“Did you make these?” He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Got a good recipe on the internet. Not a big deal.” I blinked, as if that would somehow make this make sense. “You baked for me?” My inner lovesick teen girl was squealing with delight. “I thought you could use a cozy fire too.” He rounded his car and opened the hatch. “So I brought firewood.”
