish mingling in the air. Dust motes drifted through the sunlight slanting in from the small, fogged window, shimmering like tiny specters. The office was a time capsule, untouched since her grandmother’s days—the same creaky oak desk, the same mismatched filing cabinets, and the same sense of organized chaos. Emma ran her fingers over the desk’s scarred surface, pausing as her nail caught on a notch in the wood. It felt as though the room was alive with her grandmother’s presence—a faint hum of warmth and history that both comforted her and made her throat tighten.