Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“Sounds like you’ve already decided.” Michaela tries to keep a stern face and breaks, a smile curving her lips. “I’m not sure what to make of this bossy side of you.”
Panic flares inside me, but I hide it as best I can. What if she doesn’t want me to challenge her? I have not until this point. “You like it as much as my other side, I hope?”
“I do.” She laughs again, nudging me in the side.
Utter relief washes through my body. Thank kef. “Shall we shower together, my glorious dairymaid?”
“If we do, we’re never getting to town for a meal.”
I am all right with that…but she needs to eat, and I did promise her a meal.
I’m able to drag Michaela away from the messy house despite her protests to clean beforehand. This is all part of the plan. We head into town after showering, and I insist on driving. We take my air-sled, and she jokes about how she’s turning into a lady of leisure, but I don’t mind that. She’s no longer petrified at the thought of ceding some control to me. It’s progress for sure, and I’m pleased with how the day is going.
There’s no parking by the cantina, the street full with other parked rickety-looking air-sleds from colonists. Our cantina—Sunrise Cantina—isn’t open yet, so I take Michaela’s hand and we walk in the direction of the other cantina. Even from down the street, I can see it’s crowded. People are waiting at the door for their turn to order, and more women walk up as we watch.
“When did Port get so busy?” Michaela wonders.
Even as we pause, another air-sled flies overhead. “Lord va’Rin has been busy rescuing as many humans as he can,” I point out. “And word has spread. It is a good thing, I think.”
“Well, it’s definitely good for business.” Her tone is brisk, and I wonder if she is thinking about her missing sister, who has yet to be rescued.
I touch her shoulder gently and she moves closer to me, as if seeking comfort. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.” She manages a tight smile and crosses her arms over her chest, a sure sign that she’s feeling vulnerable. Then she nudges her chin toward the stall parked in front of town hall. “What’s that?”
“Simone’s bakery cart. Have you not met her?”
“There’s someone running a bakery shop here?” Michaela is surprised. “I didn’t know.”
I turn in the direction of the cart and steer my female in that direction. “Yes. She sells human foods, I believe. Would you like some?”
She makes an affirmative noise and we head for the cart. Simone’s cart is familiar to me—she has it rigged with multiple trays with plas shields to protect the food, and a large pop-up awning in festive pink and green stripes. Simone stands underneath the awning, a pair of tongs in her hand and an apron covering her clothing. Even before we approach, I notice two things. One is that there is a woman customer standing in front of the cart, arguing with Simone. The other is that the cart is empty.
It takes me another moment before I realize that the woman arguing with Simone is Ruth-Ann. Because of course it is. “Oh no.”
“What is it?” Michaela asks, just as Ruth-Ann turns and notices us.
Ruth-Ann brightens and gestures us over. “Good, you’re here. We need a second opinion. What do you call the breakfast roll with the bit of meat or sausage in the middle?”
Behind Ruth-Ann’s back, Simone makes a face.
I have no idea what they are talking about, but Michaela pauses. “You mean pigs in a blanket?”
Ruth-Ann presses on. “Have you heard them called anything else?”
“Kolache?”
“Ha!” Simone blurts out.
Ruth-Ann’s face falls. “But they’re not kolaches. Kolaches are a sweet pastry.”
Michaela shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve heard them called pigs in a blanket most of my life but my dad always called them kolaches.”
“But that’s wrong.” Ruth-Ann looks utterly disgruntled.
“Seems like you don’t know everything there is to know about baking after all,” Simone teases from behind Ruth-Ann. She beams at us. “We were having a friendly argument over what to call them. I’m glad I was right.”
“Do you have pigs in a blanket?” Michaela asks, moving forward to peer at all the trays in Simone’s cart.
“Normally I have kolaches,” she emphasizes, a triumphant look on her face as she eyes Ruth-Ann. “But they’re not quite pig nor are they in a blanket. I haven’t perfected a pancake yet. The flour here doesn’t play nice.” She gestures with her tongs at her empty trays. “And I actually just sold the last box of cookies and was packing up.”
“You have cookies?” Michaela’s expression is delighted.
“I do,” Simone says proudly. “I also have hand pies and a few other things on a daily basis.”