CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PASTERIES AND MATCH-MAKING
NICO
THE NEXT MORNING
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The bell over the door chimes the second I step into the bakery-s***h-flower shop, and before I even breathe in the warm scent of cinnamon and butter, I hear her.
“Nicoooo!”
My mother; Sofia, launches toward me like a missile made of flour and butter. She abandons the dough she’s kneading and wraps her arms around me with a grip strong enough to crack ribs.
“My baby!” She squeals.
I let out a low laugh and hug her back, breathing in the familiar mix of vanilla, yeast, and rosewater that always clings to her skin. “Hey, Sofia.”
My mom prefers being referred to by her first name.
She pulls back only enough to pout up at me, her arms still locked tight around my waist like she’s trying to stop me from disappeari
