Page 5 of Ren: Warlord Brides
It was just her and Gemma and their damn bakery against the world.
“We’ll figure it out,” Gemma pleaded, dark eyes wide. “Come on, say, ‘Gemmy-bean, we’ll be okay.’”
Emry couldn’t, though. They couldn’t bake enough cupcakes and croissants to keep from drowning. These people had their hooks in Gemma and Emry. Nothing about this was okay.
“Change into something clean. The donuts aren’t going to make themselves,” she said.
* * *
Gemma worked the kitchen,and she worked the front. Usually, their roles were reversed. Emry was the better cook, and she didn’t need people gawking at her face. Gemma was better at schmoozing with the customers.
Today, however, Gemma jumped every time the computer chimed when a new customer walked through the bakery doors. If the people she owed money to wanted to pay her a visit during working hours, a flimsy half-wall would not stop them.
“Where’s your sister, darling? She’s always so amusing,” an older woman asked, her silvery gray hair in braids and twisted into an impressive updo.
“Zits. Like, wow, you wouldn’t believe. Now she’s too vain to show her face.”
Gemma shouted something rude from the back, and the woman chuckled.
Charming even when she was in the wrong. Emry felt a quick stab of jealousy because no one chuckled when she had a bad day and let out a few choice words. People either politely ignored her, eyes sliding over her scar and, consequently, her whole damn person, or they blanched like she was some monster that escaped the basement.
Fuck, she really hated working the front.
When the rush died down, Emry used the lull to break up the giant iceberg in the ice machine. The machine had a bad habit of shutting down overnight, causing the ice to melt and refreeze in a massive lump. It made Emry’s life easier—and let her blow off some steam—to go at it with an ice pick during service lulls.
The bakery wasn’t where Emry imagined herself when she entered culinary school with Michelin stars in her eyes, but it was a good enough place. Decent, at least.
Being in debt to people who you shouldn’t be in debt to hadn’t been the plan.
Thwack.
The ice pick stuck true, breaking off a large chunk. Gemma should have spent her ill-gotten loan on a better ice machine. Instead, she put a down payment on a larger shop with a huge kitchen, shiny new equipment, and mediocre parking. The tiny lot filled up fast during peak hours.
She told her not to worry about foot traffic. They’d do more special orders and catering.
Thwack.
The bakery wasn’t a mistake. It had eked by at the smaller location. Now they could barely afford rent and the interest on the loans. She worked all hours. Gemma worked just as much as her. Up before dawn and a few hours after the shop closed, cleaning and prepping for the next day.
Thwack. Thwack. Crack.
She was just so thoughtless. It didn’t come from a bad place, just misguided enthusiasm.
Maybe they should lose the bakery.
The thought crept in, and it felt like a betrayal. Interstellar cruise ships were always hiring cooks. She liked working in a busy kitchen more than baking bread and technicolor cookies. The more she had to make complex pastries and tiered wedding cakes, the more she craved simplicity. Stuffing people full of her favorite stick-to-your-ribs comfort foods sounded appealing.
Right out of culinary school, she and Gemma landed jobs on a cruise ship. It was busy work in a kitchen that never closed but satisfying. She worked until she felt she was chopping and prepping in her sleep, her hands jerking with the movement of an invisible blade. Gemma got to indulge herself in creating overly complex desserts that wowed the crowds.
It was good until it wasn’t, and that was all Emry’s fault. Her mouth. Again. The thing about cruise ships they never tell you is that they’re small. Even if the ship is huge, it’s small. Everyone is a passenger. There’s nowhere to go to blow off steam. When you’re sitting on the observation deck, having a drink, watching the stars, and trying to enjoy some time off, you’re still on the clock when a passenger comes along and starts making demands.
Some entitled passengers acted like the staff were personal servants, and Emry had enough. It wasn’t a huge deal, she thought, when she told the passenger she needed to ask someone else to take their food and drink order. What was a big deal, apparently, was telling off the manager who wrote her up for anadverse customer experience.
The next stop was feeding the crew on a commercial cargo ship, as long as she didn’t make any of her “strange Terran food.” That was decent enough until Gemma’s temper clashed with the captain. The smallest mistakes turned into infractions, which were docked from her—and Emry’s—pay. Unfair, true, but there was nothing to do but grin and bear it until they reached a port.
That had been a long two months, especially since Gemma couldn’t seem to keep her opinions to herself. Emry felt no remorse about walking away from that gig.
Shortly after, she was matched to Ren, and that experience turned out so well.
