Cinnamon Roll Trope Novels & Stories

If nothing else, just for something to distract me. "Here you go, two cinnamon rolls and coffees." "Thank you," we murmur in unison. "Can I get you anything else? Do you need creamer?" "No," again in unison. "Okay! Enjoy!" Our actions are mirrors of each other. Sip our coffee. Take a bite of cinnamon roll. Groan at the taste. Sip of coffee. It takes several minutes for us to realize, at the same time, of course, what we're doing.

“So that means that you did not sleep. “. Amaris turns to Lyle with a raised eyebrow. Marco grinned and chanced a look in Amaris’ direction. “He took a couple of catnaps while the dough was rising. “ Marco chuckled again and shook his head. Amaris turned back to Lyle who was still looking at her eagerly. She pulled a piece of cinnamon roll off and popped it in her mouth. It was warm and tender and just the right amount of sweet and cinnamon. She closed her eyes in pleasure as it almost melted in her mouth. When she opened them Lyle had a look of satisfaction on his face. “Oh man! Do I smell cinnamon rolls?!” Anna came walking into the kitchen area with a towel in her hand as she was drying h

“You’re so smug.” “And you’re stubborn. Eat.” I sighed and pulled the tray closer, shifting a little. My entire core screamed in protest. I bit my lower lip to keep from cursing again. “Good girl,” he murmured with a knowing look. The moment I took my first bite of the cinnamon roll, I groaned. It melted in my mouth, warm and soft with a gooey cinnamon center. Damn him. It was perfect. Halfway through the bowl of soup, I heard it. Bells. Faint, echoing through the walls. Not the doorbell, no. These were church bells.

I said, "Wait a minute. As the frosting warms, it seeps in between the rolls. Just wait until I get all of them done." As soon as the last roll was frosted, Damien and Zach started to grab one each. I said, "Grab a paper plate and I will put it on your plate." I put a roll on each of their plates, and I swear, I saw their eyes cross when they took the first bite. Kayla laughed, "Did their eyes just cross?" I laughed even harder as I nodded, "Now I know it wasn't my imagination." I was laughing like crazy when someone knocked on our door. Damien opened it, "We have a few more here that can sniff out sweets." When they came in, it was my dad, Damien's dad and Beau. I handed each of them a plat

Carter sat in the middle of the couch and plucked one from the basket. "What do you think?" she asked, after he'd swallowed his first bite. "These are excellent and happen to be one of my favorites," Carter answered. "How long have you been baking?" "I started baking cinnamon rolls when I was in middle school and first met Lauren. I've made them so often I have the recipe memorized," she chuckled. "It was my grandmother's." She picked up one and took a bite then a sip of coffee. "These are very tasty," Carter said after swallowing. "I feel I owe you an apology for how things ended yesterday afternoon."

I put it on. The fabric settles over my shoulders and waist, heavy but familiar. It feels like putting on armor, but also like stepping into a story I’m not sure I remember how to tell anymore. The kitchen is dark except for the soft blue glow from the under-cabinet lights. I pull ingredients out from memory: butter, flour, brown sugar, eggs. I’m going to try cinnamon rolls. It’s so quiet, I can hear my heartbeat loud and steady in my ears. I crack the first egg.

Hazel paused beside me. “Will you come?” “If you want me there.” “I do.” We went upstairs, and Maya placed the pastries on the desk while Hazel sat beside them. She opened the bag and took out a box of cinnamon rolls. “I brought six,” Maya said. “You can have two before you start pretending you are too upset to eat.” “I don’t pretend.” “You forget.” Hazel picked up a roll. “This is better than Silas’s kitchen.” “I heard that,” I said.

I say, because talk of small, useless things is the safest bridge back to ordinary life. He looks at me with a softness that almost breaks me. “About the bakery on Halvors Lane,” he says. “They started selling cinnamon rolls that taste like childhood.” I laugh, a thin sound that shakes. “You like cinnamon rolls?” “Not like you’d think,” he says. “I used to steal the last one with my sister. She’d spit out the glaze but keep the heat.” He grins at the memory and the room brightens a fraction. I imagine him small, hungry, pockets full of misplaced coins. The image is ridiculous and tender and it cracks me open in a way I didn’t expect.

But he still hands me a cinnamon roll with a little flourish. Jaime’s too busy moaning and licking her fingers to notice anything else. I decide to be a little more civilized, peeling off one layer at a time. Watching Jorge as I do it, I pop the strip in my mouth. And I swear, I have a transcendent experience. Stars align. I find the meaning of life. The secrets of the universe reveal themselves. It’s almost as good as the orgasms Jaime and Jorge give me. Almost. “Holy crap,” I moan. “That’s the best cinnamon roll I’ve ever had.”

I opened the door to find Silas balancing a cardboard tray of coffee cups and a bag that smelled like fresh pastries from the pack house kitchen. "Peace offering," he said, lifting the bag slightly. "Mara's cinnamon rolls. Still warm." Mara's cinnamon rolls were legendary within the pack—the perfect balance of gooey center and crisp edges, cinnamon and sugar caramelized to perfection. She only made them once a week, and they usually disappeared within minutes. "How did you manage to get those?" I asked, stepping back to let him in. "There's always a line out the door on cinnamon roll day." A hint of smile touched his lips. "Alpha privilege."