The sweet aroma of cinnamon rolls drifted to my nose, pulling me out of my sleep. I threw off my sheets and rushed down the stairs to the kitchen.
“One minute, fifty-eight seconds,” Emma said, looking at her pocket watch. Her lips curved in a sweet smile. “You have beaten your own record.”
“Mom, it is not my fault that you make such tantalizing rolls,” I replied, picking up a cinnamon roll from the tray. I hissed as the heat scalded my fingers.
“Careful! How many times have I told you not to be so impatient?” She shook her head as she placed the tray on the cabinet and handed me a plate. I bit my lower lip as I placed the roll on the plate; my eyes drifting to the assortment still lying on the tray.
Emma laughed and added a few more rolls to my plate. “Happy?”
“Very,” I managed to
