Greg was in the middle of drawing up plans for Thomas's fence posts when the smell hit him. It also didn't smell good. The smell was so bad that it made his nose wrinkle, and his brain started to think of all the ways a building could catch fire.
He looked up from his workbench and saw smoke coming from Lylia's cooking area. For a moment, his mind couldn't figure out what he was seeing.
Lylia didn't cook food that burned. Lylia might have been the best cook in the whole area.
Lylia's restaurant had a three-week-long waiting list because her food was so good it could heal small wounds. But there she was, standing over a pot that was smoking like it had a personal grudge against clean air.
"Lylia?" Greg said, putting down his pencil. "Is everything all right over there?"
Lylia turned to look at him, and Greg couldn't quite figure out what was going on with her face. Maybe anger? Or was it planning? "Oh no," she said, and her voice was a little too dramatic.
