A warm aroma filled my nostrils and set them ablaze with passion. My senses were on edge. I was giddy with excitement. I remained still and let the heat wash over my body.
My mind began working towards figuring out where and what that scintillating scent was. I needed to be closer to it; needed to be wrapped up in that smell and partake in it’s delight. In me was released a monster that would not stop until the source of the aroma was found.
After some deduction, I figured it was probably coming from the kitchen. I pulled back my hefty sheets and placed my bare feet on the cold wooden floor. A shiver shot through me and my desire faltered.
Did I want to go out, away from my comfortable shelter of warmth, and satiate this yearning hunger brought on by one tiny whiff? The scent seemed shrink the longer I stayed amongst the coziness of my bed. I needed to make a decision.
Without a second thought, I stepped to the floor and, on tip-toes, sauntered out of the room and into the hall. It was empty. Only the aroma and I were in that apartment. No distractions.
Slowly, I made my way into the kitchen and found the source of the smell: A short stack of the most perfect pancakes I had ever seen. They were fluffy and a lovely golden brown. A slice of butter that was partially melted sat atop the stack. They were accompanied by a small note folded and tucked underneath the ceramic plate.
I pulled it out and read the paper. On it was written one word.