“Baking soda,” she held out a hand behind her back, expectantly waiting for him to place the canister in her palm.
“Are you sure it’s not baking powder?”
“Fine, gotcha.” Placing the needed item in her palm with a small smirk she couldn’t see, he watched as she measured out a teaspoon’s worth with more precision than she displayed in the field, and she hadn’t even gotten to the actual baking part yet.
“So, cookies for dinner.”
“Cookies for dinner,” she nodded, brow knitted, obviously ridiculously intense over her baking, something she insisted he asked for, though she did have several takeout options nearby.
“Excellent.” Arching back against the counter to watch her steal just a few chocolate chips from the bag before dumping it into the batter, he withheld a laugh, situation calling back just enough memories to remind him of her first cookie adventures, when they were fake married and no one walked her down the aisle, despite Callen offering to shortly before the op began.
She teared up again, when he held her hand over her thigh in the car, firm hold pulling more words out of her, and a few tears.
“It’ll be perfect even if I walk myself,” she’d tossed out, words a cross between humor and course honesty, paired with a small smile turned his way.
“It’ll be perfect because it’s us, even if you don’t take my advice on the outfit,” he had murmured, simultaneously lifting her hand and leaning across the car to kiss it.
“Just don’t expect this every night.”
“Cookies for dinner? But I’m feeling quite pampered.”
“You get to do the dishes.”
“Fair enough,” leaning forward and pressing his lips lightly to her temple, he took in a breath that was equal parts her shampoo and cookie batter, purely, utterly Kensi. “This is perfect anyway.”