Mom always had a knack for sweets. Making the lastest creations she had seen on the internet. It was a quiet Saturday. The rain was pelting the house windows in a playable melody. I snuck down polished wood steps and peeked around the corner. I saw her, I saw Mom. Swinging her hips along with the rhythmic beat. Her favorite Stevie Wonder song played in the background as the sweet smelling desserts baked in the stainless steel oven. I could feel the warmth from ten feet away. Letting the music sink into my heart and the heat spread across my bones. The atmosphere was quiet because everyone at this time would be asleep, letting Mom make magic in the kitchen without any interruption. The oven beeped loudly disrupting the silence that surrounded the house. She took her latest creation out of the heat and set them on the rack. She made the topping from scratch each time adding special ingredients to get the best taste. I watched silently, salavating over the silver wrapped golden mountains with soft sugary clouds on top. I listened as her footsteps became silent and sprang up from the stairs and made a mad dash into the vanilla smelling atmosphere. I picked up my toasty wrapped prize and peeled back the reflective covering letting the delicious aroma surround my senses. The color was a perfect shade of golden chestnut and the wrapping left darker ridges imprinted on the sides. I took the first bite and it led me straight to heaven. The dessert was moist and still warm from being in the oven. My taste buds were going crazy from the fireworks of flavor exploding in my mouth. The crumbs and frosting blended together with each other like two flames becoming one. The frosting itself was a masterpiece that was created Beethoven himself. The topping was light and identical to the first time I ever tried the delicious creations. It had me craving more and more after each delicious bite. I let my teeth sink in a second time into the soft food and had a little bit of the top frosting get on my upper lip. I let my finger slide over and wipe it clean. Also using the back of my freckled hand to wipe off anything that was still there. Along with listening to my chewing I listened for the footsteps of Mom, instead of footsteps I hear her favorite Michael Jackson song and start to dance along to it. Letting my sock covered feet glide over the clean tiled floor and holding the delectable prize in my hand. I felt a presence behind me and turned to find Mom with her flour covered apron and a raised eyebrow over amused eyes. I was caught.