She runs right into me. "I was cooking!" she squeaks. "Cinnamon sugar sticks!" the words melt together, sticky and sweet.
I lean in toward her and inhale, "Mmm...you smell like cinnamon." She squeals in delight.
"You smell like chocolate," she tells me.
"I do?" I smile and tilt my head.
"No." She presses her little face into my shirt and rethinks. "You smell like oatmeal."
"Really?" I ask, thinking oatmeal's not a bad thing to smell like. Oatmeal smells nice and warm. Oatmeal smells like home.
"Maybe there's chocolate in your brain?" she giggles.
"In my brain?" I tease, "I would sure have to love chocolate a lot for it to be in my brain!"
"Maybe there's chocolate in your nose?" She can't stop laughing.
"My nose?! Why would there be chocolate in my nose?!"
"Guess what's in my nose?" she asks.
"I don't know. What's in your nose?"
She climbs into my lap, cups her hands around her mouth, and leans in to my ear to whisper "boogers" before rolling on the floor with laughter. And it's is sticky and sweet and nice and warm.
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