“You know, it’s not so bad. I don’t see what the fuss is all about yet, but I’m warming up to it. Keep feeding me these cookies and maybe I’ll like it even more.”

In a few swift movements, he placed the full baking sheet into the oven and plucked a few cookies off of the cooling rack.

“The good news is that we’ll have enough cookies to last us three lifetimes.”

“You don’t know how many cookies I can eat.”

He handed her a stack of five cookies, and Kate’s stomach both curdled and leapt for joy. The idea of so many cookies was appealing, but the reality frightened her stomach. She almost refused the gift. Then, the smell hit her. She was powerless to the combination of sugar and butter cooked to warm perfection.

“If I eat more than twenty, drop a piano on my head,” she encouraged, accepting the stack. “It’s the only way to stop me once I get into a feeding frenzy.”

“Deal.” He laughed, a sound sweeter than any cookies.

They snacked in silence. Though this huge revelation hung between them, things seemed less fraught between them. Still, Kate couldn’t help but sink in the sadness she’d heard in his voice. Cookies weren’t enough to erase that memory.

“Hey, Clark?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“What do you remember about Christmas? You said you don’t remember much. Do you remember anything?”

Clark hesitated, then shook his head. “I haven’t thought about it in so long.”

“Do you want to remember? You don’t have to. I know it’s hard,” she assured him.

Kate thought of her parents every day. She couldn’t imagine the pain of wanting to forget them, of hiding away at boarding school so no one could make you think of them.

“I remember…” Clark bit his bottom lip. His hands flexed. He leaned against the counter for support. A tiny, tiny smile glowed on his softened face. “My mother’s perfume. Tuberose, I think. I remember them dragging me to go caroling. Every year, my mom would make a tub of hot cocoa and my dad would help her make cookies and we’d walk through the neighborhood caroling. None of us could sing, really. Dad was the worst of us, but it didn’t matter. It was fun.” He lost himself in the thoughts of his past. “When my mom would tuck me in on Christmas Eve, I remember she’d light a candle and put it on my windowsill. She told me it was so Santa knew where to find me.”

“Those are beautiful memories.”