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 baking. I’ve used a form of the word in this work in progress, book 8 of the Wytchfae series, a paranormal fantasy romance entitled Silver’s Angel. It features a supporting female character from Lord of Fire and a rockstar named Lucien Silver. When you finish the passage, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Back in his hotel room, Lucien put the cat down on the berber carpet and spent several minutes perusing a laminated menu. When he finished, he lifted the receiver of the retro style phone and punched in 602. He grunted as the precocious feline leapt up onto the bed.
“Room service. How may I help you, Mr. Silver?”
“Please send up two meals. One salmon and the other steak—rare—double fries. One Baked Alaska and a pot of coffee.”
“Yes sir. It will be delivered within thirty minutes.”
“Thanks.” Lucien hung up.
The Persian snowball lounged in the middle of the king sized bed, a pink tongue flicking out to attend to an already pristine paw.
“Here’s the deal, cat, a nice hunk of seafood and a spoonful of ice cream. Then it’s back to the wilds for you.”
She ceased her grooming. Huge gemstone eyes glittered up at him reproachfully.
He frowned. “Don’t give me that look.” He unscrewed a bottle of water and plucked a plastic cup off the table. “Thirsty? Bet you are. I know I am.” He splashed out a portion for the cat, placing the squat cup on the floor, and then chugged down the rest. “That hits the spot after a night’s worth of Jack. Old habits. I don’t know what got into me. Feeling my age I guess.” Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he turned to gaze out the window at a cluster of cypress trees. Without a breath of wind, they looked stark and forlorn, outdated remnants of a time before low budget rock gigs in backwater towns.
He shook his head, bemused by the onslaught of feelings. Turning his attention back to the room, he froze mid step, staring at the bed. Or what was on the bed.
A woman. A sexy angel of a woman.
She wore a form fitting fluttery white dress that made him think of a screen star from Hollywood’s glory days. He blinked to see if she’d disappear. She didn’t. “Holy c-crap,” he stuttered. “What the…”
She glided up from the bed and placed a soft hand on his forearm. Blonde hair floated around her face like a halo. Her bottom lip curved into a slight pout. A seductive scent emanated up to him, sweet and subtle, tantalizing his senses. “I don’t care much for salmon. May I share a few bites of your steak instead?”
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed the piece inspired by the word baking. 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
Great scene. That would’ve been one heck of a surprise.