My entry is a passage from the beginning of a Rom/Com short story in progress. A coffee shop scene with dialogue between two besties, one the cafe owner and the other her celeb-type best friend:
Angie’s favourite café looked different. Hands on hips, she stood at the door, puzzled. She was a girl who liked everything under control, everything just so. But today something was strangely out of place.
Aha! That’s it! she thought. Her beautiful little table at the window had some random guy...What the..?
Angie stepped inside. She wasn’t going to solve her problem standing on the doorstep. Putting some extra pep in her step, she relished the sound of her high-heels clanging and clunking on Sylvie’s shiny wooden floorboards.
She raised a perfectly-waxed eyebrow at Sylvie, her good friend and owner of Chez Sylvie (or part-owner as Sylvie liked to say—which part was never clear to Angie.) But Sylvie was avoiding eye contact, looking very busy hunched over the hissing coffee machine.
‘The usual thank you Sylvie darling,’ Angie purred, popping her strawberry-blond locks with thirty shades of highlights behind the steamy espresso machine.
‘Uh, hello Ange. Won’t be a tick. Just have a latté to go.’
Angie tapped her French-manicured nails on the zinc counter.
‘It wouldn’t be for that guy at my table, would it?’ she hissed.
‘Ah, actually, well, yes it would be, Pumpkin. He’s got good taste, hey? Headed straight for your table. Dumped the Reserved sign. No stopping him.’
‘But, Sylvie, you know it means…’
‘Sorry Pumpkin. I’ve got to take his coffee over.’
‘Allow me!’ Angie snatched the cup, grabbed the tiny tongs and dropped a mini shortbread onto the saucer.
‘Don’t mention it Sil. T’rah!’ A swish of frilly red sundress, a toss of luscious long locks, and Angie was gone.
‘Careful!’ Sylvie called, wincing as the coffee jangled in its saucer.
Angie clumped to a halt at the table. The stranger acted surprised, although she’d been watching him watching her ever since she’d arrived.