Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
I shoot him a furious look, speeding up as I do. “Shut up! I am not flirting!”
“If you say so,” he mutters. “Just grab the cords, will you?”
CHAPTER
THREE
SIMONE
Restless, I clack the tongs in my hand as Mel tries to decide what she wants from my cart. I fight back a sneeze, grabbing a napkin and wiping my nose. I deliberately ignore Ruth-Ann’s retreating form because she doesn’t deserve my attention.
“You okay? You seem off today,” Melody comments, leaning over to eye the cookies.
“Allergies,” I say with a sniffle. I hope it’s allergies. I can’t afford to catch a cold.
“No, I meant you seem agitated. Uneasy.”
Am I? I can usually tell by looking down at Pluto. Sure enough, the carinoux’s cute kitten face seems worried as he watches me closely. I’ll have to give him extra treats and love when we get home. Until then…I clack the tongs once more. “If I am, it’s because of you-know-who.”
It’s not Melody that’s making me crazy. It’s the judgmental woman named Ruth-Ann who insists on coming by my business every day and sneering. She ruins my day every time I see her. There’s something so perfect and controlled about her appearance, from the perfect skin and even features, her cat-like eyes and the smooth fall of her straight jet-black hair that just barely brushes her shoulders. Her clothing is always crisp and functional, and I’ve never seen her smile.
She doesn’t look like a fun time. She looks like she’s all business.
Maybe that’s why she hates my business. Is my cart a little haphazard? Sure. Is my baking more instinct than science? Absolutely. But my customers walk away happy, and I work hard every day, so why does she care? I’m not bothering her. I’m not seeking her out.
But every day, like clockwork, she shows up in town, eyes my baked goods for the day, makes some judgy little comments, and then leaves.
She’s so mean.
Melody points at one of the little pies. “What’s in these?”
I focus on the customer in front of me and not Ruth-Ann’s slim, retreating form. “Oh. Uh, shredded beef with a bit of gravy in it.”
“Yum. I’ll take all of them. My husband loves beef.” Her eyes are bright with enthusiasm.
I scoop one up with the tongs and a bit of gravy leaks out. The bottoms are getting soggy and I inwardly wince, wondering just what Miss Perfect would say to that. “It looks a little wet. Sorry about that.”
Mel waves a hand. “It’s fine. He’s not going to eat the pastry anyhow.”
I finish bagging up the pies and hand them over, and she gives me a few of the square plastic credits that the aliens like to use as currency. “Then why get pies?” I ask. “Not that I mind the business, but I’m curious.”
“Because I’m a rotten cook, and I like supporting another person’s hustle.” She grins at me, hefting the bag in her arms. “And frankly, I like that you’re making human food. When I can come up to your cart and recognize everything here, it makes me feel like I’m home, and not a stranger in this world. I’m willing to pay for that.”
My eyes threaten to fill with tears. I’ve been through the worst this universe can offer, and yet here I am, getting emotional over some greasy pies I’ve made. “Thank you, Mel. It means a lot. Some people here aren’t very supportive.”
“Fuck them.” She pauses. “But not really. Just, you know, maybe ignore them instead.”
I laugh, then turn away and sneeze. “That, I can do.”
The last thing I want is to fuck Ruth-Ann the judgy.
CHAPTER
FOUR
RUTH-ANN
There’s no bakery cart out in the street the next morning when we head in to work on the cantina. No juvenile carinoux lolling in the street.
“Huh, that’s weird,” I say as we walk past the spot Simone’s cart is normally set up.
Aithar reaches over and tries to noogie my head. “Maybe you scared her off.”
I squirm out of his grip, ignoring the way my heart pounds at his suggestion. “Oh please. It’d take more than just me to chase her off.”
I think.
But her absence makes me wonder. We’re opening a restaurant and bar—a cantina—in Port, which already has one cantina. Port isn’t enormous. What if she thinks there’s not enough room for all businesses? What if she gives up?
Why does that make me feel so uncomfortable?
I keep my concerns to myself, because the guys would just laugh at me. It’s not that I want to chase Simone off. I just want her to…do better.
We enter the cantina, and one of the tchotchkes has fallen off the wall overnight. A lot of them tend to fall, actually. There are some flat ones, like book covers or postcards Bethiah pays exorbitant prices for and then ships to us at an even higher markup. But we want the place to feel like home and so the guys pay for them anyhow. This particular item is a saltshaker, and the tiny shelf it sits on is slightly crooked. I move to the wall to put it back in place, and the whole thing falls off in my hands.