Page 51 of Zalis
Gemma grumbled about the treacherous way her brain started making plans.
Temporary.Everyone agreed.
So that was another thing to work through while she kept her hands busy.
The first batch of cookies were okay. Nothing spectacular, but she had ideas for improvement. The next batch was good enough, not great, but it made her feel confident about trying something more difficult. On to cupcakes.
When her father got his cancer diagnosis, he took Emry and Gemma into the kitchen and made sure they knew how to make the family recipes. Then the aliens came, and when the world turned upside down, survival became the focus. During the darkest days, he wrote recipes into a sparkly unicorn journal because that was the only paper he could find. He survived the invasion, but he did not survive the cancer.
Gemma wanted that journal back desperately and added it to the top of the list of items she wanted shipped. She needed to checkwith Emry if there was anything she wanted shipped. When she took the private chef job, she sold most of her furnishings. What she wanted to keep went into storage in Gemma’s spare bedroom.
Her days were busy with more than baking.
The goo foot soak treatment continued. The doctor—rude as ever—declared her progress satisfactory. There was no mention of the translation chip. Surely if there was a problem and it needed to be replaced, the doctor would have mentioned it. He certainly didn’t pull any punches during the first visit. In fact, the only person who seemed to think the chip was a problem was the intern. Gemma really should rely on the experience of trained professionals and not a teenager earning education credits.
None of that stopped her from scratching behind her ear, like she could dig the chip out with her nails.
She sorted out the bakery’s crisis and promoted assistant manager Clarissa to full manager. Not knowing how reliable communications would be on the moon, Gemma authorized Clarissa on all the accounts. She also agreed to be the point person for the moving service.
Honestly, if Clarissa ran off with all the money, she deserved it.
Emry dragged her to a salon for a much-needed cut. Needing a change, she left with pastel pink hair in a pixie cut.
There were so many new names and faces to remember. Freely giving away cookies made sure everyone stopped by to say hello. Gemma had always been the more social of the twins, but the constant meet and -greet was wearing her out. Hiding away to make cupcakes was perfectly reasonable.
“What is this?” Zalis entered the room, carrying a dinner tray with a large earthenware pot, and paused.
“It’s a haircut.” She didn’t bother to ask for his opinion because it was her hair. Still, she found herself needing to explain her impulsive decision. “It was too long. It kept getting in my way.”
Zalis studied her long enough to make her feel self-conscious and squirm. Did she have flour on her face? Gemma scrubbed the sleeve of her shirt over her cheek.
“It is winsome,” he said.
Winsome. Who talked like that?
“Thank you. I like it,” she said, resisting the urge to touch her hair and preen.
His attention shifted to the tray of cupcakes cooling on the counter. “Another Earth confection.”
“Those are strawberry cupcakes,” she said, adding a dash more powdered sugar to the pink icing. The frosting wasn’t the fluffiest—she’d need a hand mixer at the very least—but it was delicious. Nothing could mess up the winning combinations of sugar, vanilla, and butter.
“What do you have there?” Zalis crowded close, managing to stick a finger into the frosting.
“Hey! Hygiene, mister. No one wants your gross germs.”
He licked the lump of sugary white frosting from his finger and grinned. Clearly zero regrets. “This is the best yet of your confections.”
“It gets better. Can you bring over that tray?” With the frosting at the consistency she wanted, she spooned it into a plastic bag.
Zalis watched as she piped the frosting onto the cupcakes. Years of muscle memory gently squeezed the piping bags and moved her arms, laying down a row of neatly swirled pink frosting.
He held up the finished product, his eyes moving from her to the cupcake. He didn’t say a word and yet she heard him perfectly clear.
“Go ahead,” she said and grabbed one for herself. Quality control and whatnot.
She split the top from the bottom and took a bite. Moist. A bit dense. The eggs needed work. She’d try powdered eggs next time. By the time she finished analyzing her cupcake, Zalis was on his third.
“Do you plan on having a real dinner tonight or is it all sugar?” she asked in a teasing tone.
