Made With Love The Cottony One นิยาย & เรื่องราว

"Wardrobe malfunction. Unless your friend wears women's couture, I'm stuck." A moment later, a hand appeared around the doorframe, holding a black dress shirt. "Mine. Clean. Might be a tent on you," he said roughly. I took it. "Thanks." I slipped it on. It smelled like him—sandalwood, motor oil, rain. It swallowed me whole, the hem hitting my mid-thigh. I rolled the sleeves. "Mrs. Cross", I thought. "Sounds heavy. Like a weapon." I walked out. Sebastian stood there.

The one thing that still belonged entirely to her. She loved the way the smell of coffee filled the apartment, rich and sharp, cutting through the stale quiet. It reminded her she was still here. Still alive. Still capable of doing something intentional. She poured herself a mug and fixed it exactly the way she liked it: strong, a splash of oat milk, two sugars stirred until dissolved. Small choices mattered more these days.

love you all xoxo

But love the app as well. 🤍🩵💙

"Exactly!" There was a slight commotion below the stage. Although the voices were quite soft, Lily could still hear them. Still, she did not get angry, and her cheeks did not even blush. She clenched the microphone and calmly scanned the crowd. “I’d like to chime in on this. Firstly, ‘First Love’ is my creation. My assistant and I took three months to fine-tune this product. Secondly, my creations include most of MN Inc.’s perfumes besides ‘First Love. That is all I have to say.”

“My back aches by evening and I need naps I never used to. The baby hasn’t kicked hard yet, just soft flutters. But moments like this make it easier. What are you weaving these days, Lila?” “Baby blankets! A group of us girls is making them with little wolf paw patterns. I could do yours with silver thread to match the pack crest if you like.” “I would love that.” As I continued, more people stopped me. The baker stepped out with a warm loaf. “Luna Mabella! This is fresh oat and honey bread—gentle on the stomach. My wife made it with extra honey after she heard you craving it last week.” “You remembered that?” I asked, surprised.

"Cotton candy, I want cotton candy." I looked over to where she was pointing, and sure enough, there was a vendor selling cotton candy, and I stood up before offering her my hand. "Let's go get you some cotton candy then, sweetheart." We walked over to the vendor, and Rosie ordered the largest size they had, insisting very specifically that it be filled "to the brim" when it was handed to her; she took a bite. "So good," she mumbled around the cotton candy. “I love—”

A black box with cream-colored ribbons. “Happy birthday.”