“What those anti-cookie-baking mothers wanted me to do was turn baseball into soccer.”

“I have cookies.”“Cookies?” My brows rose.“Yeah, and I made them. I’m quite the baker.” For some reason, I couldn’t picture that. “You baked cookies?”“I bake a lot of things, and I’m sure you’re dying to know all about those things. But tonight, it was chocolate and walnut cookies. They are the shit if I do say so myself.”

“She baked you cookies!' he repeated as if I'd missed the importance. 'So what?' I turned to get my bag, but Tim blocked my way.'She wants to have your babies.”

“Books lined the shelves of bookstores like kids standing in a row to play baseball or soccer, and mine was the gangly, unathletic kid that no one wanted on their team.”

“More of a cookie person, myself. No offense to the other baked goods. I just like cookies.”

“We'll either come to a mutual understanding of one another, or he's going to kill me and chop me up into tiny pieces and bake me into cookie.”