Cinnamon. The sweet smell lingered in the air, crawled to her nostrils, entwined in her hair. She opened her eyes and looked at the alarm clock at the nightstand – 7am. “What the hell!” She was probably dreaming. She turned, ready to snuggle down next to Peter’s warm body, but he was gone. “Peter?!” No answer. But today was Sunday, where could he be? This was their day and usually they spent it in bed, enjoying every touch, laughing, making love till falling asleep, exhausted, with bodies entwined. The tiny studio was the only world they knew on Sundays and they didn’t need more. It was their escape island, the only day they’d promised to spend together. And the first rule in their private kingdom was: No early waking up! So, where was he in seven in the morning? “Peter?!” this time her voice was strain. “I’m right here,” he replied; the voice came from the kitchen area, “Give me a minute!” Tara sat upright in bed and folded her arms. With her tousled hair, rosy cheeks and sharp gaze, she looked like an enraged goddess, ready to strike.
