Page 1 of Eat My Moon Dust
PROLOGUE
I’d like to say a quick thank you to Dakota Chickeness for helping me bring Tinsley Adams and her community to vibrant life. Thank you for your warm guidance and patience as I navigated Tinsley’s Cree cultural roots.
Before you dig in, please know that there’s a handy little summary of the world, species descriptions, and character info before this prologue! Please check it out, if that tickles your detail-oriented book brain. Enjoy!
?TINSLEY?
“Hup!”
I lifted the heavy slow cooker from beneath the old brass National cash register and teetered on my tiptoes to roll its base onto the countertop. The contents sloshed against the heavy lid and my mouth instantly watered as I pulled the old power cord out of the outlet with my toe.
“Careful, Tinsley. You’re gonna strain your back doing that,” Sam chided, making his steady way across the cement floor with his mop.
I spit my long dark brown ponytail from my mouth with an unlady-likepthhhhftand put my hands on my hips.
“Nonsense! I’m young and sturdy.”
He snorted. “And the size of a chihuahua.”
I squinted at his fatherly amusement with disapproval as I slowly pulled two ceramic mugs from the shelf behind the register. His grin only widened, carving into the aged lines of his warm cinnamon features. He’d pushed his short mane of straight black and silver hair back from his face with one of those springy headband combs from the 90s, and it perfectly accentuated his mischief. Samlovedgetting a rise out of me.
I popped my lips together, making up my mind. “No hot mulled cider for you then.”
“Personality of a chihuahua too,” he murmured immediately, pausing to watch my reaction with a glint of anticipation.
My eyes flew open with indignation. I cocked one hip and opened my mouth, about to take his bait when Adam strolled out of the kitchen, flannel-lined coat in tow.
“Dishes are all done, Tin,” he announced with a reserved smile. Russet hair obscured his forehead, and all the gingery freckles on his teenage face warped with pride. “Have a good Christma-wawoah!”
I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.
“Oh no you don’t!” I exclaimed, shoving a mug into his lanky fingers. It was the buffalo plaid one, his favorite. “Cider first.”
“Really?”
“Pfft,duh,” I said, rolling my eyes with a smile. “C’mon, Sam, get over here!”
Neither of the men needed telling twice. Sam untied his red apron, wadded it up, and tossed it in the bin of rags by the kitchen as Adam set his coat down on an upturned oak chair and leaned in, taking a big whiff of the slow cooker.
“What did you call this stuff?” he asked, mesmerized.
“Mulled cider, apple cider’s sexier cousin.”
I bit my lip with excitement and lifted the lid. Steam rolled over the slow cooker like a heavenly cloud, revealing a mulled gallon of perfection. Star anise, cinnamon sticks, dried allspice berries, whole cloves, and nutmeg, stewing in a soup of unfiltered apple juice for three whole hours… Nothing in the world could ever smell more divine.
And from the way Adam’s throat bobbed, he agreed. I lovingly mixed the floating particles of spices back into the cider until it was a speckled swirl, then handed Sam the ladle. He doled out servings while I added slices of orange and whole cranberries to each mug.
“You can drink that part?”
“Of course!” I said, sucking citrus juice off my fingers. “It’s what makes it taste so good. Every sip is a little different, a little special.”
“Like orange juice with a little pulp,” Sam added, handing Adam his drink.
“Or honey with flecks of the comb in it!”
Adam blinked between us, then looked at his cider thoughtfully, inhaling the aroma as he brought the mug to his lips. He made a noise of satisfaction and pressed his mouth together, savoring the taste.
“Woah, this is amazing!” he said, eyes popping wide. He took a hearty gulp and chewed down an orange slice whole.
