Annalisa
He reached into a cupboard and emerged triumphantly with a basket overflowing with plump, red apples.
“Apples for breakfast?” I raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in my voice.
“Not just any apples,” he countered, selecting a particularly juicy-looking one and handing it to me. “These are from the royal orchards, the sweetest, crispiest apples you’ve ever tasted.”
He took a bite of his own apple, his eyes crinkling in delight. I followed suit, the explosion of flavour in my mouth silencing any further teasing. The crispness of the apple, its natural sweetness, was a perfect antidote to the morning’s chaos.
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