It was a crisp Saturday afternoon. Maya’s mom, Mrs. Lark, was arranging fresh daisies in a vase on the kitchen table when Maya slipped a folded piece of parchment into Alex’s palm. The paper smelled faintly of pine and vanilla.
Maya laughed, feeling a flutter in her chest. “I thought a little change of scenery might be nice. And I’ve been wanting to try a new recipe—something a bit daring.”
Claire arrived, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun, eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. She brushed a stray strand away and smiled at Maya, “You’ve outdone yourself. This place feels… cozier than my own living room.”
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