CHAPTER 154

"Please tell me that's a plate of cookies for yourself and not for Santa. . . " Jake says, his eyebrows raised as I walk into the living room, proudly holding the plate in front of me. I stop in my tracks and frown at him, looking down at the cookies sadly. "But . . . it's tradition," I say sadly, giving him my wide puppy dog eyes. He groans loudly and slaps his hand over his eyes — "Aunty Myra, this is what I'm talking about! She's obsessed with Christmas! It's slightly worrying!" He exclaims,...