Page 6 of Ren: Warlord Brides
Then the shenanigans with the bakery. Cue two-and-a-half years later…
“Did the ice behave inappropriately?” a male voice cut in, chuckling.
Emry stabbed the ice prick into the frozen lump before turning her attention to the customer at the counter. An alien.
“Yeah, it was talking smack about my momma,” she said.
The man, violet complexion, and iron-gray horns picked up a laminated menu from the counter. “Anything I should avoid?”
“Everything’s good, but if you’re asking about allergens, Earth food is safe for aliens.”
“What do you recommend?”
“If you’ve got a grudge against your cardiovascular health, I’d suggest the sunrise croissant.” A poached egg smothered in three slices of cheese on a croissant. It was disgustingly delicious.
“Terran food. How adventurous. Let’s do that and a coffee.” The man set down the menu with a flourish, and Emry rolled her eyes at the showboating.
She poured coffee while the egg cooked in the microwave. Look, the sandwich was something anyone could make behind the counter in a limited space. It wasn’t fine cuisine.
“Nice place you have here,” the alien said, perusing the treats in the display case. “What does your mate think about it?”
“I’m not married,” she said without thinking. “I mean, he’s away and—”
“Sent you to Earth. Yes. I read the file.” His fingers tapped along the glass case. “Very vague. Sent you to Earth. That could mean almost anything.”
Emry clutched at the collar on her shirt, covering up the bite mark. The alien—not just an alien, a Mahdfel—made her feel exposed.
The microwave dinged, and she slapped together the sandwich. With no pride in her work, she shoved it in a paper bag. As an afterthought, she grabbed a plastic lid for the disposable coffee cup. “I recommend that you take your order to go.”
“Does it taste better if it’s to go?” His eyes sparkled, clearly enjoying toying with her, dangling bits of information about her that no one knew besides Gemma.
“It tastes better than my foot in your ass. Leave.”
The alien grinned, as if he had some clever comeback, but he left.
That one was trouble.
* * *
Another end to a long-ass day.
Gemma sat on the wooden steps that led to the apartment above the shop. She held a worn photograph. Evening sunlight pooled around her, catching the blond highlights in her hair.
She looked up at the sound of the back door opening, hastily stuffing the photo into a pocket.
“Let me see,” Emry said, heaving the garbage bag into the dumpster before reaching for the photo.
“Gross. Hands.” Gemma moved the photo out of reach.
She rolled her eyes but wiped her hands down her jeans, like that would help.
The photo paper felt fragile to the touch, like it would crumble under the weight of time and memories. A tall man stood smiling in front of the original LeBeaux Bakery, carrying one gap-tooth kid on his hip. The other kid clutched his legs, face turned away.
Emry had memorized every inch of this photo. She did not remember when it was taken—hell, she barely remembered her father or the bakery—but she could feel the sunlight and smell the sugar mixed with yeast that always clung to her father.Thatshe remembered.
She handed it back to her sister.
“We should sell,” Gemma said.
