A Steep Foothold

A warm, roasted aroma drew me along the kitchen tiles until I reached the tall counter. The edge was far above my head, but a low wooden stool stood nearby. Taking a steady breath, I leapt toward the rung, gripped the smooth timber, and hoisted myself onto the flat top. Right beside me, a woven tea towel was spread across a ceramic saucer to catch dripping water. Its rough, crisscrossed threads smelled of toasted barley and dried grass. I braced my boots against the damp cloth and helped fold back the wet corner so air could pass freely.