She was wedged into a corner chair with one hand in a bag of cookies while the other took notes.
Yully stared into space, troubled, while Bianca stacked more cookies on the plate before Darian, unstacked them, then restacked.
Darian had a plate of cookies in his lap and milk on the table.
There was a plate of cookies on the counter and the scent of dinner lingering around the oven.
She pulled the last of the cookies from the oven and set them on top to cool.
She brought him a plate of warm cookies and a glass of milk.
The smell of freshly baked cookies has a yummy nostalgia.
Darian looked at her, content with cookies resting on one thigh and the cat on the other.
Fred asked at one point, on his way to deliver cookies and hot chocolate to the parlor.
Darian resisted the urge to tell her he was no longer the lost man who asked her for cookies every day.