Urban Dictionary: Cinnamon Roll Novels & Stories

Alex took the seat beside mine instead of his regular one across from me. I silently continued chewing my sandwich when I felt Alex's gaze boring into my head. I tilted my head to look at him as he smiled at me, uncertainity swirling in his eyes as if he doubted yesterday night was a dream. I passed him my geniune smile expecting him to catch on my mood. As expected he did, his smile widened in the process while my stomach fluttered with butterflies. Turning his head towards the dining table he extolled joyously. "Thanks Aunt Kate for preparing Cinnamon Rolls on such a short notice. I have missed them all these years when you were away." Alex helped himself with two cinnamon rolls. He closed

I said, "They should be. Grandma taught me how to make them." I was laughing at the moaning, when i heard another knock at our door. Damien said, "You guys are so screwed. You just got busted." It was my mom, Amanda, and Leah. My mom says, "I thought you were looking for... Those smell just like mine." I hand each of them a plate with a roll on it and they take a bite. My mom says, "These are just like mine." I said, "Grandma taught me how to make them." My mom says, "I should make some soon. By the sounds your father is making, I'd say it's time." I laughed and dad said, "I would give you whatever you want if you made these again." I said, "Don't start it, guys. Go to your own damn haouse

he said and quickly grabbed the cinnamon roll then took a huge bite and chewed. His face turned sour and I felt bad for him. He took a really large chunk that would be hard to chew or even swallow considering how bad it tasted "oh my Lord" he said with a mouthful of cinnamon roll and rushed to the sink where he spat it out and rinsed his mouth. He sauntered back to the table and sighed as he sat down "you're too nice, that was horrible" he said and looked at me

“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.

And that's when the barista saw me and immediately greeted me too. “The usual, Sir?” “Make it two. And one cinnamon roll, please,” Lorenzo said then turned to me, “I like their brewed coffee here. And their cinnamon rolls are their best selling so you must try it too,” he told me. I glanced at the barista and he was pursing his lips as though he was displeased at Lorenzo. “Is he telling the truth?” I queried. The barista seemed surprised at my sudden question and frowned at me. But a woman suddenly appeared next to him and answered on his behalf.

I opened the cabinet shelf and pulled out plates for them while they settled on the stools, looking at the glazed cinnamon rolls with heart-eyes. “You never make cinnamon rolls,” Em said, looking at them pointedly. “Unless you have a boy trouble.” “I don’t do that.” I frowned, serving the rolls and crossing my arms. “I make cinnamon rolls.” “No, you don’t. The last time you made them was a year ago when that guy from PE asked you out—oh this is so fugging goof,” Summer said with a mouthful of food while Emma took a small bite and chewed, swallowed, patted her lips with a napkin, and looked at me.

I gave her a soft smile to let her know I was okay. “But when I was little,” I continued, “I loved waking up to cinnamon rolls. My mom used to make them every year. The smell would fill the house, and we’d all sit around the table, laughing and eating way too many. It was always my favorite part of the day.” “That sounds wonderful,” she said, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry you lost your parents, Julian.”

"If you don't mind making me one." "Of course not." "You want cinnamon rolls too?" "Sugar? Uh, yeah? How could I say no?" Robin snorts. "Glad to see something hasn't changed." Five minutes later, Robin is warming up cinnamon rolls that someone named Addison baked for us. His broad back is facing me. I'm taking the time to check out his rear end, so nervous I have to make a conscious effort not to choke on my hot chocolate.

I place my hands on my waist and huff out a breath from all the stress of doing the barest minumum. "Are you almost done? Oh, I will miss you so much, my babies." Mum says, pulling me into a hug. I wrap my arms around her, the distinct scent of cinnamon wafting through my nostrils. She has been baking, ßshe has been singing since morning that we needed cinnamon rolls for the trip. "Well, you'll be with me for one more day, mum. There's not much to miss." I point out, earning a short chuckle.

“Are you always this good at giving tours, or am I special?” “I just thought you’d want to know what’s what since you’re new here and all. Oh, that’s the bakery. Mrs. Lang makes the best cinnamon rolls you’ll ever taste, but she only does them on Saturdays. The rest of the week it’s just bread and those hard cookies the kids like.” He glanced at her. Color sat high on her cheeks. She kept her eyes on the road and the buildings, talking faster whenever his voice dropped into that particular tone that usually worked on other women. He didn’t understand it.