Burnt Toast

Reads: 220  | Likes: 2  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

A flash fiction piece. Stressed out and running late. Will this art gallery curator keep her cool when a charming stranger appears?

The toast was burnt. A stubborn stain on my blouse refused to shift, however much I rubbed it. This was not the best start to my Tuesday morning. I looked at the clock. Seven thirty-eight. Damn, today was not the day to be late. I rushed to gather my belongings.

Several minutes of continuously attempting to start the car and failing, rendered me even later. It seemed the Universe was against me today. Cursing the garage that had carried out the M.O.T. and service last month for not doing their job properly, I speed dialled the number for Zoom Taxis. Using the waiting time constructively, I tried to erase the stain whilst simultaneously calling my assistant on speaker phone. Lilly would have to start setting up the room without me.

A sweeping of lights announced the taxi’s arrival. I rushed down the path, but I could see a man approaching the passenger door.

“Stop,” I shouted, “that’s my taxi.”

After a heated debate with the taxi driver, I had to resign myself to the fact that this was not my taxi. I vowed to put in a complaint that evening. The man had stood around looking awkward, pretending to be interested in the floor, the birds in the sky. At one point he even faked texting. Maybe I was making him late now.

“I’ll be putting in a complaint,” I spat at the driver and turned on my high heel to leave.

The man took pity on me, offering to share his ride. It turned out we were both travelling to the City.

Once settled in the back seats, I said, “It’s very kind of you to let me share your taxi.”

I didn’t want him to think I was always this cranky. He had soft eyes and a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled.

“You appear to be in quite a hurray,” the man replied, “if I’d left you on the pavement, I would have felt guilty the whole day.”

I kept sneaking sideways glances at him. Every time I did, he was looking back at me with an amused look on his face. I couldn’t decide if I was pleased or infuriated.

A buzzing implored me to answer my phone. Lilly was on the other end, speaking frantically. I gave a large sigh and rolled my eyes at the man, hoping to come across as calm and nonplussed, despite the waves of nausea in my stomach.

When Lilly finally took a breath, I said, “Okay, Lilly, tell me again, but slowly this time.”

The man laughed and his eyes crinkled at the sides.

“More problems this morning?” the man asked, once I’d hung up.

“Not only am I going to be late, but my very important guest is running late too. How can I host a masterclass when the artist of the painting isn’t even in the room?”

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to be an artist,” said the man with a playful wink.

Submitted: August 27, 2021

© Copyright 2021 C L Pankhurst. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



A well written piece of flash fiction.

Sun, August 29th, 2021 5:07am


Thank you Rob. I'm glad you liked it.

Sun, August 29th, 2021 2:07am

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