In the next afternoon, the golden sunlight filtered through the high windows, pooling faintly on the floor like melted honey. The chamber was quiet, save for the faint scratching of a quill against paper and the soft rustle of pages turning. Arabella's nose was buried deep inside her book, her focus so intense that the world outside her parchment and ink seemed to cease existing.
Then came the faintest aroma, the warm, inviting, and almost sinfully sweet in its delicacy, a smell she would never mistaken. The scent of butter and milk, sweet and savory, wound its way toward her like a wisp. It was so sudden that she blinked, lifted her head, and there he was.
