Page 17 of Romancing the Clone (Sunrise Cantina #3)

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Weeks Later

SIMONE

I consider the spices I have on the counter, trying to decide which combination will surprise Ruth-Ann.

Our flavoring game continues, and it grows trickier to “fool” her each time.

I’m down to some of the stinkier herbs which can’t be disguised when they’re baked, and I don’t want to waste food.

I always set aside a small bit of dough for her cookie surprise, but if my trick doesn’t turn out, it’s disappointing.

Maybe I need to hide something inside the cookie.

We’d tried the other day to make filled cupcakes, but the dough here isn’t wheat-based and is a little more spongy.

Cutting out the middles to put a filling means that the entire thing collapses a few minutes later, and a bunch of collapsed cupcakes don’t sell well.

But I could hide something in a cookie, I think.

Do I have anything like a clove of garlic?

I glance down at Pluto. “What do you think, bubba? Veggies? Meat?”

He noses my knee and puts his paw on my shoe.

“You’re right. Pickles it is.”

Snickering to myself, I just manage to hide a chunk of sour, pickled root into eight dough balls before a yawning Ruth-Ann shuffles into the kitchen. She approaches me, arms out, and hugs my waist, leaning against my arm.

“Morning, sunshine,” I say, chuckling.

She groans and shuffles on to the shower.

Poor baby. The cantina has been a wild success since it opened, but the staff is barely able to keep up with demand.

They’re going to have to hire help, but until they do, it’s late nights for all of them.

My sweet girlfriend is a bit of a control freak and so she gets there early and stays until closing.

Of course then she comes home to me, and we cuddle and talk and make love…

and as a result, she’s coasting on less than four hours of sleep.

While she gets ready for the day, I feed Pluto his breakfast and ice the sheet cake I’ve made for her.

The honey cake with the cheese frosting has been a huge success, and Ruth-Ann makes one every day for the cantina and she insists on paying me.

Not just for the ingredients, but for “use of the recipe”.

It’s not necessary, but it does help with my savings, so I take it every time.

Business has been booming ever since Ruth-Ann started helping me with my recipes.

Not that things weren’t good before, but I’ve noticed that my regulars are buying even bigger orders, and that things sell out quicker than before.

I’ve been slowly increasing the amount I bake, with a few more batches crafted in the evening so I can pop them in the oven in the morning, but I’ve run out of room.

I need more counter space, more refrigeration, another oven, and just more everything.

It makes me wonder if I should approach the Custodians in town about the potential of getting a house built nearby.

I don’t want a farm, because that’s just a lot of added effort.

But a cute little bungalow on the outskirts of the buildings here?

With a large kitchen and a bedroom big enough for Ruth-Ann and me to have a queen-sized bed?

That’s the dream. I figure money talks, so I’ve been putting aside all my extra credits.

After all, Ruth-Ann can’t stay on the ship forever. Ships are meant to sail, and they’ve hinted that while the Scarlet Gaze has been docked for a while, it’s not a permanent thing. Eventually it’ll head back out into space. Some of the crew is going to stay behind, and some are leaving with it.

I should ask about her plans. I consider this as I put the last tray of cookies—the trick ones—into the oven. I’d assumed she’d be staying behind to be with me, but I’ve never asked.

Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve never gone to visit the ship, either.

That makes me pause. I wipe my hands on a nearby towel and lean against the counter as Ruth-Ann emerges from the shower.

She stays here with me every night, and I sometimes drop by the cantina when they’re busy to see if they need help.

Ruth-Ann always shoos me away and says it’s because I’ve already worked a full day.

That she doesn’t want me to tire myself out.

But…what if it’s something else?

Ruth-Ann yawns and gives me a sleepy smile, heading to my bedroom. I follow after her, pulling a fresh set of clothing out for myself while she dresses. “What’s the plan today?” I ask casually. “You working until close again?”

“For now,” she agrees. “Once we get a good idea of how much we’re going to bring in regularly, we can determine wages and how much help we can hire.

We’re being a little extra cautious at the moment because I don’t want us to hire someone just to let them go again if things slow down. That seems unfair.”

“You want me to come by and help out after work? You know I don’t mind.”

She steps into her one-piece jumper with the SUNRISE CANTINA logo on it and taps the auto-fastener. It zooms up her body, zipping and molding the clothing to her form. “You’ve got tons to do for your cart. It’s not necessary.”

“Just thought I’d offer,” I say casually. “You ever going to take a day off? I wouldn’t mind seeing your quarters back on the ship.”

“They’re nothing special.” She pulls out a pair of socks and lifts a foot to put one on. “Just a bed and a trunk with clothes. I used to share quarters with Ruthie, but she moved in with Kaz.”

“I’d still like to see where you live.” I can’t decide if she’s being classic Ruth-Ann and demurring or if she truly doesn’t want me on board the ship.

She puts on her other sock and then bends down to scratch Pluto’s jowls, just the way he likes.

The heavy carinoux pushes against her, and I realize he’s going to be bigger than her soon.

Her wet hair clings to her scalp, and between that and the carinoux, she looks like a waif lost in a thunderstorm.

“I practically live right here with you.”

I chuckle at that, because it’s true, and dismiss my prickles of concern. I’m just being paranoid. There’s no reason to hide a relationship, not on this end of the universe. No one cares if we’re lesbians.

…do they?

We pack up for the morning, discussing the weather and the new recipe that’s been a huge hit.

It's smaller versions of the popular cake, with a sandwich filling of the honey-cheese icing, and I swear I want to eat them all myself, they’re so good.

I carefully bag up the prank cookies separately and then wheel my laden cart out to the street while Ruth-Ann carries the enormous cantina sheet cake in her arms.Pluto walks between us, as he always does.

It’s like he’s trying to protect us both, which is sweet.

Once my cart is on site in my usual location, Ruth-Ann lifts her face for a kiss. “See you later?”

“I can help you carry that,” I offer after we kiss. “No one will steal from the cart if I leave it unattended for a moment.”

“Not necessary,” she says, and bends down slightly to address Pluto. “Be a good boy for your mom.”

Then she walks away.

Seeing her leave pricks my doubts all over again. I call after her. “Are you hiding us?”

That makes her pause. She turns around, hefting the heavy cake in her arms, and frowns at me. “Simone, this thing is getting heavier by the moment. I need to go—but tell me what you mean. Hiding what?”

“Us.” I gesture at myself, then at her. “You and me.”

She makes a face. “Seriously? That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? You don’t want me to come back to the ship to see your room. You don’t want me to come work at the cantina. Is it because we’re both women and your sisters are with men?”

Laughter bubbles out of her, and Ruth-Ann’s face is incredulous. “What? No. Don’t be silly.”

I cross my arms. “Then what else is it? What’s the big deal?”

“There’s no big deal?—”

“So why not let me help if you guys are so shorthanded? Why not let me visit your quarters on the ship if there’s nothing to see? Just to humor me?”

Her expression turns cagey, and my heart sinks. It’s not just my imagination, then. There’s something going on and she’s deliberately avoiding bringing me around. She glances down at the cantina, then back at me. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Maybe there shouldn’t be a later.”

She flinches. “I don’t want that?—”

“Well, I don’t want to be someone’s dirty secret. I thought we were past that kind of thing here on Risda.” I gesture at our surroundings. “No one cares if we’re gay!”

Surprise flashes across her face, followed by annoyance. “Oh, come on. It’s not about us being lesbians.”

“Then what is it?”

Her lips flatten and she’s silent.

I throw my hands up in the air. “Never mind. I give up. Go have fun. Let me know when I get to be part of your life. Then we can talk.”

I wait for her to protest, to say I’ve got it all wrong, but she just gives me the saddest look and then heads on to the cantina, the heavy sheet cake in her arms. I don’t know what to think. All I know is that my feelings are hurt, and yet somehow I feel like the bad guy.

What the hell?