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“Absolutely!” Rosa agreed enthusiastically, gesturing her forward. “What kind do you want to start with?”

Madelaine blinked. Boarding schools hadn’t exactly offered cookie-making electives. She wasn’t even sure what her options were. Sugar cookies? Oatmeal? She had no idea what most of them tasted like. Being slender in preparation for one’s future husband was always emphasized in finishing school, so “desserts” were more along the lines of fruit, not baked sweets.

She bit her lip thoughtfully and asked, “What’s Paulo’s favorite?” The question slipped out before she could think better for it.

Rosa’s laugh was rich, knowing. “Chocolate chip,” she replied immediately.

Madelaine clapped her hands. “Then chocolate chip it is.” Maybe, I can get him to smile, she thought, her heart flipping at the idea. “What’s the first step?”

“Into the pantry we go!” Rosa said, waving Madelaine along. She began collecting tins and boxes like a magician with an endless bag of tricks. Flour, sugar, salt, baking powder. Chocolate chips in a big jar. “We’ll need all of these.”

Madelaine followed, trying not to look as completely lost as she felt. Her eyes darted between the ingredients piling up on the counter and the woman trying to explain “the basics” of baking cookies. First of all, there was more than one type of sugar. White, brown, something Rosa called confectioners’ sugar. Was there really a difference?

And dear heaven, Rosa had moved on to butter temperature. Wasn’t butter always cold? Or melted? Was there really an in between?

Madelaine’s head was spinning and she vowed to look up everything on her phone later. But she only had a cheap phone, so finding information on the internet wasn’t easy.

Then Rosa heaved a heavy mixer onto the counter and patted it like an old friend. “As I was saying, the trick to good cookies is the butter,” she explained. “If you melt it completely, your cookies will be flat and chewy. If you want fluffier, more cake-like cookies, you leave the butter at room temperature.”

Madelaine stared at her, feeling the weight of a test she hadn’t studied for. Her fingers twisted together. “Um…does Paulo prefer chewy or cakey cookies?”

Her question came out softer than she meant it to, but the truth was, she realized she genuinely cared about the answer.

Rosa’s grin widened. “Oh, definitely chewy cookies,” she declared, plunking two sticks of butter into Madelaine’s hands. “Go ahead and melt those in the microwave while I pre-heat the oven.”

Madelaine eyed the machine, relieved to recognize at least one kitchen task. She placed the butter on the glass plate, closed the door, and pressed the button for one minute. Turning around, she watched Rosa line up several canisters in a neat row.

“What now?”

“Crack three eggs into this bowl, then measure out one cup of white sugar.” Rosa gestured toward the counter, like a general orchestrating troops.

Madelaine nodded and reached for the mixing bowl, just as Rosa yelped.

“Oh, goodness!” The older woman rushed over, hitting the stop button. When the microwave door swung open, melted butter oozed across the glass plate and onto the counter.

“What did I do wrong?!” Madelaine cried, grabbing a dish towel and hurrying over.

Rosa laughed, gently tugging the towel away. “Don’t let your bandage touch the butter, dear. I’ll clean this. You measure the sugar.”

Still mortified, Madelaine returned to the canisters. She peered into one, noticed the white granules, and carefully filled a cup. Into the bowl it went. Rosa called out more ingredients. Brown sugar, flour, baking soda, and Madelaine measured them with painstaking care. She didn’t know what half of them did, but Rosa clearly did, so she followed every direction like it was a survival test.

“Looks good!” Rosa leaned over to inspect the mixture, nodding with approval.

Relief bloomed through Madelaine, quickly followed by hope. Could this be something she was capable of? A skill she might even market into a job? The idea gave her a little thrill. Cookies today, beef bourguignonne tomorrow!

She wasn’t entirely sure what beef bourguignonne was, something French and elegant, she thought, but it had to be impressive. Certainly more impressive than the bland meals she’d endured at boarding school, where efficiency mattered more than taste. The last place she’d attended hadn’t even been about education, really. Finishing school had trained girls like her for society luncheons and charity boards, not kitchens or careers.

“Okay, what next?” she asked.

Rosa set out several baking sheets and handed Madelaine a scooper with a spring-loaded handle. “Use this to make even mounds. Line them up on the sheet, and then we’ll pop them into the oven.”

Madelaine eyed the tool, then the dough, and tried it out. The neat little domes plopped onto the pan, surprisingly uniform. She looked around, a surge of confidence rushing through her.

“That was so easy!”

“Cookies usually are,” Rosa replied, wiping her hands on her apron. “There’s a science to it, but once you get the hang of it, they aren’t difficult.” She winked. “Wait until I teach you how to bake bread. Now, that will be fun!”

Madelaine grinned, feeling a rush of pride as she slid the first tray into the oven. She set the timer carefully, then turned to tidy up.