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)
“Who hung this shelf?” I ask, eyeing the pieces. The screw on the back is stripped.
“Who do you think?” Kazex calls from behind the bar, where he’s shaping the metal legs of a stool under Ruthie’s supervision.
Ugh. “Salvotor. That guy is the worst.” If there’s something done haphazardly around here, it’s thanks to Salvotor, who gets distracted easily. He means the best, but if there were a poster child for squirrel brain, it would be that man.
“He tries very hard,” Dopekh says loyally. “It’s not his fault.”
“It is literally the definition of his fault,” I mutter, but there’s no winning that argument. Dopekh will defend Salvotor until the day he dies. Unrequited love and all that.
With a new screw, I replace the small shelf on the wall and put the items—the saltshaker, a small stuffed rabbit, and an empty cola can—back in place. There’s a hint of dust on a few of the other items thanks to all the construction, so I get out a rag and start dusting. There’s not much I can help with right now as it is. I’m in charge of the books and accounting and the menus once we get closer, but we’re not there yet. I’m not as strong as the guys, so I let them do the hard work and I mostly assist with the smaller chores. And planning. I love a good planning session.
The cantina is coming along nicely, but there’s still a lot that needs to be done. Sometimes I think the guys dither and take their time because they’re afraid to open the cantina. The longer it takes to get it decorated and set up, the more time they have to pump themselves up.
Which is fine. There’s no timeframe. I find that I’m working at the same speed as the men, dawdling over the decor and dusting while I move toward the window facing the street, and then peer out. Still no bakery cart. She should be set up by now. People aren’t going to want to buy pastries in the late afternoon heat. “Where is she?”
“Not again,” Aithar says. “You need to let it go, Ruth-Ann.”
“Leave my sister alone,” Ruthie calls from the bar. She glances over at me as she hands a nail to Kazex, her new mate. “She’s allowed to have a crush.”
“I don’t have a crush,” I exclaim, mortified.
I don’t!
…do I?
I mean, sure, Simone is pretty. But it’s her personality that sparkles more than anything. She’s got lively, expressive eyes and a laugh that lights up the street. Her customers love her. Even when she scowls at me, she still manages to look exciting and alive and vibrant and…
Oh no.
“I don’t have a crush,” I blurt again, trying to convince them. Hell, I’m not sure I’m convinced myself.
“It’s fine,” Ruthie says. “These goobers aren’t going to judge you. We’ve got Captain Unrequited Love over here,” she gestures at Dopekh, “And Mister I’ll-Let-Michaela-Step-On-My-Neck right here.”
Aithar beams as Ruthie gestures at him, nodding.
“And we’re certainly not going to judge,” Ruthie continues, gesturing at herself and then at Kazex.
Kaz just gives my “sister” the most besotted look ever.
“What about me? And Zaemen?” Jerzec frowns. “And Erzah? Sakkar?”
“I’m not naming everyone,” Ruthie tells him. “Just commenting on the lovesick fools.”
“I might be lovesick,” Jerzec continues, defensive. “You don’t know I’m not.”
“It’s not a contest and I’m not lovesick,” I protest, wanting to tear my hair out. “Oh my god! All I did was comment on the bakery cart not being there today! That doesn’t make me in love with her.”
They all stare at me, judgment in their eyes.
“I’m not,” I say again, weakly.
“You need to let it go,” Dopekh says. “And that’s coming from me.”
I cross my arms over my chest, then uncross them. I pick up another object, restless, and keep dusting. “I’m not in love. I just don’t like that she’s…wrong. Her baking is atrocious. She should take pride in her work.”
Jerzec’s tattooed face is the picture of befuddlement. “You think she doesn’t?”
“I don’t know what she’s thinking.” I pick up a bent piece of a license plate—New Mexico, and an ugly yellow—and pretend to dust it. “And she’s got a young carinoux with her. They’re ultra-possessive of their people. She should be keeping him home.”
“So, what, since she has a pet she’s not allowed to leave the house anymore?” Jerzec asks.
I’m not going to dignify that with a response. “Anyway, where are we at with the booze? Who’s working on that? We can’t have a cantina without booze.”
It’s the best distraction I know how to throw out there, because the actual acquiring of alcohol is Jerzec’s task, and it’s been an absolute disaster. He throws his hands up in the air and then hops up on the bar next to Ruthie. “Speaking of! You know I was trying to buy some of the local brew, right? You will not believe what that insane human did this time…”