Gingerbread Stories Novels & Stories

Greta and Eric left the Archives in the middle of the afternoon. With their notes and an appointment to see a local verbal storyteller. The storyteller specialized in tales about the history of the town’s first settlers. With lunch on their minds, they entered the coffee shop. Greta stopped short when she realized the only place to sit and eat was at the table she’d photographed a few nights ago. Now she’d seen the photos and the spirit. Greta paused a moment to ponder the coincidence of this.

I quickly ran and took my father along with me and stood outside the bedroom and peeped through the side of the door. “Come and sit here with me. Let's have some fresh lemonade together.” Said Caroline sweetly. “Lemonade! That’s my favorite” Zac exclamied. My father was confused but I asked him to stay quiet and notice everything “I'll go and get it for you.” Caroline moved towards the table and looked back towards the door. I hid back all of a sudden. She noticed that nobody was standing and then looked at Zac once and smiled. Then she turned around and took out a small bottle out of her pocket which had a colorless liquid inside it. She poured it in one of the glasses and mixed it quickly.

“Kira and I are going to make dessert. The rest of you go decorate the tree. That includes you, Brad.” I didn’t even have time to object, but to comply. In the kitchen, Granny brought out her holiday platters and together we filled them with delicious cookies. Brownies and gingerbread. Then she looked at me intrigued. “Who is this man, Kira?”

"God is my whiteness I still haven't figured out what my present was going to be that mother's day....but I hope they never try to make it again!" At this point Brandon threw in an eye roll of his own and asked her. "Did they even explain what they were trying to do that day?" "A little..." Glen responded. "Apparently....they had discovered my recipe book....and everyone knows that every year I create these little treats for the Clans Celebration. They are round, soft and filled with fudge.....good fudge.....fudge from heaven....If I do so say myself!" Glen elaborated with so much animated energy that Brandon found himself laughing.

Every morning, as the sun rose over the harbor, they would unlock the doors and prepare to welcome the people who had come to feel like family. As the seasons changed, Harbor Hearth Bakery took on a life of its own. In the spring, Lillian filled the café tables with vases of wildflowers she picked from the fields outside town, their bright colors spilling over the edges of the tables. In the summer, Nicholas introduced a line of cool lemon tarts and berry cobblers, each bite filled with the taste of sunshine. Autumn brought spiced pumpkin breads and hot apple cider, and by winter, the bakery was decorated with garlands of evergreen branches and little twinkling lights.

“If I asked anyone else, I bet they’ll tell me it’s a damn good gyro, but what does it taste like to you?” “Late nights after we close the shop,” I say before I can overthink. “But when I was younger, staying up until closing was a special treat. Mama would scrape together enough fixings for everyone to have one last gyro, and Baba would tell the story of how they almost missed their boat to America because Mama insisted on one last gyro, and Christos would bring down this boardgame he found at a flea market with half the pieces missing and make up new rules every time.” “And what would you do?” Dante’s voice is dark and silky like expensive chocolate in commercials.

Pulling me into him tightly, his red hair drapes over one of my shoulders as he plants a kiss behind my ear, and his very erect groin into my backside. “Good Morning, Sweetling,” he purrs into my ear. “You weren’t in bed when I woke up. I missed you. “I wanted to make some gingerbread,” I point to the rack next to the stove. “For solstice.” “Oh, I see,” he moves my hair to the side as he makes a trail of kisses down to my collarbone. “A worthy cause.” “I’ve invited the boys over as well, I hope you don’t mind. I thought we might celebrate a good old-fashioned yule”

"Really? And what stories does Mommy tell you?" Brandon tilted his head, thinking. "The Three Bears, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and the Prince and the Frog." He hesitated a little. "Mommy knows lots of stories too, but she only tells me one each night, so she finishes them quickly." Peter grinned. "Is that so? Do you really like listening to stories?" Brandon nodded enthusiastically. "I love it." "Then, how about letting Grandma tell you stories from now on? Sometimes, Mommy gets very tired."

But clever Hansel [Brick] had some breadcrumbs [Skittles] in his pocket [backpack] and had [accidentally] dropped them on the path so they could find their way back home [to their villa]. [Twenty Years Later:] Alas! The birds ate all the crumbs and they couldn’t find the path that led back home. Hansel and Gretel [Gabby needed money. So she went to find some at Preston Estates where she] went deeper and deeper into the forest, hoping to find their way [building, searching for help]. They were hungry [She was desperate] and tired. Finally, after walking for a long time, they [she] saw a cottage [door] made of chocolate, candies, and cake [sparkly bling]. Gretel [Gabby] cried out in delight an

Grandpa began the story by holding the book to show us the pictures. “The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds. While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.” Grandpa smiled as he tickled each of us as he read on. “And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.” Grandpa was a good storyteller. He made such funny faces, and his voice changed pitch as he read.