Affogato Cookie X Reader Novels & Stories

CLAIRE'S POV: Jennifer’s cookies were ridiculously good—crispy on the edges, soft in the center, and just the right amount of chocolate. We sat cross-legged on the kitchen stools, laughing over a meme she’d shown me while munching through our third batch. "You know," she said, licking a crumb off her thumb, "if I ever open a bakery, I’m naming it ‘Jennifer’s Justified Cravings.’" I chuckled. "You’d have to give me lifetime access. These cookies are basically therapy."

The names leapt out at me like ghosts—affogato, tiramisu, almond croissant. Julia used to say “affogato” like it was a spell. I caught myself smiling. Across from me, Terra tilted her head. “What’s funny?” “Nothing,” I said, closing the menu. “Just a memory.” She hummed faintly. “You’re a hard person to read sometimes.” “Maybe that’s a good thing.” “Maybe,” she said, smiling without warmth. When the food came, she barely touched it. She picked at the leaves on her plate, glanced at her reflection in the window, sipped water like she was counting calories in the air.

"These are oatmeal chocoochips and these are ginger cookies. Are you allergic to anything?" "Nothing."." Antony replied and took the chocoochips. "These are really good." Her praise was sincere. "I'll tell my mom. Want me to refill it?" she offered, looking at Antony's glass. Antony shook his head. "No, this is enough." He said. Claire nodded and sat back down. "So, you've started courting Flavia?" She asked as she took a cookie for herself. The man nodded. "Thanks to Abigail, she helped me make progress." Antony's praise was sincere.

"What about you? You live with Niccolo?" "No, no. I have a bachelor pad about 30 minutes' drive from here," Alessio nodded, momentarily looking out at the January snow covering the houses. "A bachelor pad," She inquired with a raised eyebrow. "Very...masculine," A chuckle escaped Alessio at her words as she offered him a dimpled smile, getting up before returning with a tray of cookies. "Why do you make so many cookies, Tia?" He bit into the crunchy gooey chocolate chip cookie, never being able to resist the temptation.

"And who is this handsome young man?" "Maria, this is Leo," I introduced softly. "Leo, this is Maria. She makes the absolute best chocolate chip cookies in the entire world." Leo peeked out a fraction more, his dark eyes locking onto Maria. The mention of cookies sparked a tiny, undeniable glimmer of interest. "With extra chocolate?" he asked, his voice a fragile whisper. "As much chocolate as you can possibly eat, mi cielo," Maria beamed, tears of pure joy glittering in her eyes. "I have a fresh batch waiting in the kitchen right now."

she cut in sharply, creasing her brow. He raised a brow at her, "Why? You haven't even tasted it." "Because I love my swallow," Cookie said and they both chuckled. "So you like Eba?" He asked and she gave a nod with her head. "Wow, it's hard to see a girl who can proudly say that," he said, "I can already see signs that you are different," he complimented. Cookie subconsciously blushed lightly with a smile. "So what about you, don't you like eba?" She asked curiously.

The Chestnut soup I wanted to bring it at the very start was already half done when I turned to the dessert. I had opted to make Affogato, made with hot espresso poured over vanilla ice-cream which was an all-time favourite and barely required any time. I usually topped it up with whatever I felt like, chocolate shavings and sprinkles today. But being the daring chef I was, I had also chosen to make the classic apple tarte tatin, with gin and juniper, for the adults. As Lucien had remarked mockingly, the only time I broke my rule and had anything alcoholic was at times like this. The dessert took me almost half an hour to prepare just so but I felt pleased with the outcome.

Chapter eight. West “These are so good, Guilia.” I closed my eyes, as I savored the taste of the cookies. And I wasn't even bluffing. She made the best of the best cookies. I leaned on the island, taking a sip of my coffee. “You are sure you don't want sugar in your coffee, sweetheart?” She asked, coming over with an enclosed glass of sugar. “No Guilia, I love it like this.” I chuckled, and continued munching away.

Then he closed the book carefully, sliding something between the pages, and stood. I turned my attention deliberately to the counter. “Tre caffè, per favore,” I told the barista. “Spanish latte, hazelnut latte, americano. And five croissants, please—due alle mandorle, tre al cioccolato.” My voice was steady, casual enough to sound practiced. Footsteps behind me. Steady. Unhurried. “Elisha.” My throat tightened, but I kept my gaze on the neat row of glazed pastries, their shells shining under the glass. “You’ve confused me with someone else.”

he checked the time on his phone, “It’s already 9, no customer will come this late to a book store…” “Doesn’t matter…” Nick sipped on the tea, handing him the plate of cookies. “No customer comes here even in the daylight,” he scoffed. Ryan took a cookie. “Ah…” he just lost his words, not knowing what to say in this situation. He tried to shift the conversation, saying, “These cookies are amazing.” His cheerful face made the old man smile. “They are indeed. Brought them from Cafedom, that café near the restaurant next block. Their special cookies recipe, I’ve been enjoying all my life. I was really fond of their cookies since my childhood, so did my grandson.” he paused, staring outside the