C70 I've got some good news and bad news

"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