The Love Ingredient

Taking my hand,
she walked with me
over to the warm stove,
a smile upon our faces.

Her small hands grabbed a flat pan,
the sharp knife, the soft cylinder
of cookie dough.

She hoisted me up by my arms,
her teeth shimmering,
and sat me on top of the counter.

My glee was apparent,
the grin on my face just wouldn't leave.

She cut the dough, handing me small pieces
of deliciousness,
which I quickly devoured,
forgetting my manners.

I helped put some dough
on the plate, though
I was eating another piece at the time.

The pan was full of peanut-butter flavored cookie dough.
She hooked her hands underneath my arms,
her smile never faltering, and I stood on the ground once again
with a thud.

She told me to stay back
unless I wanted to get burned.
I remembered what happened to my thumb last year
so I stepped awayas she got her mitts on
and slipped the pan into the oven
carefully.

We sat at the table
and joked and laughed
until we heard a bing from the stove.

I jumped up and ran
to look through the window
at the finished cookies.

She repeated hr warning as she pulled them out,
the tantalizing aroma meeting my nostrils hungrily.

We put them on a plat and
waited till they cooled,
still smiling and laughing and hugging
while we ate.