I inch up just close enough to the curb. I can barely sit still in the driver's seat before I throw myself out of my seatbelt and race up the auburn-pained ramp to the little white house. I knock softly on the opaque glass, knowing my knock isn’t even necessary, because Mrs. Dillner will be sitting there waiting for me anyway. Sure enough, I hear the croak of a “come in” from down the hall. 

I tip toe in with excitement. She’s smiling in her wheelchair and I smile back even harder. She immediately opens her arms and I don’t hesitate to bend down to give her the world’s biggest hug. Never in a million years would I have dreamed of this bond I now shared with Mrs. Dillner. Just months ago, I sat in front of my computer, typing my name under ‘clean Mrs. Dillner’s house’ expecting to be put to work and ignored after that. Now, I look around, admiring the hundreds of letters, pictures, and artwork framing her amazing life. She notices and suggests, “should we get started?”

“Oh course!” I grin. I already know where her favorite cookbook is and I promptly open up to our page Peanut Butter Cookies and lay the recipe on her lap so she can read me the ingredients. By now I’ve memorized them, but she still likes to follow along and guide me as I prepare. 

As I cream the sugar and butter in a ceramic bowl, she explains that her daughter will be taking these cookies down to her grandsons, so they are very very special. 

Soon, the dough comes together—our favorite part of the process. 

“We’ve outdone ourselves!” Mrs. Dillner exclaims. 

I laugh. “You say that every time!” 

“Okay, well, this time I’m serious.” 

The smell of warm cookies pours into every room. I leave with a few cookies in a little Ziplock bag, gone before I even make it back home. But this is not what I came here for— I came for the love swirling around the room, engulfing us both with laughter and smiles.