"Sauce," Phoebe muttered, wiping a splatter off her cheek. "It’s supposed to be messy."
"Good heavens," she whispered, eyes watering. "That is saucy ."
"Sweet mercy!" Gary wheezed. "It’s... it’s aggressive! But... I want more?" phoebe blue getting saucy
The fumes hit her like a physical wall. Phoebe coughed, a deep, chest-rattling cough that sent her stumbling backward. In her flailing, she knocked the jar of "Emergency Cajun Spice Blend" off the counter. The lid popped off. The entire contents cascaded into the pot.
"Today," Phoebe announced to her cat, Mr. Mittens, "I get saucy." "Sauce," Phoebe muttered, wiping a splatter off her cheek
The day of the potluck, Phoebe donned her apron. She laid out her ingredients: blueberries, balsamic vinegar, a singular and terrifyingly hot pepper she had bought at the farmer's market from a man with no teeth, and a stick of butter the size of a rolling pin.
Two hours later, Phoepe arrived at the Gourmet Gazebo. She was wearing a crisp blue dress, but her left cheek was stained purple, and her hair smelled faintly of burnt butter. She placed her Tupperware container on the table next to the casseroles and the cold cuts. "It’s
"Oh no," she wheezed. "No, no, no."