Page 21 of Captain Santiago and the Sky Dome Waitress
“That Yennifer, the original city mind, lived here, once?”
“She did? I meant I knew the tenants from the last few years. People don’t like the house. They say it’s too open.”
“I love it,” Lucie admitted. “You can see the stars from bed, right through the dome.” She indicated the open gate. “Do you want to come in?”
“I…” He frowned. “I will feel better if I watch you eat something, and go to bed.”
“Barney can report to you on that.”
Santiago rubbed the back of his neck. “Barney is the city mind. He shouldn’t have to play nursemaid.” He pushed open the gate. “We’ll eat together,” he said firmly. “My breakfast was interrupted.”
~ 8 ~
Lucie reluctantly led him into the open kitchen section of the little house. It was not much more than a food-grade printer and a recycle maw, with a few cups and plates for dividing larger meals. An elevated, narrow table was placed so that anyone sitting on the tall chairs behind it to eat could look up at the star field visible beyond the edge of the roof.
“I’ll buy,” Santiago said, moving toward the printer.
“No, I can afford—”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Santiago said flatly. “You were doing your job. What do you want to eat?”
Lucie frowned. “I…”
“Something with carbohydrates and a bit of sugar, to help with the shock.”
“I feel fine,” Lucie insisted.
“Your eyes have a glassy look,” Santiago told her. He worked the printer controls swiftly, as if he was very familiar with them, although this model of food printer wasn’t common across the city. It was too old.
Swiftly, the meal was printed and he placed two plates upon the table and waved Lucie toward it.
She settled on her customary chair, which was the closest one to the wall. When Santiago sat on the chair next to her, she immediately realized her mistake. He was so large that she felt hemmed in.
But to change seats now would require explaining herself, which she had no intention of doing. Instead, she picked up the knife and fork that came with the meal and took a mouthful of the odd-looking dish.
Flavors exploded in her mouth, and she stopped chewing, tasting them all. There was a dough base of some kind. A pancake, perhaps, but in small bites. Sweet, tart fruit, sugar, some sort of syrup that she had never tasted before. A smooth, creamy texture that was warm and almost bland, but delicious, all the same, mixed with the medley of fruit. Nuts and seeds to give crunch to every mouthful.
Santiago had been watching her, clearly waiting for her reaction. “You like it?” He turned to his own meal, which was a simple poached egg on toast.
Lucie tried to speak, then nodded and chewed swiftly, so shecouldspeak. She swallowed. “It’s wonderful! What is it?”
“It’s called an Emperor’s Mess,” Santiago said. “I have no idea where it came from. B—” He stopped short, as though a power switch had been shut off, and stared down at his egg.
Blake told him about the dish. Lucie’s heart stammered as she looked away from him, to give him a private moment. She stared up at the stars, at her plate, at the worn tiles between the house and the gate. Anywhere but at him.
With a convulsive jerk, she pulled the clip holding her hair up on the top of her head and scrubbed at her scalp, letting the length of it swing around the sides of her face, hiding it.
Then she concentrated on eating her Emperor’s Mess. It really was rather good.
Santiago ate his egg and toast in five enormous mouthfuls, and pushed the plate away. He stood and took the plate to the recycle maw and tossed it in and brushed off his hands. “I should go.” He moved around the table, standing on the very edge of the step down to the tiles, just in front of her. But he wasn’t looking at her.
“When are you flying out, next?” Lucie asked politely. “Today?”
“Tomorrow. A five-stop circuit.”
She had saved up for three years to take the tour that he got to do every week. “I envy you,” she said, without thinking.
“Don’t,” he told her. “You wouldn’t like it in my shoes.” His tone was bleak.
