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“I was going to make those whether you came over or not.” She points a gloved finger at me.

“I guess we’ll never know.” I lift a cookie off the plate and take a bite.

She narrows her eyes at me.

“You are just as stubborn as your grandfather.”

“I’ve heard that before.” I say it around the cookie.

She disappears inside, and I know exactly what she’s doing. Thirty seconds later she returns holding an envelope, waving it at me like a flag.

“Nope.” I hold up both hands and back down a porch step.

“You don’t even know what’s in it.” She follows, envelope out in front of her.

“Yes I do.”

“You don’t.” She closes the gap, quick for a woman in gardening clogs.

“It’s cash.”

She stops, sighs dramatically, and gives the envelope a little shake.

“I don’t want your money.”

“And I don’t want to feel like I took advantage of my favorite firefighter.” She holds it out with both hands now, pushing it toward my chest.

“You didn’t.” I slide my hands into my pockets where she can’t get to them.

“You gave up your morning.” She taps the envelope against my arm.

“I had the morning off.”

“You could’ve spent it doing something fun.” Another tap, insistent.

“I did.”

She crosses her arms, the envelope still pinched in one fist. “Digging holes is fun?”

“I kind of like digging holes.” I shrug.

She stares at me for a long second.

“I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong with you.”

“I’ve heard that before too.” I rub the back of my neck.

She laughs, finally slipping the envelope back into her apron pocket.

“Fine.” She throws up the freed hand.

“I’ll take another cookie though.” I tip my head toward the plate.

“I knew you’d come around.” She picks up the plate and holds it out to me, satisfied.

She hands me the plate full of cookies, and I don’t even pretend to refuse this time.

Oatmeal raisin.