Tyrrik’s pine needle, smoke, and steel aroma overwhelmed everything else. Hot potatoes, he smelled so good. I opened my eyes and glared at him, clambering to my feet. “I can’t smell anything with you near.” He lifted his head and peeled his eyelids back for a brief moment. With a small smile, he asked, “Why are you still sniffing then?” I caught myself mid-inhale. Because you smell amazing.
