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“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I might,” Ali said, hugging her back.

When Wren set her down, her hand leapt to her locket, unsure what to do with being the center of unexpected attention.

Cinnamon… A familiar smell hit her again, inhaling deeply, something tickled the back of her mind.

“What smells so good?”

“One of your presents!” Lilah chirped, clapping her hands and beaming with excitement.

“What do you mean?”

Charlotte took her hand, leading her toward the island. She plucked one of the wrapped gifts off the counter and pressed it into Ali’s palms.

“Open this.”

Ali peeled back the wrapping paper, revealing a bound leather journal. Across the front, etched in gold letters: Family Recipes.

“I know you lost your mom’s recipes. I wish I could give all of them back to you. But we thought—” Her voice wavered just slightly. “I thought each of us could share our favorite family recipes. So you can make something new.”

Ali flipped open the book, pulse thundering in her ears as emotions swarmed in her chest.

Labeled dividers greeted her.

Breakfast. Bread. Sandwiches. Main Dish. Sides. Dessert… Dreams…

“This one,” Charlotte murmured, turning to a slim final section. The title read Christmas Morning Cinnamon Rolls. “You told me this one in your sleep. I’m not certain it’s your mother’s, but Mama tested them and said they were delicious. That’s what you’re smelling now. She made them for you.”

Ali couldn’t compute.

The crowd shifted and parted like something holy was occurring. Perhaps it was. Diana stood waiting beside the stove, a single steaming cinnamon roll on a small plate. James handed over a fork, his warm smile steadying her trembling hands.

She went right for the gooey heart of the roll. The very best part. The flavor hit her tongue, heat and spice and buttery sweetness exploding across it, flooding her mouth and heart with memories Ali thought to be forgotten.

A vivid echo of her much shorter legs perched atop a kitchen stool came from the depths of her subconscious. Her mother had stood behind her, guiding her tiny hand as they drizzled homemade icing over a pan of steaming rolls. Caitlyn McCarthy’s soft voice had been so encouraging and full of love.

The memory hit like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Her throat ached, not with grief but something gentler. Love pressed in from every side, rubbing against the old bruise she tried not to talk about. She breathed out, afraid that if she inhaled too deeply the treacherous tears would betray her.

The taste was so close to what lived in her memory. But it had the most important ingredient… love.

All she could say was…

“It tastes like Christmas morning,” she whispered.

Grins spread around the room as cinnamon rolls were distributed. Everyone made the recipes they contributed in the book. Ali tried each and every one, proclaiming each dish a scrumptious delicacy.

Across the kitchen, Charlotte watched, eyes shining with emotion. She gave Ali something no one else ever managed: a sense of family, of hope, and home. The loneliness always threatening to consume her on her birthday was nowhere to be found. Replaced with something warm and breathtaking.

Ali took a few slow steps toward her. Charlotte’s thumb smoothed across her cheek, circling her deepest dimple with such care it made Ali’s heart twist.

Either Charlotte was putting on a performance worthy of an Oscar. Or this was all real for her, too.

“Best birthday,” Ali whispered.

Charlotte’s grin was triumphant, chest puffing with pride.