Rowan’s hands pressed into the dough as she rolled the pin back and forth, green frosting streaked across the table.

“Sampson Anthony Watkins.”

She didn’t look up. Her voice was cheerful — dangerously so.

“Put the cookie down.”

Sam grinned, inching the Christmas tree cookie closer to his mouth.

“Relax, Ro! It’s just one cookie—”

POP.

The sound cracked through the kitchen.

Rowan and Sam both froze.

Slowly, they turned.

Micah stood there, silent.

Green frosting dripped from his hair, his apron, his sleeves. A burst piping bag hung limply in his hand.

There was a beat of complete silence.

Sam stared.

Rowan blinked once.

Then Rowan sighed, trying not to laugh.

“…Micah.”

Micah looked down at himself.

“…I squeezed too hard.”

Sam burst out laughing — and immediately took a bite of the cookie.

Rowan didn’t even bother turning back.

“I warned you.”

(Every year, my family makes Christmas cookies.There’s frosting everywhere, someone always ignores the rules, and somehow the piping bag never survives. So I made an illustration of it with some of my new book characters)