And it hits me. I love this woman. I don’t know when it happened. It slipped over me so softly, like the changing of seasons. The seeping scent of baked bread first thing in the morning. A wistful sigh on a perfect fall day. I love Michelle. I’ve loved her for far too long. She’s complicated. Difficult sometimes. She tastes like caramelized sugar and cinnamon and all the layers of flavors in between. And suddenly, I know exactly what that is. She could never be something as simple as croissants or muffins or even cinnamon rolls. She’s something else entirely.
