The smell of lemons drifted through the house.
tom
Real lemon. Not the sickly acrid taste of "lemon flavouring" but the fresh, sweet, acidic tang of actual lemons.
I dropped my bags in the hall and ran into the kitchen. My wife stood there with a wry smile and a small glass of fresh lemonade.
My mouth flapped uselessly as I tried to process the scene. "H-how?"
Her eyes sparkled, revelling in my astonishment. "I saved up and managed to pull a few strings at work. Here." She pressed the glass and kissed my cheek. "Happy birthday."
I smiled, raised the glass and brightness exploded on my tongue.