Did she need to bake every single bit of dough left behind in the freezer? Of course not. Even at her most hungry, Kate’s cookie-eating record never broke seventeen cookies in a single sitting. The end product of the baking wasn’t the point, really. She baked because it gave her something to do, something to occupy her hands as she tried to plan her next steps. The night was still young, and she wasn’t sure she’d made any progress with Clark earlier. Sure, he’d been slightly nicer to her than he was this morning, but he hadn’t seemed any more sympathetic to Christmas or the cause of saving the festival. She certainly had her work cut out for her. If a redecorated house, a feast and a visit to the river didn’t convince him, what would?

“Smells good in here.”

The steaming tray of cookies in Kate’s hands almost went flying across the room as a voice from the door behind her spooked her straight out of her skin.

“Sorry, sorry! Did I scare you?”

“I don’t know.” She dropped the steaming plate of cookies onto the counter as her free hand flew to her chest. She could feel her pounding heartbeat. Like being faked out by a horror movie jump-scare, Kate couldn’t help but chuckle even as she shivered in fear. “Maybe you should ask my ghost. You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

Clark hovered in the doorway, halfway into the kitchen and halfway out, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to fully engage with her. Since waking to find him precisely nowhere in his own house, Kate assumed Clark had been hiding from her to avoid any more Christmas talk, despite his promise to at least try and enjoy her company. Thinking he hated her and her holiday so much had stung, and his arrival here and now soothed the wounds only slightly. To his credit, Clark gave off a sufficiently sheepish air. He filled the room with his uncertainty.

“I smelled cookies.”

Oh. A stab of disappointment shot straight up Kate’s arm, following the flow of her blood until it pierced and filled her heart. He hadn’t come because he wanted to talk to her or come out of hiding. She’d angered him with more supposed “waste” of his family’s resources. Kate turned her back on him. If he wanted to chew her out, fine. But she didn’t have to pay attention. She transferred the steaming cookies from the baking sheet to the cooling rack she’d found in the back of a dusty cabinet.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t spend any of your money to make them.”

“No, that’s not why I’m here. I just wanted one.”

“Really?”

“I like sugar cookies.” He shrugged. “Is that a crime?”