“He was so close it was hard to breathe. It was exactly like being next to an oven baking a really spicy apple pie.”

“... I'd already shot a zombie. Maybe this smartmouth blue-eyed apple-pie boy would be next.”

“He smelled like smoke too, and under it was the edge of apple pies-spice and goodness. Jesus. Even after all that he smelled like a bakery.”

“Gee, thanks." I couldn't sound more sarcastic, but I was willing to give it a try. My breathing evened out. "What are you here for, then? Tea and cookies?" My mouth wanted to water. He smelled like cookies. Cinnamon ones, with dabs of apple-pie filling.”

“It is our honor," Amelia said, and it was the weirdest thing-it sounded like she really meant it. People don't often say exactly what they really mean.”

“I crossed my arms over my chest. Jeez, it was cold in here all of a sudden. And had he always smelled this good? Was it a cologne? Eau de Christmas Pie?”

“I would not put my little bird in the jaws of a trap without being near enough to make sure it wouldn't close on her.”