(Elara)
I let Camila drag me into the kitchen. It was warm, softly lit and smelled like cinnamon and yeast. It was like something that was fresh out of the oven.
Camila was already rummaging through the pantry with an ease that suggested she had done it more times than I knew about. Meanwhile we just got here. I smelled and shook my head at her antics. Camila never ceased to amaze me. “Croissants,” she whispered like it was a sacred word, pulling a plate from a lower shelf with the biggest smile on her face.
I let out a quiet laugh and dropped onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. The kitchen marble was cool against my arms, give me a sense of peace.
Camila slid the plate toward me. “Still warm. Either someone up there loves you or they’re trying to bribe your forgiveness wit
