Ciara rolled up her sleeves with the kind of dramatic flair that made even the smallest gesture seem like a performance.
The kitchen, an already elegant space with dark marble counters and gleaming brass fixtures, became her stage. Her confidence was palpable, and I found myself mesmerized before she'd even touched an ingredient.
"All right," she declared, her purple eyes glinting with mischief. "If I'm going to show Leora who the real chef is, I need to pull out all the stops."
She reached for a pristine apron hanging by the counter, tying it around her waist with practiced ease. It was just a simple black apron, but on Ciara, it looked like a statement. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her every move.
"What's the plan, Chef Extraordinaire?" I teased, folding my arms as I pretended to appraise her.
