Pumpkin Pie Cookie Run Novels & Stories

“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."

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

I nodded, trying to steady my voice. “Last night was Halloween. Our boss, William Zoo, booked out a rural horror-themed escape room. He said anyone who made it through without screaming would get ten thousand. “There were nine of us. After we went in…” I went through everything—the layout, mechanisms, and performance of the scarecrow character with the oversized pumpkin head. He didn’t move, just listened in silence. “You said the pumpkin-headed character chased you with a chainsaw?” “Yes. It was incredibly loud, just this constant buzzing.”

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.

Running across the sand. Fair. With Adrian's shoe in his mouth. Reasonable. Proudly. God. Very proudly. Fair. Like he'd hunted it himself. Reasonable honestly. Then the chase began. God. Cookie ran. Fair. Adrian ran. Reasonable. Peanut ran. God. Then everybody else ran too. Fair. The entire beach. Reasonable honestly. Then Cookie turned it into a game. God. The worst possible outcome. Fair. Because puppies love games. Reasonable.

I said. I could hear the soft crisp laughter from across the phone. "No problem. I'll still tell you anything." An hour later, I had made more lemon crinkle cookies than I expected. Rose, Jasmine and Violet had just gone through a series of nosebleeds almost simultaneously, so I made the cookies to make them feel better. They ate their fill, but there were still two jars left over. Gloria refused to eat more, suggesting I take the rest of the cookies to the packhouse. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to share.