DANIEL’S POV
The cookies smelled like sunshine and vanilla and everything good in the world.
Grandma said it was because I didn’t stir too much. “Gentle hands make soft cookies,” she’d said, tapping my nose lightly with a gentle smile.
I liked it when she smiled like that. It made her eyes crinkle; it made her look less sad.
I wished Mom could have joined us to bake, but she’d gone outside for a while, saying she wanted some air.
I knew what that meant—“air” meant thinking, and that meant something heavy sitting on her chest.
Hopefully, she’d feel better if she came back to the smell of cookies.
I arranged them on the tray carefully—chocolate chip, some a little burnt at the edges, but Grandma said that made them taste like caramel. I specially set aside the one with extra chips for Mom.
“Be careful, darling,” Grandma said as I balanced the tray in my hands, which were covered by oven mitts. “They’re still hot.”
