Cinnamon Roll Trope Novels & Stories

It's more appetizing if it's on a plate. “We're almost done with the food. Are you guys hungry?" Auntie Gina asked when she saw us. “Not really, Auntie. Zandrey brought cinnamon rolls,” I replied with a smile. Auntie must have felt weirded out because there was something in her face when I said those words. I got nervous for a bit there, because I know for a fact that Auntie Gina is a good observant. I wouldn't be surprised if she knows I am pregnant before I could even tell anyone else. But still, I didn’t mind it so much. I put my attention to the bread in front of me.

The warm yellow lights cast everything in a soft glow, turning ordinary things into something magical. I found myself breathing a little deeper, letting the peace of the moment wash over me. Marcus was already at the counter, his usual teasing grin in place as he scanned the trays of goodies. He was practically drooling over the cinnamon rolls. “Two extra cinnamon rolls,” he said, his voice amused. “Backup in case Martha eats everything.” Martha rolled her eyes, laughing. “I don’t eat everything.” “Yes, you do,” Marcus shot back, holding the rolls up like trophies. “You eat enough for both of us.”

Not that I complained, I've been a fan of Cinnamon rolls. I looked around the table in an attempt to find my favourite rolls. When I spotted them, I broke into a run half way through my way. Halting I grabbed a cinnamon roll and was about to devour it when my gaze fell on Mama. She was no longer sitting but standing and carefully observing my moves, a hand on her chest. My sudden run must have surprised her. I smiled at her apologetically before bitting into the sweet delicacy. I almost moaned but resisted the feeling as Dad was heavily scrutinizing me.

Sometimes unawares. On the fifth date, we met at the flyover for the first time. She was late, and her absence itched my eardrums, more than the shrill, piercing cacophony of the traffic underneath the flyover. It created a halo of silence around me – hell-bent on dismantling the ritual I was still trying to inculcate: gorging on her freshly baked, dream-filled, sweet and pungent, crispy crepes of chatter. For a long and never-ending quarter of an hour. Leaning against the railing of the flyover. Holding each other’s hands, while watching the sun set behind the Sarania Hills.

He turned her around, grabbed her hand, and together they walked out the door. Gemma could smell the cinnamon rolls through the open kitchen window. “Mom must have it hell hot in there, as Dad would say. She’s got the window open and the smell is making my mouth water.” “Yeah, your mom’s cinnamon rolls are a bake sale must around here,” Tony replied, his own stomach growling as the smell hit him. When they walked in the back door, Dee laughed. “Pay up, Kyle. You said we wouldn’t see them until after we pulled the turkey from the oven. I told you my cinnamon rolls would bring them in before.”

“He was nice. Respectful. No awkward confessions or dramatic revelations. Just two people who used to love each other, realizing they’re happier apart.” Celine leans back, satisfied. “Huh. That’s kind of boring.” Sebastian snorts. “Right? At least throw in some jealousy, a fistfight—” I elbow him. “I swear, the two of you need to stop watching so many soap operas.” Celine grins. “Fine, fine. But hey, since we’re all here, can I just say—I’m officially craving a cinnamon roll.” I chuckle, rolling up my sleeves. “Good thing I own a bakery.”

He approached and dropped a small paper bag on the table. “What’s this?” she asked. “From that bakery down the block. The one you said always smells like warm sugar and regret.” Brenda opened the bag and laughed. Inside was a freshly baked cinnamon roll, still warm, its icing just starting to melt. “That was a joke.” “I take baked goods very seriously.” She smiled as she broke off a piece and held it out to him. He leaned in, took the offered bite, and tried not to look as smug as he felt when her fingers lingered just a beat longer than necessary.

I made sure to ask to amuse my wolf, who asked about dessert. "My apologies, Your Highness," she said, then she paused a moment before continuing. "We have not started preparing dessert just yet. However, we are preparing cinnamon rolls, Your Highness. When we do prepare dessert, I will let you know what the selection is, unless you have a suggestion." 'That scent is not cinnamon rolls. If they're not making dessert, where is the scent coming from? Follow it!' (Cash insisted)

She delivered the latter with a smile and a cinnamon roll. “Sugar helps the sorry’s go down,” she said when I looked up. “Oh. Ha.” I picked up my fork and stabbed the pastry. “Thank you.” She waved off my thanks, her dark eyes warm. “Good luck.” Once she was gone, I released the fork, watching as it slowly drooped to the side, peeling away layers of delicious cinnamon roll with it. My phone sat next to the plate, silent and waiting. Judging. Leaving things like this was not an option. Even if—by some miracle—I got the promotion, I didn’t want to chase this dream without Jack’s support.

Many people lost their lives during this time, not just Witches but also Humans, Vampires, Wolves, and Fae as well. Stepping into the tower, the first thing I notice is the small kitchen to the right, the fresh cinnamon rolls mentioned sitting on the counter with steam still coming off of them. They are covered by what looks like cream cheese frosting, and I can feel my mouth salivating. I love cinnamon rolls.