Ursula rapped her knuckles on the bathroom door. "Tato? Will you hurry up?" She was eager to shower, having woken up covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her sheets tangled around her legs. Her father seemed to be getting more and more stingy with the air conditioning, even as it got hotter and hotter outside.

"Actually, it's Peter."

"Oh!" Ursula felt like slapping herself, even though his voice had sounded amused, not annoyed. "I'm so sorry, I'll wait!"

"It's fine, I'm done anyway." The doorknob rattled and then Peter was standing there, dressed, but still toweling off his dripping hair. Ursula's neck flushed with heat, and she tried to smooth her tangled hair.

He slung the towel over his shoulder. "That's the third cold shower I've taken this week. And it's Tuesday!"

Ursula opened her mouth to respond, but downstairs the front door slammed shut. Tato tromped up the stairs, the plastic bags in his hand rustling.

"Where were you?" she asked.

Tato raised the bags and shook them. "Buying groceries we barely have money for." He stopped to catch his breath on the landing. "Maybe if Peter here paid rent…"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I've already paid you in advance, Mr. Ditkovich."

Tato curled his lip. "So ungrateful. If you ask me, it should be you giving us cookies by now."

"I like baking for you, Peter," Ursula said quickly, and she meant it. Whenever Tato was out, there was nothing she liked more than to open a window and let in the noise of the city as she worked on some dough or another. She'd never used to do that before Peter had moved in; she'd only ever baked for Tato when he was home, and he didn't like the window open.

"Maybe you should start charging," Peter said with wide eyes.

Ursula smiled weakly as she imagined anyone being willing to pay for treats she'd made.

"Now there's an idea!" Tato said, a finger aimed at Peter. "If I'm not going to get any grandchildren out of this–" he rustled in the bags to hold up the flour– "I might as well turn a profit!"

"Tato!" Ursula's cheeks burned as she followed him into their apartment and shut the door, leaving Peter alone on the landing.

"Why'd you have to say that about grandchildren? What's the matter with you?" Ursula thought of the engagement ring on Peter's finger, and the diamonds on its pair that sometimes glinted red-orange when Mary Jane ran her fingers through her hair.

Tato dumped the groceries onto the counter. "What's the matter with me is that water heater! Can you believe he wants $500 to fix that little leak? I could buy a new one for that!"

Ursula snatched up the flour and put it in its place on the shelf. "Why don't you?" Her voice was stern. "It's not just a little leak, and who knows how old that thing is?"

"Because," Tato said, "we don't have $500 to do that, or to fix it." He sat down at the table like a sack of bricks. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "You know that as well as I do."

Ursula swallowed her contention and hovered quietly by the shelf, watching him.

He stood and put a warm hand on her shoulder, then slumped off to watch TV.

With her hair wrapped up in a towel, Ursula covered the final bare half of a rectangular cookie with yellow icing. Her hair was probably dry by now, but since starting, she hadn't cared enough to bother breaking her focus on account of the towel.

With the batch done, she reached up and unwrapped her hair with icing-caked hands. Her blonde tresses flopped down onto her neck.

Having washed her hands in water cold enough to make her fingers stiff, brushed her hair, and summed up her courage, Ursula knocked on Peter's door. Her other hand balanced a plate of the cookies.

The door opened to reveal the fair face of Mary Jane. "Hi!" she said, her cheeks dimpling with her smile. She opened the door further. "Ursula, right?"

Ursula nodded, her smile fading a bit as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She suddenly wished she wasn't quite so skinny, and had made something a bit more impressive than sugar cookies.

Peter stepped into view. He was wearing that soft gray sweater—at least, Ursula thought it looked soft. He looked nice—plain, but nice—but Ursula wondered if he wasn't too warm. Maybe he was used to being warm from having to wear that Spidey suit under everything, or maybe it was a perk of his powers. Did spiders mind extreme temperatures? She wished she could ask him.

Peter's eyes landed on the plate in Ursula's hand, and the corners of his mouth turned up. "You made me more cookies?"

Ursula nodded, holding them out. "That's the Ukraine flag on top. It's August 23, Flag Day. It just started last year, so I've never actually been in Ukraine for it."

Peter took the plate. "They look great, Ursula."

"You must always be baking," commented MJ. "It feels like every time I come over Peter has a new batch." Her red hair swung with as she shook her head in disbelief.

Ursula shrugged. "It doesn't take me that long."

"Do you make them for a lot of people?"

"Um," Ursula tucked her hair behind her ear. "No, mostly Pete."

MJ smiled at her again, but Ursula shrunk under her gaze. Her eyes had turned cold, like green mint. Ursula remembered the SPIDEY SCORES article two months ago; Peter's upside-down kiss with that girl. Did MJ not trust Peter's faithfulness to her? Ursula looked over at him. In all his years living at the apartment, the only other females than MJ to set foot in his room had been Ursula and his Aunt May. And he'd never given Ursula so much as a second glance.

Ursula met MJ's gaze again. She wanted to say something, anything, but the pause in conversation was already too long and lengthened every second. Besides, if MJ didn't trust Peter, she certainly wouldn't trust Ursula's defense of him.

"Okay, well, bye," Ursula said. "Enjoy the cookies." She attempted a smile and ducked back into her and Tato's apartment