Untitled - Part 27

So far.

Twenty-seventh

Behind her, Linda heard the clank of the cookie jar lid. She turned.

“Tyler Jonathan Woodard, what do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he mumbled sheepishly through a mouthful of Oreo.

“Didn’t you just have a donut?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“Then no more cookies, mister.”

“Sorry, mom.”