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 cancome 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.”
Thelastthing I want is to fuck Ruth-Ann the judgy.
CHAPTER
FOUR
RUTH-ANN
There’sno 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.
“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 longerit 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.”
