Page 21 of Romancing the Clone (Sunrise Cantina #3)

SIMONE

“I had no idea that thing would be so big in person,” the mesakkah Custodian says, unable to take his eyes off my carinoux. “Why did I assume it would be smaller?”

“He’s a good boy,” I say, putting my hand on Pluto’s harness. The lizard-cat rubs against my leg, but he watches Custodian Sinath with an intent gaze. “He isn’t around a lot of men, so maybe don’t get too close.”

It’s a lie. It’s not that Pluto doesn’t like men. He just knows which ones are my friends and which ones aren’t. And while the Custodian is perfectly pleasant, coming into the office here always sets me on edge.

He takes a careful step behind his desk. “I won’t. What can I help you with?”

“My bakery application? I was coming to check on the progress.” I smile brightly and gesture at the box in my hands. “I brought over some leftover cookies from today’s sales. Figured someone could eat them.”

The Custodian’s eyes brighten. “Lucky me! That’s wonderful.” He gets to his feet, eyes Pluto, and sits back down again. “Maybe just leave them on the closest desk to you?”

I bite back a chuckle, because Pluto is rather huge and carinoux are known for their fierce protection of their owners.

This guy doesn’t need to know that Pluto is also scared of loud noises and the dark and sometimes his own tail.

He looks intimidating, and that’s enough.

I set the box down on the desk and give it a happy pat while Custodian Sinath flicks through a screen, typing as he does.

“It looks like it’s been updated. You should have received a notification,” he says.

“I can’t read your language,” I say patiently.

“Right. Of course.” He gives me a sheepish smile, tapping a button on his data pad. Immediately, a piece of plas-paper slithers out of a nearby printer. “We don’t get a lot of business applications from humans, so we haven’t quite worked out all the holes in the process.”

“It’s all right.” I hold my hand out for the plas-paper. “Was it approved?”

“It was. A two-story building along Main Street,” he says, reading from the paper.

“Downstairs will contain a cooking facility and a front area for business. Upstairs will be private apartments. You’ll be attached to the electrical grid and water filtration system once the shell of the building is printed. Estimate is about five Risda months.”

My excitement dims a little at that and I drop my hand (not that he’s coming over to bring the paper to me). “Five months ?”

“Five months,” he repeats, nodding. “Lord va’Rin wants his space port expansion to be completed first, and then there’s a list of other projects for the contractors.

He’s limiting the availability of extraterrestrial workers to keep the colonists safe.

You’re in the queue, and that’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry.”

Well, it makes sense. And five months is not so long a time in the scheme of things. “Can I see the printout?”

He surges up from behind his desk, eager to please—and immediately stops as Pluto jerks in his harness. Custodian Sinath stares down the carinoux, then eyes me. “How about I put it on the desk corner here and then I move to the back room so you can get it?”

“Perfect. Thanks.” I wait patiently as he does just that, my thoughts whirling.

Five months. It gives us more time to plan—Ruth-Ann’s favorite hobby—but I’m impatient.

I want my storefront yesterday, darn it.

When he’s safely in the next room, I move through the empty office and pick up the plas, scanning it.

There are layouts of what our building is going to look like. My heart skips a happy beat.

I can’t wait to show this to Ruth-Ann.

“This is wonderful, thank you, Custodian!” I wave the paper at him. “Can I keep this?”

“All yours,” he yells from the next room over, and gives me a very goofy thumbs-up gesture he probably learned from his wife.

With a thumbs-up in response, I grab Pluto’s harness again and head out of the building.

I pause to eye the ever-elongating Main Street, noting that there’s another building popping up next to Sunrise Cantina, and what looks like markings for one after that.

I wonder what side of the street I’ll be on.

Doesn’t matter. There’s so much demand for my baked goods that I’ll be a success no matter where I’m located.

Excited, I all but skip towards the cantina and open the door.

Or try to—it’s locked. The place doesn’t open for another hour.

I bang on the door and resist the urge to shove my face against the glass. I can’t stop grinning.

A familiar face appears, and for a moment I think it’s Ruth-Ann with her hair pulled back.

But as the woman gets to the door, I see that it’s Ruthie.

She’s wearing a red kerchief over her normally spiky short hair and has a different nose-hoop in today.

She smiles at me and unlocks the door, dusting her hands off on her overalls as she does. “Hey stranger.”

“Hey. Don’t suppose you’ve seen the sexiest woman in Port around?” I tease.

“Every time I look in the mirror,” she jokes back, then points at the back of the cantina. “She’s cleaning the restrooms.”

“Oof.” I make a face. “Did she lose a bet?”

“Her?” Ruthie’s pierced brow goes up. “You know she always wins her bets. But we’re shorthanded and now she’s having to fill in for Jerzec. It was his job.”

And Jerzec left with the Scarlet Gaze earlier this week. My poor wifey must be cussing up a storm. Organizing, she loves. Cleaning and putting things away, she enjoys. Cleaning up after strangers in a public bathroom…not so much. “I’ll see if she needs help, then.”

“Get some rubber gloves,” she advises, then kneels down to rub Pluto all over his face. “Look at this boy!” she coos. “You want a snack, buddy?”

He licks her face, excited, but doesn’t leave my side. I lean over and tap his haunch. “Go with Ruthie, Pluto. She’ll get you a treat.”

He whines, looking at me for a moment longer, then pads away after Ruthie, heading to the kitchen with her. I move toward the bathrooms at the far end of the cantina, and as I approach, I can hear Ruth-Ann cussing up a storm under her breath.

“Knock knock,” I say as I rap my knuckles on the half-open door. There’s a heavy smell of cleaners in the air.

Ruth-Ann makes a pained noise from inside the bathroom.

“You don’t want to come in. No one deserves to see what I’ve scraped off the floors here.

” She appears a moment later, a mop in hand, an expression of pure disgust on her face.

“I’d offer to kiss you but I need a really hot shower after cleaning this mess. ”

My poor wifey looks disheveled and sweaty from her work. I peer around the corner. “It looks clean.”

“Now,” she emphasizes. “It looks clean now .”

A giggle of sympathy threatens to escape my throat, but I manage to hold it in. “I’m sorry, babe. I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“It depends.” She peels off a plastic glove and tosses it into the now-sparkling sink. “Is the bad news that whoever made the mess in here is coming back tonight? Because if that’s the case, I’m calling in dead.”

This time I laugh. “No, that’s not the bad news.” I hold the plas-paper out to her. “The good news is that we got approved for our bakery. The bad news is that it’ll take five months for them to build it for us.”

Her gaze flicks up to me, then back to the paper. She snatches it out of my hand and scans it, though I know she can’t read alien writing, either. Her face slowly lights up, and I love watching the smile uncurl across her face. “This is the layout?”

“It is.”

She smiles wider and moves a little closer. “I’m not going to hug you, but I’m thinking about it really hard right now.”

I can’t help but smile back at her. “We’ll hug it out the moment you shower. I promise.” I reach out and brush a strand of sweaty hair back from her forehead, because it’s impossible not to touch her. “What do you think?”

Her gaze goes over the printout again. “I think it’s exciting. I’m so happy for you.”

“Happy for us,” I point out. “It’s yours, too.

Just because I’m baking there doesn’t mean it’s just mine.

This is our business, together.” Ruth-Ann’s been doing profit and loss statements for me since she realized I wasn’t and had no idea if I was making enough money or not.

She loves a good set of data. In addition, she’s been baking with me at night, and we’ve been working together to make different cake flavors for the cantina.

I’m always “paid” by a cut of the restaurant’s dessert earnings, but I’d do it for free.

It helps the cantina be a success, and it makes Ruth-Ann happy.

And I’m a sucker for my wife being happy.

“I’m so excited,” she says, beaming up at me. “Can we kiss? I promise my mouth is clean.”

“It had better be.” I cup her face in my hands and plant a kiss on her.

One smacking, cheery one, followed by a longer, more tender one just because I can never kiss her just once.

It has to be multiple kisses, frequent kisses.

She just has the best mouth. I kiss her a third time, just because.

Then I lift my head and grin at her. “But since the bakery’s not going to be ready for five months, that means I have some free time.

Want me to put on a uniform and help with the cantina? ”

“God, yes. Say more sexy things.”

I kiss her again. “Love you, wifey.”

“Love you more,” she replies, her eyes soft.

I don’t know that such a thing is possible, but we have forever to find out.