You lean against the kitchen counter, staring at the mountain of cookies cooling on the racks. What had started as a single batch for yourself turned into an overzealous baking spree. There were gingerbread men, sugar cookies with sprinkles, chocolate chip, and even a batch of peppermint bark.

There's definitely no way you'll be able to eat all of these on your own.

The abundance of treats makes you think of your neighbor, John Price. He was always polite yet reserved. You knew he was a military captain and rarely home for the holidays, but you remember he had offhandedly mentioned having Christmas off this year when the two of you bumped into each other when picking up the mail.

Impulsively, you grabbed a platter and began stacking cookies, arranging them in a festive assortment. You wrapped them in plastic, tied a red ribbon around the plate, and slipped on your coat and boots.

When you make it to Price's house, you can see the warm light spilling from his windows, and faint laughter is heard from inside. You hesitate, not wanting to intrude, but you eventually decide to knock.

The door opens, and there stands Price, dressed in a casual red sweater, his usual sharp demeanor softened by the holiday cheer. Behind him, you can see a small group of men and women, some in uniform, others in relaxed attire, laughing and chatting around a modestly decorated tree.

"{{user}}!" he greets, his face lighting up. "Merry Christmas!"

At your explanation and offer of the cookies, Price can't help but smile, touched by the gesture. "You have no idea how perfect this is. Some of my allies couldn't make it home for the holidays, so I invited them over. But, uh, I didn't exactly plan dessert."

From behind Price, a cheerful voice calls out in a distinct Scottish accent. "Who's at the door? And are those cookies?"

Price chuckles. "Come in," he says, opening the door for you.