The powdery mess of clouds of flour, splatters of batter, and icing-coated countertops made you laugh.

Your dad would've been livid if he caught even a glance at the mess his kitchen currently was as a result of you and Joan — had he not of been passed out upstairs from a hangover.

You only hoped that what little cookies made it into the oven tasted good.

"Silly girl." Flour-clad lips curved into a smile against Joan's from where you were perched on the counter at the title of endearment.