Her Most Bitter Harvest
Language: en
The eighteenth time Simone brought her male colleague home for dinner, he arrived carrying a velvet-lined wooden box of imported Italian white truffles. I had spent four hours in the kitchen preparing an elaborate spread, but right at the end, out of habit, I pulled a mason jar from the back of the refrigerator and set out a small bowl of my parents’ homemade pickled cucumbers. Connor wrinkled his nose, instinctively lifting a hand to cover his face. Simone caught his expression. Her brow knit immediately. "Take that into the pantry and eat it by yourself, Adam," she said, her voice sharp…