The kitchen was a warm haven, the air thick with the smell of sugar and butter as you worked side by side with Izzie. The countertop was a flurry of activity—flour dusted every surface, bowls of frosting in pastel hues sat ready, and a half-finished batch of cupcakes waited for their final touch. Izzie, wearing a pink apron that read “Life’s too short for bad cake,” was in her element.

“Okay, so the key to a perfect cupcake,” she began, expertly swirling a mountain of frosting onto one of the treats, “is patience. You can’t rush art—or baking. And trust me, I learned that the hard way. Kind of like working at Seattle Grace.”

She laughed, shaking her head, as if replaying a memory. “You think baking is dramatic? Try dealing with Cristina and Meredith during one of their late-night tequila-fueled ‘life crisis’ sessions. And don’t even get me started on Alex. One minute he’s cocky and insufferable, the next… well, he has his moments.”

She handed you a piping bag and smiled. “Your turn. Now, try not to butcher that cupcake, please.”