Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Busy busy! Have a new book preview!

Just working on somethings, but wanted to give everyone a note that I was alive! :D

Today I'm going to go eat some wedding cake. Here, have a snippet from the new novel, no name or cover reveal just yet!

It was all over, everything was over...
And all because I'd knocked over that jar of marmalade. I'd dropped it, and that surely was the reason I was now listening to the message on my voice mail for the fifteenth time that day.
Hi there,” the scratchy voice said through my phone's speakers, “this is Alfred Holmes from the Center Cut restaurant. We just wanted to thank you for coming in to interview yesterday, but we're sorry to say, we've decided to fill the sous chef position with someone else. Best of luck!”
Then there was only the cloyingly, robotic voice of my phone, asking me if I wanted to save or delete the message.
Of course I saved it. I needed it to torture myself some more later.
Flopping back onto the hard floor of my kitchen, I set the device on my chest, groaning.
How the hell could this have happened? I wondered silently. Remembering how the bits of glass and orange blobs had shot across the kitchen floor like a candy-bomb, it wasn't like I needed to dig for a reason.
I could have still failed the interview even without the dumb jar falling. It wasn't too hard to recall all the little flaws I'd noticed in my own cooking.
The head chef at Center Cut had asked me to make a quiche as part of my hiring process. That had been a relief, of course.
I'd made about thirty quiches over the past two weeks in preparation.
Even so, I'd fumbled while whisking the eggs, chopped my peppers too thin, and certainly hadn't added enough salt.
And then I went and knocked the stupid jar off the shelf with my clumsy elbows, and bam.
Marmalade all over Chef Frank's shoes.
I'd been allowed to finish baking the quiche, but the mood in the room had forever shifted. The chef didn't even wash off his shoes, he just stood there the entire time with his arms folded.
He'd never taken his eyes off of me.
When we'd tasted the quiche, he made no comment. I don't even remember if it was good or bad, it was just... it was like all the taste buds had melted off my tongue from my anxiousness.
It didn't matter. I was sure the chef had made his decision the second I'd ruined his floors.
Now, I didn't have the job lined up that I'd been hoping for.
Now, everything was over.
The loud creaking of the apartment door reached my ears, footsteps scuffling across the hard floors. “Hey! Sydney! Sydney, where are you?”
I knew my younger brother's voice all too well. Instead of answering, I covered my face with my arm. Even so, I felt his shadow cross over me when he walked into the kitchen.
Sydney? You okay?”

In response, I rolled over onto my side, clutching at my phone. “No, I'm pretty sure the world is ending.”