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“Then it can be ours.”

“You made one giant cookie so you could call it romantic?”

“Is it working?”

“A little,” she admitted, trying not to smile.

“I’m just trying to contribute to the romance. Put the romance in. . . romantic science.” He winked at her.

“By making one giant cookie?”

“Exactly.”

“We’ve officially reached homemade cookies,” Claire said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re a very serious couple.”

“Does it?”

“I don’t bake cookies with just anybody.”

Noah looked at her. “Good.”

She smiled at him. He smiled back. They slid the tray in the oven. Claire checked the timer. “Twelve minutes.”

“Now what?”

“We wait.”

“Does that mean we should make out?”

Claire’s stomach flipped at the suggestion, even though she knew he was only joking.

“Noah!” She playfully hit his arm.

“I’m kidding. Should we stare at the oven?”

“That seems excessive.”

They both stood there for a moment anyway.

Then Noah stole a tiny bit of leftover dough.

“Did you just eat raw cookie dough?” she asked.

“No.”

“I watched you.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Claire ate a little too. “You’re a bad influence.”

“You came over here uninvited and took over my kitchen.”

“You didn’t stop me.”