xxxvi. Smell

He steps into the room. She can hear the clicking.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

And then he stops. She can see him in her head, lifting his nose to the air like Lassie.

One tentative sniff.

Then another.

This never failed. At all. Not for her grandmother, her mother…pretty much every female on that side of the family. She grins at the thought. Poor Sam. You didn't know what you were getting into, did you?

The oven beeps.

He steps into the kitchen, his shoes squeaking against the tile.

"Ainsley, what is that?"

She opens the oven door. "Peach cobbler."