Mary pushed the door open before Sadie reached the bottom step, holding out her hands for the covered plate.

“You tell your mother I could smell these coming across the street before you got to the curb,” Mary called over to me through the quiet snow.

“She put three whole teaspoons of cinnamon in!” Sadie said, up on her tiptoes on Mary’s bristly welcome mat.

“That’s exactly how a winter cookie is supposed to be made,” Mary said, resting her hands flat on her knees as she bent down to Sadie’s level.

“Is your grandfather’s truck still parked across the drive?”