TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "SILVERY"

 

Welcome to Tuesday Tales, where authors write stories to a word prompt. This week the word prompt is "silvery" or any variation on the word "silver". We have another episode of "Two of Hearts". When you've finished my story, please hop on over to the other authors. Find their works HERE. 

 

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“Why are you doing this? Needling me?”

“Because that’s what friends do.”

“Give each other a hard time?”

“Push each other to be their best,” he said, picking up the salad tongs to add more to his plate.

Jen mulled over what he’d said. She couldn’t argue.

“Okay, so you’re right. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you start writing. Tonight, after I leave. And that you write every night. Isn’t that what writers say? They have to write every day?”

She nodded. “Clare?”

“Yep. That’s what she’s told me a thousand times.”

“She’s right.”

“Damn, lady. You are some awesome cook,” he said, refilling their glasses. “You have to take care of Stan, but you have to take care of yourself, too. If you don’t, there will be nothing left to give him. And your marriage will die.”

His words terrified her. Already overwhelmed with the responsibility of taking care of Stan, now she had to dance to Terry’s tune and do the right thing for herself.

“I’m going to be checking up on you. Don’t think you can pretend to write. I’m going to want chapter and verse, lady.”

“I’m going to find Willie another girlfriend.” She frowned.

He laughed again, lifting his glass.

When she offered dessert, Terry patted his belly and shook his head. But she brought out zabaglione and strawberries anyway. When he saw the silver bowl full of tempting cream and juicy berries, his eyes grew wide.

She asked Terry a few pointed questions about things with Clare, but he didn’t have any answers and seemed reluctant to put their relationship on the examination table. She left it alone. Having a friend who cared enough to tell you the truth was rare. She wouldn’t wreck it by poking her nose into his business.  By nine, they had finished their meal.

“Why don’t you get Queenie and we can take the last walk together.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be back in fifteen,” he said, scooting out the door.

The house tour would have to wait. Perhaps that was a good thing. Taking him into her bedroom, probably wasn’t a good idea at the moment. Shame filled her. As she hooked up Willie, she talked to the pug.

“It’s okay to think Terry’s hot, right? I mean, thinking someone’s hot isn’t doing anything about it, is it? Of course not. You’ll keep me safe, Willie, right?”

That's all for this week. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - MARK

 

Howdy doodles and welcome!

 

The authors are writing stories to the word prompt "mark" this week. I have more of "Two of Hearts" this week. To read the other stories, click HERE. 

 

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She filled her plate a second time. “So how are things with Clare?”

“Not so good. She hasn’t answered when I’ve called. We’re scheduled to talk tonight at eleven. I’m sure there are good reasons. I don’t exactly know when her classes are. But I don’t like it. I can’t sleep if I don’t know that she’s safe, wherever she is.”

“I get that.”

“How’s Stan doing?”

“Moving into a private room tomorrow. They don’t know how long he’ll have to be there. Depends on his recovery. But I’m guessing maybe four days, then home.”

“How will you handle him here?”

“Good question.”

“Have you hired help?”

“I contacted a service. I hate having a stranger living in our house. But I won’t be able to handle Stan alone. He’ll be in a wheel chair because he broke the leg and wrist on the same side. So, he can’t handle a crutch. Not yet, anyway.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“I’ll have to move out of the guest room.”

 “You’re sleeping in the guest room?” His eyebrows shot up.

She took a drink of wine and blinked rapidly. “I can’t stand sleeping in our bed without Stan.”

It was his turn to comfort. Terry reached across the table and squeezed her shoulder.

“I understand. I hate sleeping without Clare.”

“Oh, of course. Then you get it.”

“I do.”

Terry finished the huge plate of food, then added a little more. “How’s your writing coming?”

“My writing?”

“Yeah.” He cut a meatball with his fork.

“I’m not writing.”

“Why not?”

“All day at the hospital. Making plans for bringing Stan home. Dealing with that fucking brat, Marcy.”

“But you’re home at night, right?”

“I get home around six, usually.”

“And what do you do with the evening?”

“I collapse.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Anger filled her. “What do you mean that’s no excuse?”

“You have plenty of time to write. You’re being a baby.”

She stiffened. “I need Stan.”

“Bullshit.”

“You don’t know…”

“You’re a grown woman. You can write or not write. It’s your choice. And all the excuses in the world aren’t going to change that.”

“You’re pretty high and mighty. What do you do with your empty evenings?”

“Ah, good one. Change the subject.” He smiled and looked at his plate, then up at her.

“I thought that was pretty clever.”

“You’re not going to weasel out of this so easily, Jen. If you want to write –and you say you do—then write, God damn it!”

Indignation warred with hurt feelings. Jen had no come back, no reply. She sipped her drink, staring at him with angry eyes.

“Why do you have to be so damn right?” She hated when she got petulant but couldn’t stop.

Terry burst out laughing. “Glad you admit it.”

That's all. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - SWALLOW

 

Welcome!! It's time for Tuesday Tales and another episode of "Two of Hearts". This week we're writing to the word prompt "swallow." Don't forget to hop on over and read the other stories by the talented authors of Tuesday Tales. You'll find them HERE. 

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The doorbell interrupted her sexy thoughts. Uh oh, not good to be thinking like that with an attractive man on the other side of the door. She swallowed a mouthful of water, fanned herself for a few seconds, then let Terry in.

His casual attire impressed her. She figured he’d come right from the office. But he’d changed. Too bad. Not that he didn’t look good in snug jeans and a T-shirt, but a man in a suit and tie made her swoon. But Terry wasn’t here to make her swoon, was he? Nope, he was here to be her friend, and help her eat a mountain of food. 

He handed her a heavy bag. She pulled out a bottle of fine wine. She recognized the label.

“I love this brand. Thank you! Come on in,” she said, stepping back.

“I’ve never seen a townhouse where one family lived in the whole thing,” he said, looking around.

“We only live on three floors.”

“Only?” He cocked an eyebrow and grinned.

She sensed a blush in her cheeks. “I don’t mean to sound like a snob. We rent out the upper two floors. Stan bought this twenty-five years ago for a song. The place was a disaster, so he told me. He spent a year renovating. Just because Stan won the Nobel doesn’t mean we’re rich.”

“I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me.” He wandered toward the back.

“I mean, we’re not hurting for money, but not rolling in it either.”

“I get it. This is beautiful. Did you decorate it?”

“Yes.”

“You did a fantastic job.”

“Thank you. I can take you on the grand tour after dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” he replied, following her into the dining room. She had set the table in festive spring colors of pink and green. After indicating his seat, she handed him a corkscrew.

“Would you mind?”

“Of course,” he said, picking up the bottle while Jen retrieved wine glasses from a corner cabinet.

She headed for the kitchen and returned with a serving dish of meatballs and one with pasta. Last, she fetched a large wooden salad bowl filled with fresh greens.

“Wow! This looks great.”

“Rigatoni with meatballs. It’s my favorite,” she said, passing him the pasta.

Terry loaded his plate. She watched as he chowed down. Lord, it looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week. She smiled.

“Something funny?” he asked, between bites.

“No, no.”

“Come on, come on. You’re hiding something,” he said, gesturing.

She laughed. “Okay. You look like it’s been a month since your last meal.”

He blushed, immediately making her sorry she’d said anything. She squeezed his forearm.

“It’s a great compliment to the chef. To see you enjoying the food.”

“This is truly great. You have a gift. I don’t know about your writing, but you could be a professional chef.”

She filled her plate a second time. “So how are things with Clare?”

That's all. Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - KICK

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 Hello and welcome! 

I'm part of this group that writes to word prompt each week. This week the word prompt is "Kick". We are again taking a peek at "Two of Hearts" this week. When you're done reading my story, hop on over to read the excellent stories by the other Tuesday Tales authors. Find them HERE. 

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“I don’t have any single friends anymore, except maybe Kathy. And all she does is complain. I don’t need that right now. Terry’s a positive person. Even if he is going through shit with Clare. It’s okay.” When she faced the pug, he took a quick swipe, catching her chin with his tongue.  Jen laughed and gave him a quick pet. “Good boy, Willie.”

She closed her eyes but was too keyed up to sleep. She only asked Terry as a friend. Of course he was attractive. She might be upset, and distracted, but, hell, she wasn’t dead. He was taller than Stan, and broader in the shoulders. Could he have played football in college? Stop comparing him to Stan! Stan was her hero, and always would be. But Terry was a friend, a good friend.

She’d figured out that he bought both of those cream puffs for himself. Otherwise why did he have two? He couldn’t count on running into her. Yet he gave one to her, and it was the right thing to do. The cream puff brought her back, gave her the kick she needed to see that she’d do whatever was necessary to help Stan. Still those dark eyes held mischief, as if he had secretly seen her naked or something.

His wife was a lucky woman to be married to a man who could do that. Jen guessed they had an amazing sex life. She turned her thoughts to her first time with Stan. It had been the most romantic and erotic evening of her life. She’d never forget it. The way that man made love was enough to curl her toes just thinking about it.

She pushed up and padded barefoot to the kitchen. She plucked a bottle of water from the fridge. Stan knew how to get her hot, zero to sixty in ten seconds –and sometimes simply with a look. She smiled at the memory of seeing him across the room at a deadly dull party. He’d been buttonholed by a boring economist when he glanced at her. The heat from his stare, slowly caressing her body, had made her shiver as it traveled up and down. She had rubbed her forehead, made up an excuse about a headache to the hostess, and approached Stan, appealing to him to leave. He’d shaken hands with the economist, then returned home, and spent two hours making love to her.