Pinch Of Cinnamon Mga Nobela at Kwento

It's my neighbor's recipe and really good for migraines too'. Grayson was dumbfounded, gobsmacked to be more specific as she handed the bowl over to him. It smelled putrid, with cinnamon sticks, star anise and a few other spices he couldn't name or even knew existed in his pantry. Kathleen could see how skeptical he was and urged him to take the bowl from her hands.

LIRAH WOKE UP from the smell of fresh cinnamon greeting her nose. She’s starting to get used to it after staying in Nana’s place for a week. She’s so curious why they always begin their day by allowing the smoke of cinnamon to flow through the whole house. Later on, they answer her that it is a good luck enhancer that will make the day productive, especially for the witch's practice.

The milk hit the perfect 140°F mark, and I yanked the pan off the stove like it had personally offended me. One. Dash. Of. Cinnamon. I hovered over the cup, heart thumping, and gave it a tiny flick. Not a sprinkle too much. Not a sprinkle too little. A flick that could make or break my day. The cup looked harmless enough, but to me, it was a gamble. I held it like it was gold as I walked back to his office, praying to the caffeine gods and every higher power I could think of. I knocked on his door with the most controlled hand I could manage.

“I thought you might need this.” “Oh!” She looked startled again. “Thank you… how much do I owe you?” “Nothing.” He grinned down at her from his considerable height. Annie wasn’t a little pixie, but he still towered over her. “I saw you come in early this morning, and figured that you could use it by now.” “You ain’t wrong, doc,” she said wryly as she opened the lid, peered in. She paused. “Is that – is that cinnamon?”

Back when we were newly married, neither of us had cared about sleeping in. We would wake up before sunrise, still wrapped in the excitement of building a life together. I'd sneak into the kitchen before Amelia woke up. She loved hazelnut coffee with just enough milk to soften the bitterness. Two spoonfuls of brown sugar. One tiny pinch of cinnamon. She claimed the cinnamon made it taste like home. I'd never understood how. But I always remembered. Then I'd make pancakes. Sometimes they'd burn. Sometimes they'd be too thick. Amelia never cared.

Grace knew I would definitely not even touch a royal meal or the fanciest dish if she would place it in front of me. I gave her a small smile. She was truly intelligent. “Thanks” I muttered and gingerly reached for the cup. The tea was refreshing and it calmed my aching nerves but I also tasted something more in it. “Ginger?” I asked and she nodded, “Ginger and cinnamon. It helps soothe pain” I nodded and took another sip. It felt nice and rejuvenating. “My lady, if I am not prying too much, could I know what happened to you…earlier?”