“You always smell like springtime and lemon drops,” I say gently, kissing the top of her head. My eyes close with contentment as I breathe her in. She sighs, her breath warming me through the fabric of my shirt. “You always smell like spearmint and Ivory soap.” Songbirds serenade us as we stand in the center of the patio, enmeshed in a potent embrace, breathing in perfect time and swaying lightly, as if nature is singing just for us. Then we say it at the same time: “Like home.”
