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“Let’s try another batch. What recipe were you using?”

“No recipe,” she replies. “They came in a can.”

“They came in a can?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“You know, open the tube, cut the cookie dough into slices, and bake.”

My expression must give away exactly what I’m thinking, because she says, “What? I didn’t have much time and I wanted to make cookies.”

“Cookies don’t take much time to make. But you weren’t making cookies. You were heating up premade cookie dough.”

She sighs. “Okay, cookie police. Can I turn off the faucet now?”

“No,” I say and head to the pantry, to pull out flour and sugar. Then I head back to get the vanilla extract, baking soda, and the chocolate.

“What are you doing?”

“Making cookies. Like actually making them rather than opening a can and pretending to make them.”

“Snob,” she snaps.

I set to work, making a recipe that I haven’t made for years. I recall the measurements like I made them yesterday, but I don’t think I’ve made these since before I went to university.

“Will they have sprinkles?” she asks, from where she’s still leaning over the sink.

“Nope. Because cookies need to be chocolate chip or they need not exist.” I cream the butter and sugar together in the same way my grandmother taught me years before I ever went into the kitchen with my dad.

“Are you serious?” she asks. “Are you saying white chocolate and lemon cookies shouldn’t exist? Because if you are, I don’t think I can even look at you.”

I chuckle. “Okay, you can have that one, at a push. But it’s right on the boundary of being ridiculous.”

“A sprinkle cookie isn’t ridiculous.”

“Maybe not if you’re five years old. But at your age, it definitely is.”

“Rude,” she says.

“Facts,” I counter.

“I suppose I can live with chocolate chip.”

“Who said I’m making them for you?” I glance up with a grin, expecting her to be trying not to smile, but her expression is half shock, half sadness.

What did I miss?

She looks away.

“Avril,” I say. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she says unconvincingly. “But don’t think you’re giving those chocolate chip cookies away. I’m eating them or no one is.”

Is that what bothered her? The fact she thought I might give the cookies away? It can’t be. She must have known I was kidding.

“I might share them with you,” I say. “You can even have first pick of the batch.”

Silence winds between us.

Finally, I speak. “I feel like I haven’t seen you properly in…” Since we had sex, I don’t say. “What have you been up to?”