Welcome to Tuesday Tales, powered by a small group of authors, where word prompts inspire passages in the books we’re writing. The word of the day is fussy. This is from a work in progress, book 8 of the Wytchfae series, a paranormal fantasy romance entitled Silver’s Angel. It features a rockstar named Lucien Silver and Angel, a supporting character from Lord of Fire. When you finish the passage, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Vaneta served them a pre-dawn breakfast of hot buttered grits, cold ham, and reheated biscuits. “No, the both of you will sit down at the table and eat like respectable humans,” she demanded, when her husband, Cooley, made motions to scarf down a chunk of ham in a biscuit, standing up. “There’s a chill in the air. The hot grits will stick to your ribs and soothe your aching bones, old man. Don’t even think about gallivanting off with barely a mouthful in your gullet. The trotlines aren’t going anywhere, and neither are the catfish.”
“Woman…”
She ignored him. “Sit here, Lucien,” she instructed, smiling beatifically at their guest and patting the back of a chintz-pillowed chair. “How many times have you started the day without a hot meal? More times than you’ve coaxed magic from that old stringbox of yours, I’d wager.” She pointed affectionately at the guitar in the corner.
Lucien chuckled and sat. “You’re right about that, Vaneta. But I’d never turn down a bowl of your grits.” He deposited a spoonful of the buttery goodness into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor it. “Nobody in the world can cook grits like you.”
Her cheeks pinkened at the compliment. “They should be fit to eat, after thirty years of practice.”
Cooley sat down in his designated chair and dug into his breakfast. “The boy’s right, right as rain. Your grits can’t be beat, Vaneta, and neither can your biscuits.”
Her eyes lit up, and she gave him a little pat on the shoulder.
Of course, steaming chickory coffee was a morning requirement in the bayou, and he and Cooley enjoyed a plentiful share. Vaneta bustled about, tending to seconds and refills in the fussy way that made Lucien feel right at home.
Lucien smiled to himself. He might not have had a blood family supporting him when he was a kid, but Cooley and Vaneta had more than made up for it. He wondered what he could do to repay them for their kindness over the years. They had been there for him, even at his low points when no one else would talk to him and the world deemed him finished. A new house? They wouldn’t want to move from their “boggy heaven,” as they called their little plot of land. A vacation? Maybe, although he couldn’t picture them trotting about sightseeing or sleeping in a hotel room. He’d put his mind to it and think of something.
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed the piece inspired by the word fussy. If you haven’t done so already, check out the other excerpts at Tuesday Tales.
Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2025 Flossie Benton Rogers
