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 bleak. We continue with Silver’s Angel. When you finish, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
After annihilating Hugo with the “dry up” remark, her gaze slid to Lucien, softening as their eyes met. A pale golden curl caressed her forehead. One corner of her mouth upturned a fraction. “Get us a booth?”
The loud music seemed to blast into his ears and arrow straight through his head. He tapped his skull, trying to clear the cobwebs. “I thought you were mad at me. You were! Mad as a hornet.”
“At the moment I don’t feel like stinging you.”
She had some kind of way about her. If it wasn’t magic, he didn’t know what it was. The blaring music subsided. The magpie chattering of the crowd hushed to a whisper. He found himself savoring her words, her tone, her micro expressions. Each syllable lapped around his tongue like rich red wine.
Hugo reached behind Angel’s back and clapped his shoulder. “Come on, man, put your eyes back in their sockets and grab a booth before this joint fills up. I’ll bring the drinks.” He dismissed Lucien as if it were a done deal and busied himself dictating orders to the bartender.
Lucien took a moment to consider. He set his gaze toward the far distant wall, where a red neon sign commanded him to Dance. Hugo was a bully, a slickster, and a pill. He was embarrassed that he’d drooled over the man’s ride, even though he’d always coveted a Bugatti.
The bigger point, though, was the sweet deal that Hugo had floated the band yesterday. Such an opportunity could lift Silver out of the bleak cycle of performing in second-rate venues. It was a biggie that could put the band back on a fast track.
And then he came to the sticking point. Hugo’s cavalier treatment of Angel was unacceptable. It set his teeth on edge. It literally made him hurt. It made him want to punch something, namely Hugo, though he had never been a brawler.
She had her gaze on him. He met it squarely. At her watchful expression, with a touch of fear lurking behind those unusual periwinkle eyes, his own face softened. “Your choice, Angel. Do you want me to get a booth for two or three?”
A sudden light shone from her. Then she swallowed and seemed to be weighing her options. At last she replied, “Make it for three. We’ll want to discuss his proposed plans for your band, as well as my spring schedule that he’s bolloxed up.”
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Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2026 Flossie Benton Rogers
Interesting scene. I’m anxious to see what this great deal is and how he’ll get Hugo to treat Angel with more respect.
Oh no! A booth for three??? I was hoping she’d say two. But I see she’d putting Lucien ahead of her own wishes, which I’m guessing would have been for two. That says so much about her. As usual, you get across those subtle insights into your characters with only a few well-chosen words. I love your writing. I hope he bashes Hugo after his band gets the deal. Heh heh.