The first writing of 2015! Meaning this was written this morning so no harsh judging. Knowing me, it’ll probably be a little different by the time I publish it this spring. But I felt like it’s a decent start and establishes Season’s personality and some of her conflict in the book quite nicely. So enjoy.

The Interrogation Scene:

“Can you look behind you for a minute?” Season asked unabashedly because the best way to get what you wanted was to be confident and act like you expected to get what you wanted.

The man looked at her with wide eyes, pretty eyes Season noted.

“Don’t worry,” Season said in a dry tone. “I’m not trying to knock you over the head to steal all your pretty cupcakes. I just want you to look at the girl at the table in the back corner with the neon pink nail polish see on her nails before you ever see her face.”

Laughing, the man looked back. “The girl with the scarf on?” he asked in a somewhat deep voice, but not a rough voice. It was smooth, didn’t grate on Season’s ears.

“That’s the one,” Season replied as the man turned back to look at her. “She’s very curious about you. Actually, she thinks you’re pretty hot and can’t believe that I see you every time I come in here and don’t know a single thing about you. Just between me and you, I love my best friend, but right now she’s getting on my nerve while I’m trying to work. So if you don’t mind, could you answer a few questions for me so I can satiate her curiosity and she can leave me alone?”

The man laughed and shrugged. Season took it as a yes.

“How old are you?” she asked clinically.

“Twenty-eight.”

Season nodded and looked at his hands. No rings.

“Married?”

“Nope.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“So single? And when I ask that, I mean totally. Like, no ‘it’s complicated’ on and off relationship because you or her can’t decide if you’re ready to commit long term?”

“Totally. Single,” he assured.

“Kids.”

“A niece and a nephew down south.”

Season hummed and then asked, “Are you gay? I should have asked that first and then I wouldn’t have had to spend so long interrogating you.”

“I’m not gay,” he said laughing.

“Asexual?” Season asked just to be sure.

“No,” he assured, laughing more, even as Season narrowed her eyes at him and leaned in to get a closer look at him.

Dark brown skin, pretty brown eyes, a goatee, sharp linear features, but not too hard. Tall-ish, almost six feet if she had to guess from seeing him walk in the café, with nice arms. Not huge, but muscular and nice to look at for someone with an arm fetish like her. Actually, he was nice to look at overall.

“Alright. Those were all the questions she wanted me to ask. Now I have a question for you. It’s none of my business, but if I don’t ask, it will nag the hell out of me.”

“What?”

“Why the hell are you still single, bruh? I mean, unless you’ve got some kind of domestic abuse record the length of the Eiffel Tower or are on some kind restraining order for every woman in New York that I don’t know about.”

The man stopped laughing, though a smile still twitched on the edge of his lips as he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Are you trying to flirt with me or something? Because you have an odd way of flirting if you are.”

“No,” Season said with a shrug. “I’m just genuinely curious with a very vivid imagination and if you don’t tell me, I’m going to go back in that café and come up with every good and bad scenario as to why you’re still single and then I won’t ever get any work done.”

He stared at her for a long time, as though trying to analyze her. Rather than look away in embarrassment or discomfort, Season looked right back at him, waiting for an answer. He could stare all he wanted, but no matter how long he looked into her eyes, he wasn’t going to find any window to her soul. If there was a window, it was firmly shut, with closed blinds on the inside, and boards nailed to the outside.

Finally, he said, “Just haven’t found the one yet.”

Season hummed again. Some things were just simple that way.

“Well,” Season said sighing. “Good luck to you on that.”

“Thanks,” he said as she started to make her way back into the café. “Wait!”

Season turned back to look at him.

“Cupcake?”

Season glanced at the dessert and in the two seconds it took her to decide, she managed to recall the average number of calories, grams of sugars, fat, and carbs in the typical cupcake the size he was offering. 260, 24, 14, and 30 respectively. Not today and not after that medium chai tea latte with whole milk because low fat milk tasted terrible. 270, 42, 7, and she wasn’t sure how many carbs.

“No thanks. I don’t like too many pastries,” Season said quietly. She wasn’t allowed to like them. Actually more like her entire body wouldn’t like them. She could practically see herself in the mirror tomorrow morning. Bigger pooch, bigger butt, fatter arms, and her face—the best thing she had going for her in terms of looks (besides her long full hair) with her clear dark sand skin and brown almond shaped eyes—puffy and bloated, and 176 pounds on the scale rather than 175. Nope. A latte was enough indulgence for the week.

It was his turn to hum.

“Nice talking to you…”

“Season.” Upon seeing him raise his eyebrows, Season added, “Yes. That’s the name on my birth certificate. And there’s no elaborate story behind it either.”

So? What do you think? And yes. This is the only excerpt I’m going to post until it’s published.