Unnecessary, by James A. Tweedie

There was a knock. It was Marta from next door holding a plate of cookies so fresh from the oven I could smell the sweetness of the chocolate chips even before I opened the door. “Here,” she said with a smile. “I baked them this morning to say ‘Thank you’ for feeding Daisy last week.” “Oh,” I said, “It wasn’t any trouble, but you didn’t need to bake cookies.” Marta frowned. “Then I guess I’ll just take them home for Robert to eat.” “You don’t need to do that, either, “I winked. “Come in and I’ll fix some coffee.”