I added nine sprigs of fresh rosemary.

I added one whole shallot.

*5-6-9-1.*

It was the numerical code for our home security gate, the one Julian had changed last Tuesday.

I hoped Marcus would see the absurd measurements and realize they were coordinates of some kind.

“That is a lot of salt, Clara,” Julian said.

The camera dome in the corner of the ceiling clicked, adjusting its focus on my hands.

“The spinach absorbs a lot of sodium,” I said.

My palm was sweating against the trackpad.

I wiped it quickly on my linen apron.

“And the rosemary?” Julian asked.

“It balances the richness of the cheese,” I said.

I moved the cursor down to the instruction box. This was the hardest part.

Marcus and I had a manual for comment moderation.

We used a simple acrostic system for flag words when spam bots attacked the site.

I began typing the first instruction line.

“Slowly whisk the eggs in a large glass bowl.”

“Ensure the cream is completely integrated.”

“Never leave the mixture sitting on the counter.”

“Do not let the crustless base stick to the pan.”