I let him feed me and pretend like I did not eat loads of this cake at Jove and Lyra’s wedding. I ooh. I ahh. I nod along as he rhapsodizes about the carrot-to-flour ratio, the buttercream frosting, and the presentation. “Tinycakes,” he declares. “Better control of the ingredients!”
“Much tiny,” I agree, patting his head. His short-cropped hair prickles against my palm. I yawn. “Much control.”
“We can’t use it for the shop,” he says, squinting at Mars’ hands as they add the final flourish to the cake he’s working on. “But we can have it at home. Ruby likes carrot cake.”
Ruby likes anything Roman makes, so long as he keeps olives out of it.
“Can he make this while we’re here?” I ask Jove. “And you,” I nod to Mars, “can observe to make sure he doesn’t miss anything?” My eyes fall on thetwocarrot cakes in front of us. Well… one and three-fourths carrot cakes in front of us, since Roman continues to pick apart his quarter-cake-sized piece, alternating between feeding me bites and taking some himself. “Will that be too much carrot cake?”
Lyra and Mars laugh.
“There’s never enough carrot cake,” Jove informs me. “Never.”
Mm. I can see how that would be true, yes, when the carrot cake is this good.
“We can do it tomorrow,” Mars agrees, eyes alight. “Two days in a row away from Ceres ought to have my little avoidant-attachment wife begging for me to give her attention.”
Yes, because that is what avoidant attachments are so knownfor doing. Not that I’ll be mentioningthat. If Mars wants to play hard to get with his not-even-fishing-wife in a way that makes yummy, nummy, perfect carrot cake at home a possibility for me? By all means, my man. Play away.
“Do you have an oven thermometer?” Roman asks. “I’d like to make sure the temperature between here and home stays consistent. And I’ll have to take elevation into consideration… Indiana’s a lot lower…” He frowns, poking at his cake.
I pat his head again. “It’ll be fine, Salty.”
His face clears of Recipe Roman focus, and he seems to realize I’m being held captive by him. His arm twitches, but, notably, does not drop. “Yeah,” he grunts. “Itwillbe fine.”
I feel sorry for our kitchen should it disobey his whims.
“If you’re done throwing cake down my throat,” I say mildly, “I’d like to take a wee nap.”
His brows furrow. “A nap? Since when do you take naps?”
Since never. “I’m on vacation, and I promised your sister I’d rest and restore.” And I’m worn out from an emotionally wrought reunion with my brother. “You have a problem with me napping?”
“After your nap, do you want to have movie night?” Lyra asks when Roman’s only reply is a scrunch of his nose and a scowl.
I agree to movie night before extricating myself—with effort—from Roman’s hold. “I’m going to the bedroom, not the moon,” I grumble. “Let me go.”
“Fine,” he grumbles right back. “But don’t think I don’t see you being weird.”
“You’re weird,” I retort. “Leave me alone.”
He rolls his eyes.
I stick my tongue out at him.
His mouth twitches.
Heh. I win.
I bid goodnap to an amused Lyra, Jove, and Mars, scrunchmy nose at Roman, then disappear into my temporary bedroom for a much,muchneeded sleep.
I wake up from my nap unsure what year it is, what planet I’m on, and why the room is so dark.
“It’s 7:30,” Roman says, poking at my nose. “Dinner’s ready.”
I groan, batting his hand away. “No dinner,” I mumble. “Only sleep.”
“Yes dinner. You’ve been asleep for three hours.”
