her mouth half-open, summer declared "wrong." there wasn't disappointment in her voice. hell, this batch was actually really good. "these are almost better." but it didn't matter if the cookie she was looking for tasted good--that wasn't why summer had asked ingrid to try and find the family recipie. she just missed crispin. and even though getting the right cookie wouldn't make her miss him any less, she felt like she needed it.
summer had enough vision that she could sense the moment in front of her as ingrid worked at the counter. they still had six batches to try before it was back to ingrid's mental drawing board. "i don't like his nurse." the woman who now came to their home daily to check on tubes and vitals and tut-tut at the poor blind girl and her sick husband.
@ingridhawkins / making christmas cookies












