Your Table Is Ready Novels & Stories

"This game is called 'Make My Heart Race'." There are two chairs with a small round table in the middle. Each side had a paper and in front of the set up is a TV screen showing white background that is divided into two. What caught my attention was the long table where there are pies. And I'm guessing it's for punishment. The other table is a set of delicious meals and desserts which I'm guessing is the reward.

Like it wasn’t a line pulled straight from the private corners of her life. Micah passed behind her later, a textbook in one hand, looking for a quiet spot. She didn’t look at him until he returned to the room with a pen in his mouth and a bottle of water in his hand. She caught his eye and tilted her head toward the drink on the table. “I didn’t know you were keeping track,” she said, her tone calm, almost teasing. Micah raised a brow. “Of what?” “My coffee orders.” He paused for exactly one heartbeat.

As her chant faded into the air, a surge of energy pulsed through the room. And then, to my astonishment, a table materialized before my eyes. It shimmered into existence, its wooden surface gleaming with polished elegance. The table seemed to glide across the room, guided by unseen forces, until it settled into a stationary position right in front of me. My breath caught in my throat as I marveled at the display of Freda's magical prowess. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been manipulated, seamlessly bringing forth the table I had so fervently sought.

I glanced over at Wolf as he glared at the boy with rage. "Great! Let me get your number and I'll text you later!" he insisted. As I gave him my number I glanced around the table and read a multitude of expressions. Concern on Scarlett, Cassy and Don, annoyed on Foxy and Jackal, amused on Hound and Pete and anger on Wolf. "I'll talk to you later, R." Sam said and he and Pete finally left the table. As soon as they were out of earshot, I groaned. "Shit. This sucks" I complained.

And that's a big fat lie, Max thought. We're not even close to being out of the woods yet. "Okay, everyone." Jeanne Whitlow clapped her hands. "The steaks are ready, and everything else is set up on the buffet table. Please help yourselves."

GODFATHER'S POV My eyes darted across the room, but my eyes kept coming back to the huge mahogany table in the center ,where the food was placed. The huge mahogany table was one that caught my fancy. Crafted from fine mahogany wood, the table surface was smooth, polished, and its reflecting light showcased its beauty of sturdy, sleek design. I was here again, in alpha Gritus's den. The room was filled with eerie silence—a silence likened to the unknown.

Makes me want to lay in bed and sleep while listening to his tone. Walking straight and followed him going to the dining area is kinda awkward. I mean, I just realized what I am wearing. The table had a long oblong shaped wooden table. With one plate, one glass of water, and one chair. Perhaps, it was for Him. But... how about me?

She bought my ticket, selected my seat in this theater of her making. As the meaning of the words sinks in, a figure approaches. The maître d’, his face a mask of professional courtesy, stops at my booth. “Mr. Thorne? Your table is ready.” “I’m fine here,” I say, my voice rough. “I must insist,” he replies, his smile unwavering. He gestures with a white-gloved hand toward the main floor. Toward a small, empty table for one, positioned just three yards from Table 14. It is horrifyingly conspicuous, a stage within the stage.

I shuddered and looked away, turning my attention to the food on the table and its exquisite placement. “I had this done for you,” he said slightly, reaching down and suddenly putting his gun on the table. The heavy metal landed with a dull thud that still rattled the silverware. “Also, I had a show prepared for you too. I wouldn’t want you to be bored.”

You'd never be able to pay for the damage even if you sold all you had! My hands scraped and started to bleed from the rough ground. I could not help but gaze at Jasmine. She sauntered over, all grace and disdain. She spoke up, as if she was doing me a favor, "You want a closer look? Go ahead, crawl in." I grabbed two sticks to prop myself up and followed her inside. My eyes swept over the antique paintings and luxurious furniture that should have been mine. There were remnants of a lobster feast on the table. It brought back memories of scrimping to help my brothers, surviving on a single bun a day, quenching hunger with gulps of water.