Blair Waldorf Must Pie Novels & Stories

Morgan welcomes us with a knowing smile. We watch Morgan shape the dough into bread and put them in the oven. “I presume you all want a pie and an ale?” she asks, grabbing five plates and taking five pies off the cooling rack on the counter. We walk back to the dining area and sit down at the round table while Morgan gets us the ale. The pies smell delicious. I wonder if she really is a good cook or if she uses a spell. “Nothing like a home made pie and a freshly drawn ale,” she smiles as she sits down.

She looked very pitiful. The fat lady smiled widely, but a hint of cunning flashed across her face. ”Does Little Blair want to eat some bread?” “Yeah.” The little girl nodded firmly with anticipation in her eyes. “Plain bread isn’t tasty, so why don’t I add a little something for you?” The fat lady tore a piece of bread, went over to the food waste bin, and wiped a piece of bread inside the bin before handing it to the little girl. “Here, Blair, this bread is for you. It’s delicious.”

I nodded, and we padded downstairs, our footsteps soft on the worn floorboards. The kitchen light was off. Blair put it on, and I looked around. There was a bottle of milk on the counter. Half a loaf of bread beside it and a jar of pickles. Some butter in a dented dish. My chest tightened, but Blair kept moving with practiced efficiency, pulling out the bread and butter. "This bread would totally bang with jam." She was already reaching into the cupboard above the counter. I stayed back, leaning against the doorway, watching her. She checked one shelf, then another, but came up empty.

“Wake up now, Tara! Don’t you dare waste my time in planning while you’re in bed like sleeping beauty.” Wake up now, Tara! I repeated in my mind, too. Everyone shared their piece of the story about Tara, and we would laugh at each memory, and then everyone kept quiet. They all stared at that one slice of pie left in the box. “Why is the last pie always the hardest to get?” Matthew asked, sighing at the sight of the slice of pie. Before everyone got emotional, I made a condition. I cleared my throat. “Whoever gets the pie, I’ll write a check of one million now,” I laughed when their eyes went round. “At the count of three... One, two...”

I pulled away and sat him on the table. “Do you want a PJ?” “Mmh” His tiny head bobs up and down. Opening the cupboard, I grabbed the peanut butter and jelly and instead of 4 slices of bread, twelve slices. The boys must be starving too might as well make extras “Your wolf might be ready to shift. You’re holding yourself back because you killed the girl” Malvin says out of nowhere, frightening me causing the bread night to fall out my hand “You two need to get here now”

“Follow this way. We walk passed two hallways, so maybe this is bigger than standard. We come into a kitchen with cabinets everywhere. A six burner stove double oven, farmhouse sink and marble countertops. From there we take a right into a long dinning room. The table it set for 4 but could hold 10. Jason is already here. He pulls the seat next to him out and I slide in. “I’m sorry for my reaction earlier. I was, well I still am, in shock,” he puts his head in both hands. Jared and Crystal bring two dishes each to the table. Prime Rib, grilled vegetables, potatoes au guine, and a blueberry pie that looks like blueberries in cream. “Mustikkapiirakka,” Crystal points at the pie. “Commo

I retorted. "Must have been nothing," she said with a shrug. "Mommy, can I go see if someone is there?" Misty offered. "No, baby, go back to helping mommy," I said. I gently took the pan of freshly baked pie out of the oven. "The first batch is ready, who wants to try it?" Misty's eyes widened as she gazed at the perfectly golden-brown pie. "Me! Me!" she exclaimed, bouncing up and down.

Tristan laughed, unfazed by my worries. “I whispered, ‘We have special rules about arranged marriages or anything like that.’” “Don’t worry, he’d never do anything strange. Besides, what are you afraid of? You should be more afraid of your pie getting burned if you don’t take it out now,” Tristan said. “Is there pie?” Violet asked. “Yeah, it’s a sweet and savoury apple pie.” “Oh my gosh, I love apple pie!” exclaimed Violet. “Me too, it’s my favourite!” I added.

It would help the Supernatural Council as well. ‘We’re completely on board with whatever you’d like to do, babe,’ he promised me. ‘That we do, Little Fae,’ Byron added. My attention turned back to Imeela and Jackson, knowing what my answer was. “What’s that condition going to be?” “I want you to teach me the super-secret Precoza baklava recipe. The one with the additional nutmeg.” I was serious too. I did not joke about baklava. Not one fucking bit. That recipe was a necessity. In all seriousness, I could probably orgasm from the taste alone. It was that fucking mind-blowing.

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t pack light.” With a dramatic flourish, she pulled out three lumpy, dirt-crusted spheres, each one about the size of an apple and wrapped in what looked suspiciously like baked pastry. Micah raised a brow. “Are those–?” “Pie bombs,” Jane said proudly, giving one a little shake. It let out a faint sizzle. “Frieda’s specialty. Flaky crust outside, pure hell inside. Think of them as explosive shepherd’s pies.” Cristobal let out a low whistle. “You really do bake your emotions into violence, huh?”