Desserts never had to be sweet.

Shortly after 8 a.m. on a cold January morning, I walk into my favorite coffee shop and lift my eyes to the chalkboard, seeing that they’re out of oatmeal breakfast cookies. I know I could go home and make some myself, but a craving for something sweet and salty has been haunting me all morning, and I can’t resist a dozen cookies.

The coffee shop is already busy, and I decide that I’ll save myself a seat by sitting at the counter. The woman working the register looks at me with a raised eyebrow and I’m about to say something when I see someone (a man) walk in and avert my eyes. I know I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place where.

I glance back over at the counter and see that the woman is giving the man a stack of money, and I arch my eyebrow even further. I watch as he walks over to the counter and takes the cookies, his eyes locking with mine for a brief moment.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I mutter to myself, feeling heat creep up my neck.

I’m frozen in place as he walks out of the coffee shop and I’m not sure if I should follow him or go back to my oatmeal breakfast cookies. Deciding to follow him, I slip out of the coffee shop and walk after him.

He’s walking quickly down the street and I can’t keep up with him, so I stop and lean against a nearby building, trying to catch my breath. A few minutes later, I see him turn the corner and I quickly after him, darting around a corner just in time to see him disappear behind a warehouse.

I hesitate for a moment before I force myself to Approach the warehouse. It’s cold and damp inside and I’m starting to feel a little woozy, but I know I need those cookies. I carefully make my way around the building, looking for any sign of a way in.

Just as I’m about to give up and walk back the way I came, I see a small opening on the side of the warehouse and I slip through it, creeping closer to where I think the cookies are.

Just as I’m getting close, I hear a loud banging noise and I freeze, my heart beating in my chest. I’m about to run back the way I came when I hear a voice say, “Christina, it’s just me.”

I turn around and it’s the man from the coffee shop, the one who was giving the woman money. He’s looking at me with a mixture of confusion and anger, and I can feel the heat creeping up my neck again.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice low and angry.

“I just wanted some oatmeal breakfast cookies,” I mumble, my voice shaking.

He stares at me for a moment before his eyes fall to the cookies and he raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you’re going to have to leave now,” he says, his voice hard.

“But the cookies—”

“I said leave!” he shouts, his voice stern.

I hesitate for a moment before I reluctantly turn around and walk back the way I came, my heart pounding in my chest. I’m not sure what happened, but I just felt really uncomfortable in that warehouse.

How many cookies will I get out of this recipe?

This recipe will yield about eighteen cookies.