A knock at the door sounded as Bonny packed the last of the cooled cookies into the container. What excellent timing. “I’ll get it” she said, trying to snatch a treat from the still warm cookies as she left. It seemed that this time, she was able to outfox the master of cookies and steal one under the watchful eye of her grandmother. That, or she just let her get away with it. Either way, she was nibbling on her superb baking treat as she made her way down the hall and over to the front door. She was pretty sure it was her escort, but it could have coincidentally been a door to door salesman or something. Ah well, she could just tell said potential door to door salesman to scuttle off if it came to something like that. 

  She opened the door to find a man that held such an air of confidence that she was half tempted to just close the door on his face. Fortunately, she waited at the door and listened to what he said- he was the escort sent to bring her to the institute. She stared at him for a second with what could be taken as a passive glare, gears turning in her sleep deprived brain to pop out some sort of an answer. Heavens that look on his face was bugging her, though. After a few seconds of quiet after the fanciful introduction, she chose to make her own; and luckily, it had nothing to do with his face. 

  “Sup, I’m Bonny. You want a cookie first?”. She mentally gave herself a pat on the back. Nailed it. 

  She gestured for him to enter the house, not quite waiting for a response. She did need to grab her bag and finish packing the cookies. And who in their right mind would refuse biscuits?  She headed back inside without checking if he was following, finishing off her cookie and going back into the cookie chaos she had escaped from for only a brief moment. “Grandma, the escorts here. When these cookies are done, I’m gonna head out.” She tried to sound as nonchalant as usual, but it was fairly obvious that she was at least a little bit sad. The odds of heading back up north just to see her grandmother, at least for a while, were slim. She’d miss her. 

  Bonny banished the thought, shoving it into the corner of her mind as she grabbed a small plate from the cabinet. Best to be hospitable to the person who had to wait. She snagged the spatula for removing cookies, picking up three and sliding them onto the plate. Three should do. And a secret fourth she’d snag for herself when the time was just right and no one was looking. A plate of cookies primed for the guest, she went into the dining room. By dining room, she meant the simple little table in an open space beside the kitchen that they ate at. The kitchen was quite literally only a few steps from the table, so it took her no time at all to reach it and place the plate at the head of the table. Perfect. A dessert fit for a king.