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“Ah…Actually, I don’t.”

Ricky frowned as if deep in thought. “I guess that will be all right.”

Once the kitchen was cleaned, which took all of two minutes, she brought out the baking sheets and washed them. Next, she reached for the two rolls of chocolate-chip cookie dough she’d purchased.

Ricky pulled a chair up to the kitchen counter, climbed onto it, and looked first at the rolled cookie dough and then at Sage. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Cookie dough,” she explained. “It makes it super-easy to bake cookies. All we do is slice and bake.”

“Oh.” His voice dropped and his face fell.

“What’s wrong?” Sage didn’t understand his disappointment. They were baking cookies just the way he’d asked.

“We can’t bring Santa something we didn’t make ourselves. That’s cheating.”

Cheating? That was ridiculous. “I don’t agree,” she argued, while a sense of unease stole over her. “We aren’t cheating. We’re baking the cookies in the oven ourselves, aren’t we?”

With a sadness that tugged at her heart, Sage watched as Ricky tucked his chin down so low it touched his chest. “But we should mix the dough ourselves, because that’s the most important part.”

Sage could see there was no way around this. She was going to need to actually bake the cookies.

From scratch.

“Last year, Mom and I made snowball cookies,” Ricky told her, brightening somewhat. “It was fun. We rolled the dough in little balls and placed them in powdered sugar when they came out of the oven. It didn’t take long, and it was easy,” he said, as if he needed to convince her.

“Okay, then,” she said, surrendering with reluctance, “that’s what we’ll do.”

This sounded doable. She would manage. Right?

Sage brought out her computer and checked online for the recipe. She read through the ingredients and what she would need. The instructions seemed straightforward. Ricky was right. This cookie recipe shouldn’t be that difficult.

“Can we bake them tomorrow night?” Ricky’s question was full of hope as he gazed up at her with wide, bright eyes. When he looked at her like that, she found she couldn’t refuse him.

“I don’t see why not. I’ll need to stop off at the grocery store on my way home from work.” Like she’d done every day this week.

Ricky clapped his hands. “Thank you, Auntie Sage.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she murmured under her breath.

—

The following morning, Sage had to wake Ricky. He overslept and barely touched his breakfast. Afraid he might be coming down with something, she checked his forehead. He wasn’t running a fever, thankfully.

“Tonight we’ll make snowball cookies,” she told him, hoping that would lift his spirits.

He rewarded her with a huge smile. “Then we can take the cookies to Santa, right?”

“Right.” That was a good reminder to look online for where best to find Santa.

When they arrived at Lisa’s house, Sage walked him inside. Lisa was in the kitchen, cooking scrambled eggs for breakfast.

“Ricky didn’t have much of an appetite this morning,” Sage said. “I’m not sure what that means. He doesn’t have a fever or anything.”

Lisa delivered the eggs and toast to her children, who were sitting at the table. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” she said.

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

“Lisa, guess what?” Ricky said brightly. “Auntie Sage and I are going to bake snowball cookies tonight.”