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Summary
Back in the cool night air, a few snowflakes were beginning to dust the sidewalk when he noticed a familiar smell wafting through the air. He found himself unconsciously following it, like some sort of ridiculous cartoon character. He couldn’t remember why it smelled so familiar, but it tugged at something so deep in him that it made his chest feel tight with excitement. He just had to know what it was.
The smell lead him a short walk down the street, right to the front door of a small bakery he’d never noticed before.
Memo’s Bakery, read the lit sign out front.
He pushed open the door.
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Guillermo was just beginning to pour the glaze over his latest experimental bake, a batch of Persian love cakes, when the bell at the front jingled, alerting him to a customer’s entry. Shit, he must have forgotten to flip the sign over to “closed” again. He looked up, about to apologetically tell them that they were actually closed for the night, when the words caught in his throat and died before reaching his tongue.