“Leave it,” I instructed her. I didn’t want her thinking she had to make a fuss over the mess, and I absolutely didn’t want to give off the impression I expected a woman to clean up anything in my kitchen. “It’s the least I could do,” she said with a soft smile. “Thank you for setting this up. I can’t remember the last time I made Christmas cookies for fun. I used to do it with my parents all the time before the divorce.” Her little smile evened out.
