1. Flash Fiction: Fighting Miss Austen
Cherry Pie Author Services shared a story prompt back in July, and after a week of thought, I posted the following flash fiction piece on my Instagram feed. Enjoy! (Flash fiction, for those of you who don’t know, is a type of fiction that is very short, usually no more than a few hundred words.)
He hadn’t intended to fight Miss Austen, but somehow, well, here he was. Gloves off, sleeves rolled up, ready to…
Next thing the man knew, he was on the ground, opening one eye to find the woman smirking above him. Cheers rose like a Southern summer haze, mixed with just enough booing to make him wonder what exactly she’d done.
Planting his elbows in the dirt, he groaned and pushed himself up, blinking against the sunshine flickering through the leaves overhead. Somewhere to the left, the strolling minstrel band hired for the weekend festival launched into a rollicking reel.
She grinned down at him, fingers unlacing the blue ribbon under her chin and tossing the flowered bonnet to the side. A few dark curls snagged and pulled from their pins with the motion, fluttering in the breeze.
“Miss Austen,” he mumbled, rubbing one hand over his face. She ignored him, straightening her long skirt. “Jane.”
“What’s the matter, Fitz? Can’t take a punch from a lady?” The crowd circling them jeered at that, a few catcalls rising from the gathered women in their sun visors and sandals.
He glared up at her. “You are the most ridiculous—” Cutting himself off, he shook his head once and staggered to his feet, slapping dirt from his trousers.
Jane smirked again. “I’ve told you before, Fitz. I have to work with you, but I don’t have to like you.”
Yes, she’d told him before. Many times.
Too many times.
Problem was, he feared she might actually mean it. They’d grown up together. Worked together. Played these roles together for three summers now — but she still hadn’t forgiven him for that one stupid mistake four years ago.
This wasn’t how their story was meant to go.
Ignoring the noise around them, Fitz clenched his teeth and snagged her by the waist, pulling her so close her breath ruffled his cravat.
She squawked and glared up at him — but didn’t move.
“Just wait, Jane,” he said, too quiet for their audience to hear. “Lizzie was wrong about Darcy, and you’re wrong about me.” Making himself let go, he took a step back but held her rather startled gaze. “And I’m going to prove it.”
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
It was Fitz’s turn to smirk at her. “Let the games begin.”