Chapter 9
Everyone should wake up to the scent of cinnamon and a hint of lilac in the air. I haven’t opened my eyes, but the mattress shifts with Malcolm’s weight. The clean aroma of Ivory Soap joins the one from the cinnamon rolls.
At least, I hope it’s cinnamon rolls.
The urge to open my eyes nearly overwhelms me. If I don’t, then it’s still, technically, last night. If I don’t, then I can keep the problems of today in the recesses of my mind, if only for a few more moments.
But when the smell of coffee—real, percolator-brewed coffee—reaches me, I nearly fall out of bed.
The only reason I don’t tumble to the floor is Malcolm, sitting on the edge of the bed, all pressed and gelled. He’s immaculate, of course, white dress shirt and creased khakis. In comparison, I’m ... rumpled.
“Mor
