Epic #fail on the word count front this weekend. I’m 5000 words behind par. Eeek. But I will catch up. Just need to rewrite a few hundred words on a panto script I’m directing first — more on that in another post. In the meantime, here’s another extract to prove I am actually writing.
‘Hi,’ she said, bravely smiling at the Cute Regular as she joined them. ‘You know if you asked her out, she’d say yes.’
His eyes, hidden from view, didn’t give anything away, but she couldn’t miss his frown. ‘Sorry? Do you mean Fliss?’
‘God, no. Lara. The blonde waitress at the cafe?’ Her voice wavered as the frown grew. ‘You sit in her section everyday so we, well I thought…’
Steve laughed. ‘Fucking hell, this is why you go to that hellhole cafe. Mastercard moment.’
The Cute Regular gave a small shake of his head then, for the first time, he took off his sunglasses. His brown eyes twinkled as he turned to face her. ‘I’m Dominic.’
‘Now,’ Steve said, leaning towards Jasmine conspiratorially, ‘ask him why he goes to that hellhole of a cafe every morn–’
‘Hey, I work in that hellhole.’ Jasmine scowled at Steve before reality hit. Did he mean she was why… No way. Frowning, she turned back to Dominic. ‘Why do you go to that hellhole of a cafe every morning?’
He cringed, but never dropped his smile. ‘Why do you think?’
Was this some kind of joke? ‘The double espressos?’
‘They’re probably the worst in Bondi.’ He glanced down for a moment. ‘But the apple danishes and your legs more than make up for them.’
It had to be the single, nicest statement anyone sober had ever said to her and, without stopping to think, she kissed him.
More soon. Promise.