Yawning, I reluctantly dragged myself downstairs. The delicious scent of cinnamon and icing filtered toward me the closer I got to the kitchen. Mmm. A dish of warm, homemade cinnamon rolls sat on the counter. My stomach grumbled at the sight of them.
"Can I have one?" I asked.
Larissa nodded. "Of course." She dried her hands on a towel, turned toward me, and smiled. "Good morning."
"Morning." I piled a gooey, iced cinnamon roll onto a plate and then poured myself a glass of milk. I took a large bite, closing my eyes and savoring the pastry. "These are so good."
"I'm glad you approve." There was no scorn or sarcasm in her tone, just appreciation for my sincere compliment. She leaned against the counter and folded her arms. "Your father is playing golf today with a few potential business partners, and I have a lunch date with my sister, so you'll have the house to yourself."
Nodding, I took another bite, chasing it down with a drink of milk.