Page 8 of Adrift!
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Mariah sighed. “I should probably be using this time to get to know our potential dates, but…” She glanced around surreptitiously. “Speed dating is supposed to be lower stakes, and it seems weirder when we’re going nowhere.”
“Gives you more time, I guess.” For no good reason, Remy felt her gaze drift toward the bar. Probably just needed more coffee…
“By the way, I like your socks.”
“Oh. Thanks? The fabricator in my cabin made them.” A bit self-consciously, Remy stuck one foot out, peering down. “Maybe a bit much?”
“No such thing when it comes to socks. If you want to go even wilder, come to my knitting circle tonight, and I’ll show you how to add hand-crocheted flowers.”
“Uh…” Remy had overheard some of Mariah’s conversation with other passengers in the lifepod about supplementing her alpaca woolens with astrology, tarot, and healing touch. That all seemed like a bit much.
Except… When Mariah spoke about her passion for purls, planetary alignments, and pressure points, a nasty envy twisted in Remy’s chest. Here was someone who could rock up on a fest or farmers market back on Earth, radiating excitement for her fiber arts and other fantasies—and even endless lightyears away from that source, Remy could stillfeelthat joy.
Worse yet, she remembered it for herself.
Into the awkward expanding pause, Mariah arched one eyebrow. “Unless you have something else to do?”
Before Remy could come up with a good answer—any answer would’ve done—Ikaryo circled past their nook. “More coffee?”
She jumped on the distraction. “Please.”
Mariah put her hand over her mug. “If I do a second cup I get the jitters. Then I end up stabbing myself with my knitting needles. Or reading apocalypses into the tarot cards.”
Ikaryo withdrew the carafe. “Stabbings and apocalypses are a different cruise.”
With a laugh, Mariah stood. “That’s a relief. I need to go make some yarn anyway. Will I see you tonight, Remy?”
“Oh. Well, Ikaryo had asked if I had anything to add to the entertainment bucket so I should probably prep something…”
“I’ll put you on the schedule for tomorrow night, Remy,” Ikaryo said, so smoothly she wondered if he was covering for her or coercing her.
“It’s like sleepaway camp with a talent show,” Mariah enthused.
Was it too late to get stabbed instead?
As the sardonic thought went through her head, Remy caught herself. Bad enough she couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm that had once propelled her from Nebraska to Nashville to LA, but now she was going to be bitter about someone else’s enjoyment?
“I’ll be there,” she said. And if she had to stab herself a little to put some energy into the words, it was worth it to watch the other woman clasp her hands together in delight.
Remy kept the smile on her own face until Mariah left. She was the last one in the salon. Except for Ikaryo, who didn’t need her pretense.
He lifted an eyebrow as Mariah had, like it was a trick he’d just learned. “So you do have something you can share?”
She could stabhiminstead… “I always did. It’s just that no one wanted what I was offering.”
“Now you have a captive audience.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That is not what I want, at all.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the empty room, and for a moment she thought she might’ve finally pushed him away.
Instead, he sat down.
“Tell me,” he said simply.
She stared at him. Was this just part of being a bartender? Pouring drinks and listening to the slushy sorrows that poured out in return?
He just watched her, the ice-gray half-moons of his eyes barely flickering.
