Latte Cookie X Almond Cookie Novels & Stories

He laughed, shaking his head, then reached for the espresso machine. “Light, dark, or extra dark roast?” “Surprise me,” I murmured, resting my head on the cool marble surface. He made mine first, a latte with just the right touch of oat milk and honey, the way I liked it. I sipped it slowly as we put away the groceries, cataloging everything he bought like a treasure chest of possibilities. I suggested a truffle mushroom tart. He suggested a breakfast flatbread with duck eggs and goat cheese. We joked about starting a second restaurant called Drunken Market Decisions and naming dishes after poor impulse purchases.

“Please tell me this isn’t real.” “Alrighty guys.” The server snuck up on us. “Is there anything else I can get you?” I took a deep breath and then turned to her with a smile. “Actually yes. It’s our friend’s birthday and we would really like to celebrate with a piece of cake for everyone. Which one do you recommend?” “We have a fantastic coconut white cake.” I turned to look at Alannah, but she was sinking. I cut a look at Ternen. “She is allergic to coconut, but if you have carrot cake, it’s her favourite.”

If it were just dairy, his reaction would never have been this severe. "I looked at all the food Lara ordered. It was just a milkshake and tiramisu. Are you misunderstanding something?" Lucian asked, frowning. Finn's voice broke the stalemate. "But we ordered the tiramisu too," he said, tugging at my hand. "It's the restaurant's specialty. It's covered in crushed almonds. Alpha Lucian ordered the exact same food we did." My gaze landed coldly on Lara's face. "What do you have to say for yourself now?"

Thalia set down the coffees. "That's serious enough," she said and Pippa raised her hand. "I discovered the mistake." "Noted for the record." The girl looked satisfied, so we spread the recipe book across the central table. We went back to the recipe and Thalia wrote down the numbers. 3, 2, 11, 17, 29, 43. Thalia turned another page, there was another recipe with the same problem. Butter cookies: Five cups. Thirteen minutes. Thirty-one of resting.

My heart clenched tight. "Thank you, Miss Vivian, but Aria has a severe nut allergy. She can't eat that. Please put it away." I kept my voice steady but firm. Vivian's hand froze mid-air. Something stiff flashed across her face before she replaced it with an understanding smile. "Oh, I see. Sorry, I didn't know. But don't worry, this is pure cocoa butter chocolate with almonds. Very healthy..." "Aren't almonds nuts?" I asked, barely containing my anger.

Perla had set up coffee and home-baked goods on her old outdoor furniture under a majestic umbrella of a Hazel tree. Light green heart-shaped leaves and dangling cylindrical flower clusters hang like party serpentines around them. "So, Nueva, you must wonder what this fuss going on is all about?" Perla asked and placed a plate with homemade Lavender Shortbread cookies on the weathered table surface. Nueva couldn't resist the beautiful aroma of dried lavender and helped herself to a cookie straight away. The shortbread was buttery and lightly sweet, with a floral flavour, the edges were rolled in sugar, and Nueva licked the gritty substance of her lips and nodded yes to Perla.

Hell no! I unwrapped the brown paper bag and poured the biscuits out into the plate, folding the paper and tossing it to the wooden coffee table. I twisted open the top of the decaf latte and took a sip. Just how I like it; a cube of sugar and two teaspoonful of milk. I know it is weird, but no I had a sixth sense for tasting an extra cube of sugar or spoon of milk, if ever it was added to my latte. Leaning into the settee, I crossed my leg over my thigh, munching on the biscuits which I had placed beside me, and occasionally sipping from my latte whilst looking at the invitation which I still had in hand. Yeah, I was still surprised, not to mention confused.

I argue, waving a piece of pita in the air, “if you’re going to claim baklava is overrated, then I need you to name at least three desserts that are better.” He leans back slightly on the couch we both occupy, smirking. “Crème brûlée. Tiramisu. And warm peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream.” “Okay—damn,” I say, laughing. “That’s actually a solid list.” “I don’t miss.” “Oh, that’s what you’re going with now?” I tease. “Dr. Cocky?” He sips his sparkling water with a maddening amount of restraint. “If the lab coat fits.”

Just the thought of how it would taste was enough to leave me thirsty. Stiles stepped up next. “I'll take a cold brew, medium size. No sugar, but can you add a splash of almond milk?” The barista confirmed both of our orders with a cheerful nod. “Got it. A grande vanilla latte with oat milk and an extra shot for you, and a medium cold brew with almond milk for you. That’ll be $11.” Well, I remembered vividly that in my dad's firm, things like this were usually paid for and the staffs got them freely.

While Ambrose went to take a shower, Larissa sneakily ordered two cups of latte for delivery. She had been obsessed with latte lately, finding solace in this magical and delicious beverage. However, since she got pregnant, Ambrose had been strict, not allowing her to drink lattes. When Ambrose came out of the shower, he saw Larissa secretly drinking a latte. Not just one, but two cups simultaneously! He frowned. "Don't drink too much of it. it contains excessive caffeine and trans fats." Ambrose naturally harbored a grudge against latte. Once discovered, it would lead to a lecture. Seeing that he was about to start nagging, Larissa quickly gulped down both cups of latte.