Janet by Peggy Webb Page B

love
differently.”
    She noticed his slight hesitation on the word
love. For some reason, it gave her pleasure.
    “Thank you, Dan.”
    “This is getting easier all the time. You
accept apologies very graciously.”
    She gave him a wicked grin. “Would you like
to make up now?”
    “I’m not sure I can be trusted.”
    She chuckled. “Over a plate of cookies.”
    “Ahh, Doc. How you disappoint me!” His
exuberant, teasing, good humor returned. “Cookies are second best,
but they will be an acceptable substitute.”
    “Good. You wait right there.”
    “Are they chocolate chip?”
    “No. Peanut butter.”
    “One of my favorites.”
    “I’ll be right back.” Janet escaped to the
kitchen and leaned against the counter until she could regulate her
heartbeat. Dan wasn’t just a man sitting in her apartment: he was a
presence that filled it. A woman could get used to having a man
like that around, a big, vibrant man who wore life like a charm
around his neck.
    She left her resting place at the kitchen
counter and took the bag of cookies out of the pantry. Just like
home-baked. That’s what Mr. Jed had said about them.
    Suddenly she smiled. Why not? She arranged
the cookies on a platter and threw the bag into the garbage can.
Then she poured two big glasses of milk and went back into the
sitting room.
    “Here you are, Dan. Freshly baked today.”
    “You baked cookies?”
    “Yes. This afternoon.” Her conscience twinged
only a little bit. She
had
baked cookies. Four batches.
All of them unspeakably bad. But Dan didn’t have to know that. She
was out to teach him a lesson.
    He took a handful and settled back in his
chair with his glass of milk.
    “Hmm, these are delicious.”
    “I thought so, too.” She sipped her milk and
watched him over the rim of her glass.
    “There’s nothing like home-baked cookies on a
rainy day to make a man feel good.”
    “You’re very easy to please.”
    He ate two more cookies. “Not every woman can
make cookies like this.”
    “I agree.” Wholeheartedly. She was one of
those women who couldn’t. She suppressed her smile and egged him
on. “I spent all afternoon baking.”
    He held up one perfect cookie. “Doc, these
are worth an afternoon’s work. Don’t you agree?”
    “Absolutely.”
    He took another bite. “Hmm. Pure gold. I’d
give these cookies a blue ribbon.”
    She couldn’t hold back her laughter any
longer. It spilled out in a merry peal.
    “I knew you’d be pleased with the compliment,
but I didn’t know you’d be that tickled.”
    She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.
“You should see your face.”
    “My face? What about my face?” Suspicious
now, he set his glass of milk aside and stood up.
    “You look so smug, and I-told-you-so.”
    “About what?”
    “The cookies.”
    “Well, Doc. I think you did a great job
baking them.”
    “I didn’t bake them.”
    “You said you did.”
    “No. I said they were baked this afternoon
and that I baked all afternoon.”
    The light was beginning to dawn. He sank back
into his chair and looked at the cookie in his hand. “You didn’t
bake these?”
    “No. These were made by the experts at
Kroger’s who make their living baking cookies for people like me
who are both too busy and too inept to provide goodies for
themselves.”
    “I see.”
    “Not yet, you don’t.” She got up off the sofa
and took his hand. “Come with me.”
    In the kitchen she opened the pantry door and
pulled out her garbage can. Then she whisked off the lid and
pointed dramatically. “There. The results of my first and only
attempt at home-baked cookies.”
    Dan eyed the pile of burned crusts and broken
crumbs and soggy dough. As he gazed into the garbage can he had a
sudden vision of Doc in the kitchen with flour on her nose, trying
to make sense out of recipes and mixing bowls and baking pans. All
that must have been as foreign to her as performing surgery would
be to him. And yet she had tried. For him.
    His heart jumped