It was a quarter past 8 when she descended to the kitchen to prepare for Timothy's supper and to her surprise there was a note stuck to the refrigerator, listing the things her new boss liked and disliked. Emily's brow knitted in bewilderment at the extensive list of dislikes compared to the likes. 

"No messy, greasy or loud foods." She read aloud, "example: Fried Chicken, wraps, noodle soups, saucy anything." She continued and her frown only deepened as the list continued with more vague and and outlandish preferences. No non-leafy vegetables. No onions or garlic. No fruits except berries and citrus. No processed or packaged food. She had to stop herself from sobbing then and there as she read the final bullet point: No spices or strong flavours.

"What the heck am I supposed to feed him, then?" She groaned as she opened the fridge to check what her options were for his 'light supper'.

Lo and behold, the fridge only had a bundle of baby spinach and kale, alongside a few sprigs of parsley and rosemary. Laurence calling this as "Not well stocked" was the understatement of her life. She closed the fridge door and looked around the kitchen, hoping for a secret stash of premium produce, but only found a jar of salt and pepper. "Right," the word felt heavy on her tongue as she was struck with the realisation that the kitchen only had her, the greens, and the hauntingly empty fridge.

She sent a quick text to Laurence: Will need to do groceries tomorrow. Is there a preferred shop?

She leaned against the kitchen counter as she waited for Laurence's response. She was new to Lunistra, so she would need to research whatever shop Laurence was going to suggest. It shouldn't be too hard, considering the amount of people there are in the city. She could just ask the next person she sees.

It took a few minutes but the reply came: Fresh is best.

"What in the sacred flower?" She stared, stunned at the response and wondered what kind of shop called Fresh is Best was and where was she supposed to find it? She toyed with asking follow up question but quashed the idea, certain that her immediate supervisor's answer would be no less cryptic.

She opted for a brief: OK! and prayed to the gods above that she wasn't expected to harvest them herself in the wild or some Timothy Angeles Approved farm. She would have to go to another town just to shop for fresh produce, if worse comes to worse.

Emily felt a sinking feeling that she was getting the short end of the stick in this arrangement.

'No, I'm not.' She countered. 'I'm reclaiming our house. Paying off my debts. I'm getting financial freedom at the end of this bargain.' She repeated these affirmations like a mantra, pushing off the despondent haze that was falling over her.

As she entered into a staring contest with the kale, she decided that the only meal she could squeeze out of Timothy's bare kitchen was a salad. It was a start. Regaining her earlier enthusiasm, she took out the greens and readied the knife and chopping board. She grabbed a salad bowl from the overhead cupboard and began preparing the salad.

However, just as she finished chopping, a realisation dawned to her: How was she serving this? There was no dressing. No Saucy, processed or packaged items, she reminded herself and glared at the bowl of chopped greens. No lemon in the fridge, too. She could already hear Timothy's snide critique of her culinary prowess. "Fine." She grumbled, as if addressing the greens itself and grabbed the shakers from the island counter, sprinkling salt and pepper over the the bowl of kale. At least he won't say that the meal was bland. Besides, who knew if the man would even partake from her sad looking salad?