Jillian Chantal

This week we have the February picture prompt. Isn’t it lovely?  Check out the other stories here. 

Out of the car, they strolled to the restaurant and went inside. Lanett looked around in awe at the place. It was so romantic and dark. A perfect place for a tryst. Not that she was there for that purpose. No, not at all. She could tell the heat rose to her face and counted herself lucky that the lighting was so dim there was no way Ian could tell what she was thinking.

Or maybe he could. He reached out at that moment and took her hand. The gesture and the warmth of his touch made her tingle all over.

The hostess came over to seat them and led them to a corner near the back wall. Once they were settled with their coats removed, Ian opened his menu but Lanett ignored hers and leaned forward. “Did you request this table back here when you brought your father?”

“No. I didn’t request it tonight either. Why?” He peered at her over the top of the menu.

“Never mind then.” Her face was hot again.

“No, what?”

“I was thinking it was romantic and a great place to bring a date and then I wanted to laugh because you’d brought your dad here.”

“Only because it’s his kind of restaurant. No other reason—in fact, I had no idea it was so cave-like when I made the reservations with papa.”

“But you knew it when you called to bring me here?”

“Of course, but I was thinking about the food not the atmosphere.”

“Oh. I see.” Lanett ducked her head so he wouldn’t see the tears form in her eyes. Here she was thinking he wanted to date her and really all he cared about was his stomach.

The word of the week is RING. I have to confess that I took this straight from real life from when I was recently on a business trip with another lawyer. Sadly, I had to spend way too much time with that person and her phone. As you read on, you’ll see why I was gritting my teeth. LOL  – Be sure to visit the other folks here to read some awesome stories.

The day of her visit to Ian’s office finally arrived. A little concerned how he would see her when she saw him again, Lanett dressed with care in one of her favorite dresses. She’d found it at a little boutique in the South Village near Bleeker Street. The tiny flowers covering the fabric of the loose-fitting dress made her smile. She’d paid too much for the thing but fell so completely in love with it that she couldn’t leave it in the store. Her mid-calf length black boots completed the outfit.

Tugging on a jacket to keep herself warm on the cold day, Lanett left her apartment and headed toward the subway. The weather was brisker than the weatherman reported so she increased her pace. Her hair whipped around her face and she knew all the care she’d taken to look good for the handsome doctor just went out on that breeze. Oh well, looks weren’t supposed to matter anyway, were they?

She needed to refocus her energies on getting her stitches out and being able to work at full strength again. The man was not going to be interested in her in any way. Lanett was sure all hope of that went out the door—no matter how nice he was about the cab—when her friend—well, former friend now—showed the whole bar her bad behavior. Lanett was guilty by association.

Inserting her subway card in the slot, Lanett made her way through the turnstile just as the train she needed to be on pulled in. She dashed toward the open doors and leapt on right in time to grab an empty seat before the doors closed.

The subway ride was uneventful except for one woman whose phone kept going off. The ring tone played, “This girl is on fire” and every time she hung up from one call, another one came in. After a few minutes of that, Lanett was to the point of wanting to start a fire herself.

Finally, blessedly, the car arrived at Lanett’s stop and she could leave the hot woman behind, hopefully never to be seen or heard again. Taking a long look at the chick so she would remember her, Lanett exited the train.

This week’s word is stutter and I feel like I’ve used it as a cliche. Oh well, you’ll just have to deal with it. LOL. I wanted to be clever but there really wasn’t a way to do that this time. So, here’s what I have. Be sure to check out the other tales here. 

“Nothing wrong with the clientele, Ian. This is the first issue we’ve ever had. Some of those blokes out there may look rough and scare you since you’re from the upper crust of British society, but most of them are hard workers who are only looking for a beer and a game of pool after a day earning wages. I think if you gave them a chance, you’d find they are a bit of all right.”

“So just the divorced women are an issue?” Ian glanced down at the ledger in front of him. A bit embarrassed by being called out for being a snob, he didn’t know how to apologize to Simon.

“It would appear so. I’m not familiar with the wounded woman. It must be her first time in. Two of the others at her table, I did recognize. I didn’t see the actual incident but if I had to bet, I’d bet on the one with the blonde hair. She’s a troublemaker.” Simon took the seat opposite Ian and ran his hands over the surface of the battered desk.

“Can’t you ban people like that? Is there a law here that lets you?”

“Sure I can decide to tell someone they aren’t welcome on the premises but why toss out a paying customer?”

“I thought you said she was trouble.”

“I didn’t stutter, mate, the woman has some problems but she’s in here a lot and always buys nice wines and champagnes—by the bottle at that—and you know the markup on those, right?”

“No, I’m afraid my knowledge doesn’t extend to wholesale wine prices.”

Simon stood, leaned over the desk and poked at a line on the ledger. “See that entry there?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“That’s for a case of Merlot. Twelve bottles in a case. Do the math and see how much per bottle. Not all that much, huh?”

“Okay. I see. And this shows me what?” Ian jotted some notes on his pad.

“Now check this out.” Simon shuffled his hand around on the desktop. Finding what he sought, he handed the paper to his brother. “This is what a glass costs and this is what the bottle sells for at retail.”

“Wow. That’s some kind of markup.” Ian looked across the desk at Simon. “How do you live with yourself?”

Today’s word is ruthless. I am still woking on the new story taking place in the bar where the heroine cut her hand. She is now being treated by the bar owner’s brother, a doctor. Be sure to read the other tales of the week here. 

“How does a champagne flute break in one’s hand?” The wrapping was off and Ian’s gentle touch on her hand sent a shiver up Lanett’s spine. He looked her in the eye. “Was it a flute or one of the round ones on a stem? If the stem snapped, it wouldn’t shatter glass like this so I’m thinking it was a flute?”

“Yes. It shattered in my hand.”

“I don’t see how that could happen without a lot of force.”

“Hey, mate, how it happened doesn’t matter to your medical care of this lady, it only matters for my report,” Simon said.

“It does matter. Despite what bar owners want, doctors always take a medical history of their patients.” He turned back to Lanett. “What happened? Was there great force?”

“It sure was. I was supposed to be drinking a toast to celebrate my friend’s divorce but—”

“You celebrate divorce?” Ian looked horrified.

“Well, no, not normally and that’s really where it went wrong.”

“What’s that, love?” Simon asked as he wrote on something on the desk that Lanett presumed was the incident report.

“I reminded my friend Amanda of how happy she was when she got married and how we bridesmaids saluted her with champagne then. It seems that didn’t sit well and she crashed her glass into mine.”

“She sounds like a charming lady,” Ian said.

“More like ruthless, you ask me,” Simon said.

Ian nodded over at his brother. “Hand me my medical bag.”

“Do you doctors still really carry those?” Lanett asked. He still held her hand and she realized she could sit there the rest of her life with her hand in his and be content. It was a shock since she’d just met the man and didn’t usually react that way to anyone.

This week we have a picture prompt and it has actually served as the inspiration for this new story that I posted the beginning of last week. This week’s snippet picks up where last week leaves off which I don’t do often as I like to leave a lot out- one particular reader will like that I didn’t skip anything (Iris- lol). These posts are limited to 300 words each. Here’s the picture and be sure not to miss the other stories here.

Lanett held her glass aloft anyway and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out, “I just can’t help but think about the night three years ago when we were toasting your wedding as your bridesmaids. You were so happy–“

Before she could finish the sentence, the other three woman clinked their glasses together. Amanda hit hers so hard against Lanett’s that the glass in Lanett’s hand shattered, spilling champagne on her suit and cutting her hand.

Flinging the remnants of the glass to the floor, Lanett jumped from her bar stool and grabbing her purse from where she’d set hung it on the back of the seat, shoved the strap over her shoulder and stalked toward the ladies room to tend to her hand.

Once she was in the empty restroom, Lanett took several paper towels and wiped the blood from her hand to see how bad the cut was. It was difficult to see it since the blood kept flowing. Turning on the warm water and bracing herself against the sting she knew would come as soon as she dunked her hand, Lanett took the plunge, sucking in a deep breath as she did so.

There was still some glass embedded in the flesh. Lanett gritted her teeth and leaned over to try to get it out. The big piece came easily but there were still splinters that hurt and seemed to go deeper the more she attempted to remove them. “Great. Now I have to spend the rest of this lousy night at the emergency room. Just peachy.”

“Are you okay?” Marcia came in and asked as the door shut behind her.