Small. Perhaps twelve by eight feet in total. Dark chestnut cupboards and drawers on the entire perimeter; glass fronts to the upper cupboards. Almost like a fabrigée in its shape, but with sides rather than curves; in the center was a fixed island, its wood the same. Rich burgundy walls peeking between the counter tops and the upper cupboards and around the far side window, above a stainless steel sink sunken into the granite counter top — a moody sheet of blackened slate. Burnished bronze wrought-iron hardware.
A tall room; twelve or thirteen feet. The cupboards ending around nine feet; above them shelves running around the entire room. Accessible by a rolling attatched ladder, the kind you would see in an old ceiling-to-floor library. Space at the top for pots, pans, china — and then the windows. Geometric, pentagons or hexagons outlined in the same dark wood and doming. Like the top of a diamond ring; faceted yet flat at the top. Clean light streaming through to make the kitchen’s comfortable warmth safe instead of claustrophobic.
Medium brown planked floors, each plank three or four inches, running the width of the room. Warmth radiating upward through its almost matte finish. The smell of the air like a welcome assault; soft. Vanilla. Amber. Leather. Gas from the stovetop and cedar from the fireplace in the next room over.
And the quiet, like it is waiting for me.
