Pumpkin Pie Cookie Run Novels & Stories

The message he received back invited him and the girls over after trick and treating. With bags full of candy and treats, they parked in the driveway to their house and walked across the street. Pumpkins and decorations lined the street. Even their own house had seven jack-o-lanterns on the porch. Cookie had brought them home with Gertie and told Pagan that he needed to call Shiloh. When Karan got home with the girls, they had a pumpkin carving party. After dinner and smores, Shiloh walked across the street, but Pagan never saw Cookie take Gertie back to the hotel.

“Get it right, and you get your punch.” I take a second to work it out. “Eleven,” I say, and Miss Turner’s grin is so sweet that I have to forgive her for the lame teacherish behavior. “That was too easy,” she says. “Right, something harder for you Grace. I’m the most American dessert there is. First word: I’m in your punch, second word, I’m 3.141592653…” “Pie,” Grace says. “Apple pie.” “Got it,” she says, beaming. “Run along now, before I tell you more corny math jokes.”

Zayne sank his hand into his pocket, for his fists were beginning to have a mind of their own. "Technical stuff," Damon smiled, "you know sometimes someone with a higher thinking ability is needed for stuff like running the manor." "Shut the fuck up," Zayne murmured. "Oh, Coz, you said something?" "No, I didn't," Zayne murmured again. "He says you shouldn't worry too much; once he's done with me, I'll be back in one piece." Zayne turned, his jaw clenching. One more lie that had his name in it, and he'd be sending Aunt Maria a video of her son's pulpy face.

Flynn was happy with the taste and the bread soaked up the soup well. “It’s delicious,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve had pumpkin soup before.” Lucas ruffled his hair and Flynn leaned into his touch. He was very weak for Lucas and he couldn’t deny it anymore. “How was your afternoon?” Lucas asked. “I hope you didn’t try to do any work.” There was a faint warning tone in his voice and Flynn was proud that he was managing not to try to login to his work email. “I thought about some ideas for the patisserie for Halloween, but I’m not going to do anything with them,” he explained. “I’m on holiday.”

Ami warns. “I won’t say anything, Ami, relax.” She glares at him and switches to Japanese again, speaking faster this time. The air fryer beeps. I almost forgot—I head over, grab the single-serve pumpkin pie, and bring it back to Ami, who’s still talking in Japanese. “Ami.” “Huh?” She stops, looks at me, then sees the pie. “It might not be the best, but it’s the quickest I could whip up.”

She and Harper took turns doing that, as if they were afraid that something bad would happen. What they didn't realize, was that nothing would be worse. "Hey, Sienna. I brought you a treat." she told me, handling me a pink box. "It is that pecan pie from Sussi, that place you love". I used to love to go to Sussi. It is a small bakery on the east side that bakes delicious butter cookies and amazing pies. The pecan pie was my favorite, and it was even more special because they make it so rarely.

And the music…which had already stopped. Heading straight for the kitchen after she got out of bed, Wren pulled out everything she would need to bake a pie; flour, sugar, butter, apples, whatever. Yes, she was baking a pie. Not for herself. For Damian. This was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Wren knew it was, but ‘be the bigger person’ they said, and Wren decided she was going to be just that…for ONE LAST TIME. When the timer went off in the oven she gently pulled the pie out. It was beautiful, golden and bubbling, and the lattice crust was perfectly browned, she could actually eat it herself.

Our late-night shifts together are rarely dull. She pulls a lemon meringue pie from the case and sets it on the counter. The kitchen here at Dandelion Diner is open twenty-four hours, but after eleven o'clock or so all anybody really wants is soda, coffee, and dessert. Occasionally you'll have a group of teenagers stumble in well after curfew and order chili fries and onion rings, and a few local cops will stop by after their shifts for bacon cheeseburgers, but most people out at this hour end up at Chief's Tavern down the road. At least until they begin hankering for some damn good dessert. Louis makes the best pie and cookies this side of the Continental Divide, and his cobbler isn't bad,

Usually, he let things as big as turkeys rest for at least fifteen minutes. While the turkey rested, Dillon got to work on the pumpkin mousse, which was the last thing he had to make. The devil's food cake and pumpkin pie he had actually second, right after the turkey. The pie needed to set and chill and the cake needed to cool completely so it didn't dry out quickly when sliced. The pumpkin mousse was very simple, he just pureed a half a roasted ten pound pumpkin he prepped the night before and added a cup of sugar, one and a half teaspoons of pumpkin pie spice, and a pinch of salt.

“The tea’s… good.” “What do you want?” Layla asked bluntly. “Well… with fall coming up, I thought I’d stop by.” As he spoke, Chris reached into a bag and pulled out a small box. “Mom baked these herself—some of her homemade pumpkin spice cookies. I figured I’d bring you a few to try. They’re actually really good and way healthier than anything from the store.” He placed the box in front of her like it was a precious offering, his eyes full of hope.