I knew well that faint heavenly smell. The baked flour, egg, milk and oh, the honey. Especially the honey. They had just come out of the oven as the Lady of the house was speaking. Her name was not important and I have no recollection of what she was saying.
She was talking like someone accustomed to speaking for hours. I could not help but think about those luscious, sticky, moist gifts from heaven. Oh, when would she shut her droning on so I could ask for just a taste.
I could not take it anymore. I had to interrupt. I had to change the conversation to not be so rude as to ask for the cakes outright. It was best to get her to not talk about what she was droning on about. How, oh how, would I do that when she loved this council she was praising so much. Ah, to pry deeper, to ask her to reveal the secret depths of her involvement. That would kill the conversation for sure.
Successes! The moment was right, the cakes had just cooled to the point where the honey would be cool enough to eat. I could tell the chef or should I say master chef, knew how to create delicacies of the finest quality.
The excitement I felt as the cakes came through the door was beyond any joy I had experienced in the past few weeks. I could barely keep my composure as I filled my hands and pockets, while of course, slowly savoring the first of my precious honey cakes. They would all be mine.
Oh poor Arkaide. How could he appreciate the cakes as I do? He must have deadened taste buds. And don’t monks take a vow against enjoying the finest points of life. The cakes would be wasted on him.
Pure heaven while the warm cakes fill my stomach. I know the feeling won’t last, but it are moments like this that make life worth living.