Clark’s mental takedown of his errant flicker of emotion for Kate effectively ceased the worried voice in his head, finally giving him the clarity to properly order his files. First by department, then by date.

He continued on this way for too long before a distraction slithered under the door of the office, infiltrating his space and filling every corner. He couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t hide from it.

Cookies. Sugar cookies. His one weakness. The one redeeming quality of Christmas, as far as Clark was concerned, was the packets of frozen cookies with the Santa faces and trees pressed colorfully into the top. The smell of those cookies haunted him now, wafting through the walls of this old house like the ghost of a long-forgotten dream.

Leaping to his feet, Clark made it halfway to the door before realizing the dilemma he now found himself in: he could pursue his goal of falling out of like with Kate, or he could see her and have cookies. The voice speaking for his hidden emotions jumped at the first opportunity to speak again.

If you go downstairs, you can check to see if she’s okay and you can have cookies. Kill two birds with one stone.

You’ll regret it if you go down there. Wait until she leaves or falls asleep, then go down and get those sweet, sweet cookies.

If you wait, they’ll be cold.

Put them in the microwave for ten seconds. Bam! Good as new.

It’s not good as new, and you know it.

Is too.

Is-

“God rest ye Merry Gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…”

The voices silenced when one very particular voice reached Clark’s ears. The confident tune joined the cookie-scented air in tying a knot around his stomach and pulling him exactly where they wanted him to go. Trapped in the hypnotic pull of her voice and his love of sweets, he left behind his doubts and followed them down into the kitchen.

After all, what was the worst that could happen? It’s not like cookies would make him fall in love with her or anything.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

After uncovering the frozen sheets of cookie dough resting atop some Tupperware containers of butternut squash soup and tubs of eggnog ice cream, Kate made quick work of baking, and within a few minutes, the marble counters turned snow-white and sticky. Without a cookie-cutter or can of baking spray in sight, she improvised, using a wire star ornament to cut out the dough. A brief dig through the pantry and the fridge rewarded her with flour and butter to grease the cookie sheets. The available dough was meant to feed at least forty people, so once the first batch entered the oven, Kate focused on the next twenty or so cookies.