Lisa leaned over the sack and examined the cookies with the expected enthusiasm.
It wasn't bad enough she had to pitch her cookies in front of him, now she was going to cry.
She pulled the last of the cookies from the oven and set them on top to cool.
"You want some cookies?" she asked.
She brought him a plate of warm cookies and a glass of milk.
Darian looked at her, content with cookies resting on one thigh and the cat on the other.
He took her arm and led her to the couch, retreating to the kitchen for more cookies, water, and a bottle of painkillers.
She pushed the door closed with her hip, a silver tray of cookies and snacks in her hands.
Gabriel took it and smiled, cheered by the thought of the most powerful immortal ever born cursed with the self-control of a five-year-old in a room with fresh-baked cookies and no adult supervision.
When she emerged, she saw tea and cookies on the small table tucked into a corner of the living room.
"Well," said Cynthia, "I have four dozen muffins to bake and scads of other things to do like cookies and cake for tomorrow afternoon.
Fred asked at one point, on his way to deliver cookies and hot chocolate to the parlor.
She was wedged into a corner chair with one hand in a bag of cookies while the other took notes.
Yet try as he may, he didn't know the names of the three little kids next door, who'd come trick-or-treating for a half dozen years, sold Girl Scout cookies and always smiled—and they knew his name.
"Thanks. I've grown out of cookies," he said.
Darian resisted the urge to tell her he was no longer the lost man who asked her for cookies every day.
Darian grabbed a few cookies, now frustrated by four women rather than one.
Yully stared into space, troubled, while Bianca stacked more cookies on the plate before Darian, unstacked them, then restacked.
Your fortune cookies forget to tell you I'd figure out what you didn't tell me about Jenn?
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