Robert Singer had no problem being the first to say he was insanely lucky. He was astounded by his wife's perfection on any given day, but he was aware of it all that little bit more when she would cook, and even more so when she would bake.

If he had to chose, he would probably say that pies were her specialty. What that woman could do with a pie crust. But cookies, especially Christmas cookies, were a close second. Pretty much the day after Thanksgiving she would start, making everything from regular chocolate chip cookies to sugar cookies; chocolate peanut butter cookies, jam thumbprints, pizzelles, chocolate crinkles and white mice. All got their turn in the cookie jar.

He liked to watch the process, too. He'd help occasionally, laying out ingredients or stirring something or scooping cookie dough onto pans, but mostly she wanted him out of her way, which was alright by him. She was a fiend in the kitchen, really. He wasn't sure how she kept track of so much at the same time, but somehow the woman could be baking one set of cookies while stirring up a second batch and decorating a third, all without a single burnt tray or misplaces ingredient.

It was not uncommon for her to find him in the kitchen late at night, cookie jar open and a tall glass of milk in front of him. First she would tut and scold, but she always ended up eating a few herself, too, with a cute grin and chocolate-flavored kiss that completely ruined her argument.

Yep, Bobby was a lucky man, there was no doubt about that. He couldn't fathom ever finding a woman he loved more.