"Can you hand me the rolling pin?" Helen called from the kitchen.
Vanessa stepped in, weaving around a stack of gift boxes and half-wrapped presents. The kitchen smelled warm — spices, baked bread, something sweet in the oven. Counters were covered with bowls, cookie sheets, and colorful sprinkles, but somehow it all looked inviting, not messy. Helen's house was nothing like the apartment Vanessa had left behind. The ceilings were high, the rooms open, and the kitchen big enough to move around comfortably. Helen was already bustling in the kitchen, her hair tied back in a sleek ponytail, wearing a silk blouse tucked into tailored pants. She glanced over her shoulder, a warm smile lighting up her face.
"Morning," Vanessa said, still carrying the faint grogginess of the travel from her former city.
"Morning! And Merry Christmas!" Helen called, tossing a wooden spoon for effect. "There's too much to handle alone, want to help?" Vanessa smiled, grabbing an apron from the counter. The fabric smelled faintly of lavender, like the sachets Helen kept in every closet. "I can help. What's first?"
Helen leaned against the counter, crossing her arms with a small smirk. "I want this to feel special. Our guests are arriving later, and the menu has to impress. You're on sides and dessert."
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. "Sides and dessert? That's not bad… I can handle that."
"Good. And don't skimp on presentation you know how Jonathan loves aesthetics," Helen said, referring to her husband, who was currently on a short haul flight but would return later to join the family for dinner.
Vanessa nodded. She had always loved cooking not just for sustenance, but for the way it drew people together. The house gave her the perfect backdrop: spacious counters, gleaming appliances, and an abundance of ingredients at her fingertips.
The menu Helen had chosen for Herb-roasted turkey
Garlic butter roasted potatoes
Honey-roasted carrots
Green beans with toasted almonds
Cranberry sauce
Homemade stuffing
Warm dinner rolls
Classic plum pudding or chocolate truffles for dessert
Vanessa went around the kitchen, tasting, stirring, and adjusting as she worked. She sprinkled a bit more seasoning on the roast, checked the potatoes, and stirred the vegetables. Helen glanced at her from across. "You're a good cook, Vanessa. Honestly… if you wanted, you could do this for a living."
Vanessa shrugged modestly, plating the Brussels sprouts with care. "I like doing it for family. That's enough for me."
Helen laughed. "You keep telling yourself that… but everyone who tastes your food thinks otherwise."
Their conversation flowed easily, overlapping with the rhythm of their work. Chop, stir, taste, adjust. The luxury of the house, the soft glow of the Christmas lights already strung along the staircase, the muted classical music — it all created a cocoon around Vanessa. For the first time in weeks, she felt grounded.
Later, as she carried a tray of side dishes into the formal dining room, guests began to arrive. A handful of family friends mingled with Helen, sharing jokes and compliments about the place. Vanessa greeted them politely, keeping her voice warm but measured.
"Vanessa!" one of the guests said, a woman with a sharp but friendly tone, "everything smells amazing. Did you make all of this because I know Helen to be a bad cook?" They all giggled to the statement.
Vanessa smiled, setting down the tray. "I helped with the sides and dessert. Helen handled the main course."
Helen, standing nearby with a glass of wine, elbowed her playfully. "She's modest. But yes, she did an incredible job."
Vanessa moved quietly through the afternoon's activity, keeping plates filled and desserts within reach. Conversations drifted around her, some about the food, some about the snow outside.
"This is spectacular," one guest said, lifting a forkful of Brussels sprouts. "Seriously, Vanessa… you should consider opening a restaurant."
Another laughed, adding, "I'd come here every week. This tastes better than half the places in the city."
Vanessa froze for half a second, the words sinking in. She smiled politely, deflecting with a shrug. "I just enjoy cooking. That's all."
But as she moved back to the kitchen, the words lingered. She washed her hands in the sink, staring out the kitchen window at the snow falling softly against the driveway. The house was warm, the guests happy, the food devoured and yet, a small spark lit in her mind.
What if she could?
Just a passing thought, but it planted itself quietly in her mind. She imagined small tables, the soft lighting of a restaurant, menus she could curate herself. People smiling, enjoying dishes she had perfected, the satisfaction of her work appreciated by more than just family.
She shook her head lightly, a smile tugging at her lips, and returned to clearing plates. Helen was chatting with one of the friends near the counter, gesturing animatedly. "Vanessa, you're making this look effortless," Helen said.
"I'm just doing my part," Vanessa replied, though her mind was elsewhere. She stacked plates carefully, imagining the soft clink of fine china in a restaurant, the hum of conversation, the warm glow of lamps reflecting off polished tables.
It was intoxicating. Quiet, subtle, but intoxicating. For the first time in weeks, she felt possibility instead of loss. She felt the thrill of a path that was all her own something she could build, something tangible, something that wasn't tied to Mark, or her old job, or anyone else's expectations.
Her sister noticed the distant smile and raised an eyebrow. "You're quiet. Thinking about Mark?"
Vanessa laughed softly. "No… just thinking about food, I guess." She didn't explain further, but Helen nodded, knowing better than to pry.
The evening progressed, with laughter and clinking glasses. Guests departed gradually, leaving the sisters in the quiet luxury of the house. The soft glow of Christmas lights reflected in the crystal and gold accents. Vanessa helped carry the last dishes to the dishwasher, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction.
Once everything was tidy, Helen poured two glasses of sparkling water and handed one to Vanessa. "You were amazing today," she said simply. "I mean it. Jonathan's going to be thrilled when he gets back."
Vanessa smiled, sipping the water. "It was… fun. It felt good to be busy, to… focus on something else."
Helen tilted her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "You've been carrying a lot. Today… I think you found a little bit of yourself again."
Vanessa set her glass down, leaning against the counter. She gazed out at the balcony where snow continued to fall softly, coating the garden in white. And in that quiet, she let her mind drift.
Not to Mark. Not to her old life.
But to small restaurant tables, soft warm lighting, menus she could craft herself, plates arranged just so, the subtle satisfaction of seeing someone enjoy her creations.
The thought hovered in her mind, intoxicating, exhilarating, frightening, and comforting all at once.
She took a deep breath, letting it settle. For the first time in weeks, she felt a seed of hope, not forced, not prompted by anyone else, but quietly hers.
Helen appeared at her side, smiling softly. "You okay?"
Vanessa nodded, a small, reflective smile tugging at her lips. "Better than okay. I… I think I might like this. Cooking, I mean. Doing it for people, sharing it… maybe more than just today."
Helen squeezed her hand. "You should. You really should."
Vanessa nodded again. For the first time in weeks, she felt like herself again and for the first time, she allowed herself to imagine a future that could be completely her own.