Day 7, I can't believe week 1 is coming to an end! 14,769 words
I enjoyed my writing today. I had been pretty relentless in moving the romance/love triangle plot forward for a bit, so I decided that the story needed a bit of digression. Who better to usher in that digression than Olivia Darcy (she took her wife, Henrietta's last name) with a trip to Buns of Steel, followed by an afternoon at the Boo!-Bie Mansion?
Olivia had stopped in her tracks just inside the doors and I crashed into her. She was staring at a cool drink of water who did not appear to be so cool at the moment. He was surrounded by several equally good looking men who were probably his cronies. Or, more probably, other employees of this fine baking establishment. The tall drink of water’s lack of cool could be explained by the stifling temperature of the bakery; his muscled arms, which looked like they had been treated by an excellent spray tanner, were glistening, and beads of sweat collected on his brow. I dragged my eyes from a close examination of his muscles to the garish apron he wore. The apron was another reasonable suspect for the man’s anger, since it was emblazoned with an American flag, a sequined elephant trunk, glitter camo print, and inexplicably, a picture of a tub of ice cream labeled ‘The Best Butter Pecan In Town!!!11!!” **
All of the men behind the counter were spray tanned, muscled, sweating, and wearing the same apron, although one of them had donned a fringed leather vest beneath it, to pleasing effect.
“Sorry for the heat in here, folks,” said the central man, whose name tag read Dallas. “The AC is busted, thanks to our competing bakery down the street, which shall of course remain nameless because I am a gentleman. We here at Buns of Steel don’t have to play scurvy tricks like that one. We let the quality of our product speak for itself. So, what can I do you for?”
“I’m trying to quit,” said Olivia, but she could only keep a straight face for a couple of seconds before bursting out laughing. The shirtless men behind the counter joined her in laughter, so I chortled a bit, even though I didn’t get the joke. The heat was getting to me, so I made what I thought was a reasonable order.
“How about some of that butter pecan ice cream? Two scoops, and do you have any caramel sauce?” Everyone in the store, except me, started laughing again.
“Sorry, ma’am,” drawled Dallas. “The butter pecan is not for sale. That’d be against all kinds of laws and we’re law-abiding folk in here.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Nope.”
“But it says on your aprons that your butter pecan is the best in town. Yet you don’t sell it.”
“You got it. This is a family business, ma’am,” he smirked. I gave up.
“All right then, what would you recommend?”
“For two pretty ladies of your, well, persuasian? How about some of our delectable cherry pie?” I swear, he winked, and the rest of the men behind the counter were blushing.
“Two cherry pies it is, Dallas. I think we’ll take them outside.”
I didn’t realize it would take more than one person to prep such a simple order – I mean, I could see the cherry tarts in the display case right in front of me. But the five men swiftly moved into formation and began what looked like a choreographed routine. They each pulled out canisters of whipping cream and began shaking them suggestively, while passing the cherry tarts around the room. It seemed pretty unsanitary, but Olivia seemed unfazed so again, I decided to go for it. Southern California had some pretty inexplicable customs, and I was even more grateful that I would soon be on a plane back to Oakland.
**Unfortunately, creating an image of this apron and photoshopping it onto the Magic Mike image is outside of my capabilities right now. Sorry.
Olivia had stopped in her tracks just inside the doors and I crashed into her. She was staring at a cool drink of water who did not appear to be so cool at the moment. He was surrounded by several equally good looking men who were probably his cronies. Or, more probably, other employees of this fine baking establishment. The tall drink of water’s lack of cool could be explained by the stifling temperature of the bakery; his muscled arms, which looked like they had been treated by an excellent spray tanner, were glistening, and beads of sweat collected on his brow. I dragged my eyes from a close examination of his muscles to the garish apron he wore. The apron was another reasonable suspect for the man’s anger, since it was emblazoned with an American flag, a sequined elephant trunk, glitter camo print, and inexplicably, a picture of a tub of ice cream labeled ‘The Best Butter Pecan In Town!!!11!!” **
All of the men behind the counter were spray tanned, muscled, sweating, and wearing the same apron, although one of them had donned a fringed leather vest beneath it, to pleasing effect.
“Sorry for the heat in here, folks,” said the central man, whose name tag read Dallas. “The AC is busted, thanks to our competing bakery down the street, which shall of course remain nameless because I am a gentleman. We here at Buns of Steel don’t have to play scurvy tricks like that one. We let the quality of our product speak for itself. So, what can I do you for?”
“I’m trying to quit,” said Olivia, but she could only keep a straight face for a couple of seconds before bursting out laughing. The shirtless men behind the counter joined her in laughter, so I chortled a bit, even though I didn’t get the joke. The heat was getting to me, so I made what I thought was a reasonable order.
“How about some of that butter pecan ice cream? Two scoops, and do you have any caramel sauce?” Everyone in the store, except me, started laughing again.
“Sorry, ma’am,” drawled Dallas. “The butter pecan is not for sale. That’d be against all kinds of laws and we’re law-abiding folk in here.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Nope.”
“But it says on your aprons that your butter pecan is the best in town. Yet you don’t sell it.”
“You got it. This is a family business, ma’am,” he smirked. I gave up.
“All right then, what would you recommend?”
“For two pretty ladies of your, well, persuasian? How about some of our delectable cherry pie?” I swear, he winked, and the rest of the men behind the counter were blushing.
“Two cherry pies it is, Dallas. I think we’ll take them outside.”
I didn’t realize it would take more than one person to prep such a simple order – I mean, I could see the cherry tarts in the display case right in front of me. But the five men swiftly moved into formation and began what looked like a choreographed routine. They each pulled out canisters of whipping cream and began shaking them suggestively, while passing the cherry tarts around the room. It seemed pretty unsanitary, but Olivia seemed unfazed so again, I decided to go for it. Southern California had some pretty inexplicable customs, and I was even more grateful that I would soon be on a plane back to Oakland.
**Unfortunately, creating an image of this apron and photoshopping it onto the Magic Mike image is outside of my capabilities right now. Sorry.
THAT WAS AMAZING. So hilarious in so many different ways. Bravo on taking a concept from my novel and making it SO MUCH BETTER. I can't wait to steal this later tonight!
ReplyDeleteThis was CLASSIC!! I loved this so much. First, I want to visit Buns of Steel immediately... why does it not exist in the real world? Second, the butter pecan ice cream...HAHAHAHA. And... they let the quality of their products speak for themselves!! Man, you really knocked this one out of the park.
ReplyDeleteThanks! I had a lot of fun writing it. Who needs plot, anyway?
ReplyDeleteWhat made this excerpt perfection was your character's confusion. and I LOVED the shout out to dad's "trying to quit".
ReplyDeleteThis is so wonderful that I can't decide what I like the best. The one thing I didn't like was not being able to see that glorious apron. Feel free to make it your book cover.
DeleteI loved your Dallas character and his coy rule following. Please say that he'll be around some more. So good!
Great idea on the aprons as book cover!
Delete