"Come on in," Carol said as she ushered Harriet inside with flour-dusted hands. "I've already got all the ingredients laid out for us, so we can get right to it."

"Thanks a bunch for inviting me," Harriet said.

For someone who always seemed so put together, Carol sure didn't keep her house clean. Harriet tiptoed around the clutter scattered across the floor, wincing as a stray Lego dug into her foot. Dark stains melded together on the carpet, filling Harriet's nose with what could best be described as the offspring of unwashed gym socks and lima beans left to rot in some forgotten corner. That was par for the course considering she had a kid, but the worn carpet marking the path to the kitchen was not.

All that was before she'd even set foot in the kitchen itself.

A heap of batter-stained bowls lay in the sink, and the countertops glistened with spilled sugar. Gone was the putrid scent of the rest of the house, replaced by the aromas of the baked goods beckoning to Harriet from inside precariously piled Tupperware. It took all of her willpower not to ask for a sample of the turnovers topped with a lemon drizzle.

"Wow, you've been keeping busy," she said as Carol bustled around the kitchen, snatching ingredients out of cupboards.

"I've snagged a bunch of new clients. You know how the holidays are." Carol heaved a thick cookbook onto the countertop with a grunt. Her fingers caressed the pages with the familiarity and tenderness of a lover. "Now that Ryan is out of the house, I finally have the entire kitchen to myself. I'd live here if I could."

"I don't doubt that." Harriet eyed the mess surrounding her as if she'd be swallowed up by a rogue clump of batter at any moment. "I can help you tidy up a bit before we get started if you'd like."

"I wouldn't."

"But it'll take time to get everything measured. Can't I just—"

Carol shot her a look that could curdle cream. "Do you want to bake or not? These cookies aren't going to make themselves, you know."

Harriet held up her hands. "Sorry, I just wanted to help out a little."

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the profoundly agitated look lingered on Carol's face. What had happened to the cheerful woman she used to know, always as sweet as peaches and cream? The divorce had left hard lines in her forehead where there'd been none before and hidden away the joyful dimples that had often softened her cheeks.

Carol nodded curtly. "You can help by giving this a read." She gestured to a recipe annotated with a tightly looping scrawl.

"Butter cookies, hm?" Simple, yet classic. It might not be as exciting as what Carol usually shared with everyone, but it suited Harriet just fine to stick to something basic. The last thing she wanted was to get in Carol's way and make her even more upset.

"Not just any old butter cookies. Read this."

Unlike the other notes, this one leaped from the page in bright red cursive with an asterisk scribbled beside it. Harriet's brows knitted together. "This sounds like it expects the dough to give me therapy."

"It'll do much better than that," Carol said with a chuckle. "You tell it what's bothering you, and I swear this dough will make you feel better lickety-split!"

"If you say so."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it. And it works for any other recipe, too. This is just the first one Grandma tried it with, and I thought it might help you, too." She laid a hand over Harriet's as warmth seeped back into her voice. "With all that's been goin' on, I figure you could use some help."

"I dunno..."

"How about this: you can watch me do that part. Then, if you're up for it, you can give it a try."

That seemed reasonable enough.

Despite the culinary chaos surrounding them, Carol measured out all of the ingredients with quick precision. "Why don't you go ahead and pick out which shapes we'll make?" She waved over to a bag of discs sitting beside a cookie press.

Sam would have gotten an absolute kick out of this. Flowers, Christmas trees, and countless other tantalizing possibilities clattered onto the counter as she emptied the bag to take a closer look. "Do daisies sound good?"

"Can't go wrong with anything. A cookie's a cookie no matter how it's shaped." The warm smell of vanilla filled the kitchen as she measured out a tablespoon. "Time to show you how this works."

Carol grabbed a fork as if she was selecting a weapon to march into battle with. Softened butter crumbled beneath the tines as she pressed down on it. "I'm sick of Ryan telling me how I should raise my kid," she grumbled. "As if I need advice from someone who can't even make toast without just about catching everything on fire."

Her grip tightened until her knuckles turned white. "And I swear if I see him with that Wendy chick one more time, I'm going to lose it! It sure didn't take him long to find himself some arm candy."

If it weren't for the fact Carol was stabbing the dough so violently she was afraid of getting elbowed, Harriet would have embraced her. Knowing the divorce had been hard on her friend was one thing; hearing her voice hitch as tears cascaded into the dough was another. This wasn't just your average stress baking. This was something raw and unfiltered like the bitterness of cacao nibs before they were processed into chocolate.

As Carol vented her frustrations and sent crumbles of batter flying out of the trembling bowl, the deep wrinkles in her forehead flattened. With each stab of the fork, tension left her shoulders until they were as loose as Sam's shoelaces after his inexperienced attempts to tie them.

"Your turn," Carol said numbly as she handed Harriet the fork. She'd been gripping the metal so hard it had left indentations on her fingers, and it was warm to the touch.

Harriet stayed silent.

It wasn't that she couldn't think of anything to rant about. Heavens, where would she even begin? Frank had about as much backbone as overcooked spaghetti when he was at work, and the deepening darkness around his eyes told her she wasn't the only one who wished he'd stand up for himself. Poor Sam shouldn't have to name a toy after his dad just so he could feel like he actually got to spend time with him.

And that was without even bringing her parents into the equation.

She just couldn't bring herself to let it all out, not even to a bowl full of dough that couldn't even think about judging her.

Not yet, at least.

Even without venting her frustrations, Harriet relaxed as she mixed the dough. Gone were her usual worries about her family. Now she could just take it easy for a while. Sneaking herself a taste of the dough didn't hurt either.

"There's always next time," Carol said as she loaded the dough into the cookie press. Not even the ghost of a frown crossed her face as she fought to squeeze out decent-looking cookies. Sometimes only crumbles came out. Other times, what should have been a dainty daisy plopped down as a formless blob.

Together, the women decorated the batch of misshapen cookies with a rainbow of sprinkles before putting them in the oven. They certainly wouldn't be the prettiest thing either of them had ever baked, but that didn't matter. The cookies could come out as dark as charcoal for all they cared. They just needed to unwind for a while.

"Thank you so much for inviting me over," Harriet said. Her smile was as warm as the freshly baked cookies crumbling in her mouth. "If there's ever anything I can do for you, give me a holler, okay?"

"Don't mention it," Carol said. Her lips quirked upward, but that was all.

"Seriously, I needed this." After wiping the last of the sprinkles off her hands, Harriet wrapped Carol in a tight hug.

Carol's arms circled her loosely, as if she only knew the bare mechanics of what a hug entailed. "Nothing cookies can't cure."

The embrace ended all too soon as Carol drifted back to the cookbook. The pages fluttered as her fingers danced through them.

"Shouldn't you clean up a bit? You know what a bitch caked on gunk can be."

Carol barely spared her a glance. "I need to figure out what I'm going to bake for Peter when he gets back from his father's."

"That won't do you much good if you don't have anything to bake with." Harriet gathered everything they'd used, sneaking a couple stray bowls and utensils into the pile. It would barely make a dent in the clutter, but the least she could do was help her tidy up a smidge.

If Carol heard her, she gave no indication of it. She silently scribbled down a shopping list as Harriet wished whatever was bothering her friend was as easy to scrub away as the clumps of hardened dough breaking off in the sink.