Rosanna was orderly. When she set out to cook, all the ingredients were present and accounted for, every bowl and pan needed was clean and ready, lined up at attention along the back edge of the food preparation island. Kitchen utensils hung from their own private rack above her head, waiting to be pressed into service, proud of their role. Recipes… well, recipes were the cowboys of her universe, sometimes a single index card, propped against a canister, sometimes a cookbook pulled from her extensive library, open to the correct section, spine against the unforgiving tile. Once in a very great while it was a sheet printed from the computer across the room, the fruit of an internet search. Those she had to tape onto the light above her empire.