“Just then, like a hot knife through butter, the unmistakable aroma of Alice's apple pie cut through the smell of grease in the kitchen. The scent of apples baking in butter, cinnamon, and sugar made our mouths water.
"What the hell is that?" Nate said in a trancelike voice.
"That is undoubtedly where Alice has been, making her mile-high apple pie, if I'm not mistaken," I said. Nate looked confused, so I pointed to the little room at the back of the kitchen. "In the bakery nook, which I guess you guys haven't been using since the restaurant no longer serves fresh bread, pies, and cobblers."
"Yes, that's where I've been," Alice said, joining us. "I decided something around here should be homemade. I found some apples in the office, and some flour and sugar, and whipped up something real.”