Pumpkin Pie Cookie Run Novels & Stories

“You are acting like you are cutting your ex-boyfriend instead of carrots.” Orlanda let out a tired laugh. “If only you knew.” She was about to toss another handful of chopped peppers into the bowl when a sudden, loud screech tore through the air outside, it was sharp, grating, and unmistakably the sound of car tires digging into the earth in a forceful stop. Both girls froze mid-task. Winifred turned down the cooker flame almost instinctively, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with Orlanda. “Who the hell drives like that in this estate?” Winifred muttered, wiping her hands on a napkin.

“What do you think? Safe choices?” I shrugged, still half-annoyed, half-amused. “Get whatever your mom likes. I’m just someone pretending to be your girlfriend.” He chuckled and ordered: a dozen mixed cookies, a small red velvet cake, a pecan pie because his mom always said it wasn’t Christmas without pecan pie even if Christmas was technically over. The girl behind the counter—teenager, probably working holiday break—boxed everything up, tied the string with a flourish, and handed him the receipt.

With a crust of finely ground ginger cookie crumbs to add a delicious crunch, the caramel drizzled, maple apple cream pie was a hot favourite and regardless of the weather, it inevitably disappeared from the table within seconds. Proserpina made it a point to see that her staff also got to have a large helping of every dish that was carried out to the main dining hall. With the Nord family over, it was tricky since the children and Maja were healthy eaters, thought Proserpina, dimpling. But nothing, as Beatrice declared, waving her ancient wooden spatula like a soldier brandishing a weapon, Nothing was Impossible for Proserpina Delano the old woman was fond of saying proudly.

Corvette turned off the pump and lay back, catching her breath for a second or two. Once Corvette had recovered she took the freshly pumped milk and made some of her famous cookies. Everyone loved them but this time Corvette thought they might taste extra special as she had never pumped her tits while having an orgasm before. Corvette baked the cookies and soon had them out front and ready to sell. The first person to come over was her next door neighbor Luke. Luke was 19 years old and about 6 foot tall with a very muscular body, short mousy hair and light green eyes. “Hi Corvette, they look nice,” he said with a smile.

"Anyway... do you want to help me make some pie today? I have a perfectly ripe pumpkin in the kitchen that needs using." Lira blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift from ancient blood-rituals to baking. "Pie? Angie, there’s a battalion of marked hunters three miles away and you want to bake a pumpkin pie?" "Especially because there's a battalion of hunters three miles away," I countered, wiping my damp hands on my apron. "If tonight is going to be as intense as Kendrick says, I’d rather face it on a full stomach. Besides, the smell of cinnamon always calms Malcolm down."

"Can I interest you in a pie delivery? Today's special is Lemon Ham with Pickle and Papaya." "That sounds awful." Hades grimaced, even though he knew the pie type hid the code to get in the speakeasy, he also knew Jinx made it legit by baking whatever weird concoction that made the code. "Don't knock it till you try it, Shady." Hades was used to Jinx's offense, but the tom was not the best of bakers despite his daily attempts at pie mastery. "But why are you calling me? Aren't you busy with your adorable morsel?"

"That's true. Pumpkin pies these days come in all sorts of fancy flavors, but nothing beats the simple ones of the past." "Totally! I love old-fashioned pumpkin pies." "Hey, Vance!" Someone spotted him. "Come on in! You are late, buddy." The person beside Rebecca quickly vacated the seat. She was already tipsy, Vance's figure doubling in her hazy sight. As he approached, she instinctively tugged at her classmate's sleeve, but her grip missed. Vance settled firmly beside her. Right then, a guy named Obadiah Mendez lined up three glasses in front of him. "You are late, Vance. The penalty is three shots to start!"

As Milli iced the gingerbread cookies Aunt Elizabeth had volun-told her to make, she struggled with the pain. It had only been a little over a month since her world went to heck in a cake box. She had spent two days decorating gingerbread cookies. Camille had asked for help from the Women’s Auxiliary since the diving coach wasn’t much of a baker and the dive team needed a fundraiser for the Winter Carnival and were assigned the cakewalk and bake sale booths. Every cookie brought back a memory of home Milli didn’t want to remember, and she ruined half of what she baked before she found her groove. She decorated the traditional cookies with red, blue, or green scarves and hats, then added whit

The dimly lit bar pulsed with music and laughter, a contrast to the turmoil brewing in Marco's mind. Everyone's faces were barely seen because of the darkness and lights from the club's dance floor. Crowds swayed in response to the strong beat of the music, excitement lingering in the air along with the strong odour of alcohol. Marco, a twenty-two year old intern, sat on the velvet stool, swilling down various glasses of alcohol. “More..” He slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol as he extended his empty glass to the bartender, gesturing for him to refill it.

"I wasn't thinking straight, okay? Plus, they're really good cookies." I shrug in agreement. She makes a good point. They're mass produced. You can buy them everywhere, yet they're delicious. Sold from some bakery based in Michigan, I swear they have to use magic or fairy dust or some other crazy ingredient to make them stay fresh and soft so long. "You're forgiven," I say taking a cookie from the box. "You didn't listen. Pierce came over last night. He accused me of trying to sabotage his businesses." She bites off half the cookie, a few crumbs falling on her pink long sleeve shirt and my table.