Scent Matches Ever After by Naomi Phillips

Author:Naomi Phillips [Phillips, Naomi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Naomi Phillips
Published: 2024-06-05T00:00:00+00:00

When we make it downstairs twenty minutes later, the kitchen is in surprisingly great shape. The dishwasher is running and there is a stack of pans on the drying rack—as I said, dish management is not one of Alice’s strengths—and it smells unbelievably delicious. Cinnamon rolls, I see now, homemade and waiting on the counter with mugs of mostly-warm coffee.

My heart is constricted at the sight and how her face is turned up in an apprehensive hope.

“Oh, sweetheart.” I pull her to my side and she wraps her arms around my waist for a tight hug. “This looks wonderful.”

“It’s your mom’s recipe,” she whispers. “Hers turn out prettier. I don’t know how, though—I did exactly what she said.”

“I think yours looks better, actually,” Grant says, then wraps his arms around the both of us.

My eyes sting, and if I’m not careful, I’ll start crying. My mom has made homemade cinnamon rolls on my birthday for my whole life; I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed them.

“They’re perfect,” I say. “You’re perfect.”

Alice presses up onto her toes and plants loud smooches on my neck, my jaw, and my cheek until Grant joins in with the assault and I am nearly crying from laughter as I try to extricate myself from this slobbery group hug.

“Stop resisting!” Alice says between kisses. “We each need to give you thirty-one kisses, or you’ll have thirty-one years of bad luck!”

“Thirty-one years?” I cry, but Grant starts to tickle my sides so I really can’t speak, only laugh until my eyes are running over with tears and take all of the kisses they have to give me.

When Alice and Grant are both satisfied, they offer one last squeeze, each before pulling out their chairs at the island and serving up plates for the three of us.

I don’t know what we have planned for the rest of the day, though I might guess at least one walk with Alice and Thai food for dinner. Whatever the plans, I revel in the joy of the morning; of slightly burnt, completely perfect, cinnamon rolls with my pack.

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