28 February, 2012

500 WC Chapter Nine

If you're just joining us, then I have been posting a story in which I wrote each scene in (about) 500 words, just as a challenge to myself to tighten things up. It is very silly and not at all based in fact.  Yay!

500 Word Challenge
Word Count: 582 (not so good)

He came home to scent of baking cookies and sound of rock and roll.
It was so startling, he actually stood in the doorway for a moment, completely stunned.

“Rosa?” he called. She hardly made deserts, let alone a batch of cookies for her bachelor employer. And certainly not the fill the house with the smell of chocolate and sugar type of cookies. And she did not listen to rock music.

Colton dropped his things by the door, closing it before all the cool air inside could escape.

He had a thrill of nerves. He knew who as in the kitchen and he really, really did not want to face her right now. He went anyway.

Renee’s back was to him, dancing as she moved cookies one by one to a wire rack. He didn’t recognize the band blaring out of the speakers, but she did, singing along as she tucked a tray into the oven.

“Hello?” he called over the music.

She turned and made a face when she saw him, pressing the remote to mute the music.

“I thought the doctor said no loud music,” he said. He had to say something and it was the only thing he could think of.

She shrugged, turning back to her steaming cookies. “My ears feel much better.”

His didn’t. They still rang at odd times. He eased closer, not quite sure why he was so nervous.

“Want a cookie?” she asked, holding one out to him on the spatula. He shook his head. She shrugged again and grabbed it, hissing as it burnt her fingers. She bounced it back and forth a few times and took a bite. “You sure? They’re really good.”

“Why…” he looked around helplessly, coming to stand by the island. There were cookies on just about every flat surface, in various stages of cooling.

She looked a little sheepish. “Mom always made me cookies when I got hurt.” She said, her wry grin fading. “It makes me feel better.”

“Oh.” He said finally. “Did you get hurt a lot?”

She snorted. “All the time. My parents spent half their lives in emergency rooms. That’s probably why I’m fat.”

“What?” he demanded. “You’re not fat!”

She grinned at him. “Okay…buxom. I like that word better, anyway. Or voluptuous?”

“Better,” he agreed. She laughed and he felt his cheeks burn. She poured a glass of milk and set a few cookies on a little plate. She set them near his hand. He scowled at her.

“In case you change your mind.” She said pertly. “How was work?”

“Fine.” He said. They were perfectly brown and gooey looking. Chocolate chip, it looked like.

“What is it that you do?” She asked as she checked her current batch in the oven. “I guessed you’re stinking rich, by the butler and the cook.”

“I own Savage Corporation.”

“What’s that?”

“My company contracts to make plastic parts for other companies.”

“What, like toys and stuff?”

He nodded. “And electronics, cars, manufacturing equipment. The space station.”

“Wow.” She said, her mouth full. “That’s cool.”

He shrugged. “My dad started it back in the sixties.”

“Your parents are…dead?” she asked, somehow being gentle and blunt at the same time.

“Yeah. A couple years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She said. She reached over and pressed his hand.

He stepped away. “I’ve got to go.”

She waved over her shoulder, turning back to her baking spree. The music started as he left the room, discordant and screeching.