Robert Ryan

“She reaches across my body to grab a bottle from a shelf, and even in the cacophony of spa smells, I catch her scent. For some reason I expected it to be expensive and rarefied, but it’s actually homey—vanilla and cinnamon and apple, like a fresh-baked pie or my mom’s gingerbread and applesauce. I find myself leaning in to catch more of it, and when she stands, her hair brushes my face, flooding me. There’s probably a product in this room that’s responsible for making her smell edible, and for a brief, foolish moment, I want to know which one. Which is ridiculous because what would I do with that knowledge?”
― Serena Bell, Hott Shot