17.1 Nanowrimo Day 17.1—Riot of Purple Panic

okay….so, yes, another post. I realize with all of these time zones, it may seem odd. Day 16 is gone. Day 17 is just beginning and here is the first bit. There’s more to come for day 17, although probably not for about another 8 hours.🙂

I’m behind by a bit. Tomorrow is make up day. If you have any suggestions, send them on. I have mucho nothing and the seat of my pants is getting worn.

zombies, ghosts, aliens…….what would they do?

current word count: 25,031


Strangely, Jared, Tito and Kaden seemed at home in Philo’s almost beach house. Phoebe didn’t know what it was. They sat on Philo’s deck and made music and seemed happy like they were some garage band discovering that they suddenly had the ability to really make music.

She tried to be unobtrusive so that Kaden wouldn’t realize that she was eavesdropping on their music, but she found she liked it. She didn’t know what it was. Sometimes there was a little funk, a little heavy metal, a little throb that she didn’t know exactly how to describe. It was when Kaden would sing and she felt his voice deep inside the roots of her being, presuming those roots were well in the south of her torso.

She didn’t feel guilty for not opening the shop. It wasn’t like she usually had a swarm of customers. There were a few who came everyday, hoping that they could convince her that day to perform a love spell on the one they wanted or a spell to let them win the lottery. She couldn’t.

She made lunch for the band. Admittedly, it was lunch for Kaden, but she wouldn’t admit that. A fancy fried caper and fontina cheese pasta with a fresh tossed salad and homemade split pea soup with tarragon and carrots with focaccia lightly sprinkled with basil olive oil. No, she wasn’t trying much.

The band sat down and devoured her lunch. The nodded as they ate. Mentioned that it was the best fucking thing they had eaten in a long time. But Phoebe waited for Kaden’s voice.

He was a bit slower in how he ate as if determined by his southern roots. He looked up at her and nodded. “Very nice, chere. Almost tastes like home.”

That she didn’t understand. None of those dishes were southern, well, unless you counted coastal Virginia as southern. And, yes, well, it was, but it was not by any means New Orleans.

“I’m glad y’all liked it,” she said and the left to hide in the kitchen. What a scaredy cat!

Chloe appeared then, yawning, at one in the afternoon.

“Is there coffee?” she asked.

“What happened to you?” Phoebe asked.

“I just woke up,” Chloe said.

Phoebe bit her lip. That’s what she did with Chloe. There was no use getting upset. Chloe lived by her own schedule.

“I don’t remember if you ever told me if you got a job,” Phoebe said and then immediately regretted it because she didn’t hear anything nonchalant in her voice and she knew immediately how Chloe would react.

“Subtle, Phoebs. Do I have to go through the Spanish Inquisition via you to get a damn cup of coffee?” Chloe asked.

Phoebe shook her head and then pressed a filter into the coffee basket, added the coffee, water, and then jabbed the on button.

“Do you ever say ‘thanks?’ Or maybe consider making the coffee yourself?” the deep southern accented voice asked.

Phoebe whipped her head around and saw Kaden leaning against the counter staring at Chloe. She almost shook her head at him, but he just raised an eyebrow.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Whatever, thanks, Phoebe. Does that make it all better?”

Chloe stared at her carefully manicured nails and then defiantly at Kaden. “What do you care anyway?”

Phoebe glanced at Kaden and noticed that his eyes widened. “Why wouldn’t I? Your sister’s a nice woman and I just heard you treat her like crap.”

“Oh, whatever. You’re a manwhore. I think your opinion matters as much as mouse dung.”

“I’m not sure what my sexual predilection means as far as treating people well. And, I can call you out on that. Phoebe is not your servant. I’m pretty certain you can make your own coffee.”

Phoebe stared at the coffee maker, paying extra attention to the burps and sizzles and the sound of the liquid draining down into the carafe. Her eyes stung. No one really ever noticed how her sisters treated her. Not until now. She didn’t feel good. It hurt. It hurt that Kaden had noticed and she couldn’t admit why.

She didn’t turn around when she heard her sister make a snide comment under her breath or the stamping of her feet as she left the kitchen. She tried not to turn when she felt a pair of large warm hands on both of her biceps.

“One day you’ll tell me all of these secrets, chere. One day you’ll share yourself with me,” Kaden said.

He returned to his band and she heard him begin to sing. And she liked it.

day 17.1…more to come

7 thoughts on “17.1 Nanowrimo Day 17.1—Riot of Purple Panic

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