CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Thisbe dreamt of her parents back on Earth. In the dream, they had issued a planet-wide edict, superseding any local government laws, that she be found and arrested, forced into a maternity gown and impregnated with her own sibling-child. When the long, glistening needle plunged into the soft flesh of her abdomen, she gasped awake, opening her eyes to find herself drenched in a cold sweat and tucked into a blanket on Shy's sofa.

She fumbled around for her phone and checked the time: four in the morning. In spite of the early hour, she knew there was no point in trying to get back to sleep. Once she was up, she was up. And lying on the sofa in the dark would just have her mind running circles around itself. Thisbe thought of the day before and how nice the day had been with Shy until the woman had inexplicably shut her out and left her alone in the farmhouse for the remainder of the day.

Thisbe wondered if it was something she had done or said. She felt so foolish and underprepared in her role as a houseguest, even though she had not intended to stay and could not control the weather. Regardless of the circumstances, she had never spent the night at someone else’s house without bringing a gift for her host; some thoughtful little something (an expensive bottle of wine, more often than not) to say thanks. Here, not only had she imposed upon a stranger's hospitality, she didn't even have a modest token to offer in return.

Thisbe propped her chin up in her hands and glanced towards the kitchen, an idea percolating. Then again, maybe I do have something I could share...

She padded into the kitchen and rummaged through the pantry until she found a big basket of walnuts and another of fresh apples. Starfall Ranch moon apples, she mused. A trill of excited curiosity ran through her as she selected one of the apples and held it to her nose, inhaling the sweet, round scent of autumn fruit plucked from rainy boughs.

What did apples taste like, grown a galaxy away from their ancestral trees? Without thinking, she brought the fruit to her mouth and took a bite, delighting in the way the thin skin of the apple burst beneath her teeth. The apple was crunchy and firm, a little more tart than sweet, and carried a hint of something else in the flavor. Notes of pineapple and honeyed caramel danced over her tongue, ending in a tart kick at the very end that made it impossible not to smile. She licked a trickle of juice from her lips and took another bite. These were the perfect baking apples.

It had been some time since she last baked anything, but Thisbe knew her favorite muffin recipe by heart. Easy enough to modify it to allow for the moisture of fresh chunks of perfectly ripe apple, but she seared the apple pieces in a little butter first all the same, to release some of the liquid.

Just over an hour later, she had her gift assembled on a serving tray. The muffins were gloriously soft, lofty domes of pure autumn sunshine. The fresh Starfall Ranch apples and toasted walnuts were elevated by cinnamon and nutmeg, a pinch of ground cloves, and ginger, and topped with a decadently thick crown of oat crumble streusel. The scent filled the kitchen, then wafted through the rest of the farmhouse, trailing through the empty halls as Thisbe herself had done the day before.

Thisbe smiled to herself as she finished wiping the cleaned mixing bowl dry. The sky outside had just begun to pink with the first light of dawn, and she reflected that it had been a long time since she had had a morning all to herself to relax into the simple pleasures of baking breakfast. A timer dinged and she set aside the bowl to push the plunger down on the fragrant pot of French press. If anything could get past her host's defenses, it would surely be a freshly baked muffin paired with a piping hot cup of coffee.

“The fuck is this?”

.... Or then again, maybe muffins and coffee were the gravest of insults on Sirona.

“I thought I would say thank you for your hospitality with breakfast,” Thisbe explained, turning around to offer up a muffin on a plate. She tried to keep her tone pleasant and put on a cheerful face, but her smile began to falter under the cold weight of Shiloh's stunned fury.

“I let you stay overnight in my house and you repay me by snooping through my cupboards, helping yourself to my provisions, and ruining my morning coffee?”

“Snooping through your… you left me here without a word! What was I supposed to do, starve?” Thisbe shot back. “And you haven't even tried the coffee; how would you know if it's ruined?”

Shy stalked into the kitchen, jabbing one finger in accusation at the pot of coffee.

“How many grams of coffee did you use and how much water? When, exactly, did you grind the beans? How long did you let the grounds steep for? At what temperature did you pour the water? Did you pour it in stages, or just clumsily dump it in all at once like an ignorant cow?”

“I...”

“Exactly. Ruined.”

The sickening pit that had been forming in Thisbe's stomach ever since Shy walked in suddenly bottomed out, and she found she needed to be anywhere but there in that kitchen. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't feel anything other than the heat on her reddened cheeks.

She didn’t know why she had wanted to impress this strange woman so much, but she did. She had one beautiful moment in the kitchen that morning where she had felt, just for a little while, that maybe she could be something other than what her parents told her she had to be. That maybe she really was good at something other than spreadsheets and company mergers. Then Shy came crashing through to confirm her worst fear: Thisbe Vandergoss sucked a lot, actually.

“I—what did you just—did you just call me an ignorant cow? You know what, you don’t deserve these muffins, you lunatic! Fuck you, Shy, and fuck your coffee!” She pushed past her host and fled the kitchen in search of a private retreat. She refused to crumple or cry in front of Shy's wrath. The guest room was upstairs, but which door?

“Thisbe!”

There was no time to think it through. Shy was trailing after her, no doubt to drag her out of the house by her collar and leave her in the pouring rain. Much as she didn’t want to give Shy any other reason to scream at her some more, she also needed to be away from that rage as fast as possible.

Thisbe picked a door, pushed through to the room beyond, and slammed and locked it behind her, leaning against it, biting back tears. Now that there was a locked door between them, Thisbe allowed herself a little more indignance. She was certain at any second, Shy would be there on the other side accusing her of trespassing or something similarly ridiculous. Shy could call the sheriff, if she wanted Thisbe out so badly. At least then maybe she would have a safe ride back to the spaceport.

Shy was some shade of deranged. That was the only answer. What kind of a madwoman just left a stranded guest inside her house all alone for an entire day, then got mad at said guest when she assumed something as basic as food and coffee was fair game? Thisbe had assumed that the free use of her (very nice) shower and towels—not to mention assigning her a guest room—carried the unspoken agreement that yes, guests could eat breakfast, actually.

So what in the world was Shy’s entire problem? She was hot as sin and blessed with a voice that could melt permafrost, but clearly her brain was housing one too many issues of her lifetime subscription to Mad Hermit Farmer Quarterly. How else to explain her aversion to all social contact, and her white-hot rage when faced with a cup of coffee and a home-baked muffin?

Mail-order marriage to a total stranger is looking better by the minute, she thought to herself. Thisbe looked down and realized she was still clutching a muffin. Well, better that she, at least, enjoy the fruits of her labors than it get thrown out with the rest of them or fed to some goats or whatever Shy planned on doing with her gift. She picked a big, buttery chunk of topping off and ate it, frowning.

“The other Kerridan would probably love these,” she muttered. “He'd be goddamn grateful that someone came along with both the knowledge and the nurturing impulse to take the time to bake him something. This would be appreciated.”

“Thisbe, can we talk?” Shy's muffled voice on the other side of the door no longer sounded furious. If anything, Thisbe detected notes of embarrassment and apologetic awkwardness. That was promising, but Thisbe wasn’t going to settle for anything less than some extreme groveling and a sincere apology.

Still, the sudden outburst from Shy left Thisbe nervous. It had come on so suddenly and inexplicably and she wasn’t sure if she could trust that it wouldn’t happen again. And that whole scene really wasn't something Thisbe wanted to repeat any time soon. Best to let Shy cool off a little longer, she felt. Let her stew in her embarrassment and think about how she’d acted. Thisbe turned away from the door and looked around, stunned, at the room she had taken refuge in.

“No way. A library?”

Shelves full of books lined every wall, floor to ceiling. Exploring slowly around the large room in stunned disbelief, Thisbe found a fireplace at the far end flanked by two plush armchairs. Overhead, an old-fashioned crystalline chandelier hung suspended from the vaulted farmhouse ceiling. It sparkled in the morning light and threw soft splashes of rainbow reflections in every direction. One of the chairs was piled high with a sloppy stack of yet more books. Turning a corner, she found yet more treasures in this unexpected room: a little double-decker bar cart set with decanters and crystal glassware, and an elegant black rolling ladder that stretched up to the very topmost shelves.

The entire room smelled of old books, soft leather, coffee, and something like bourbon, but sweeter. Thisbe inhaled the luscious scent and ran her fingers delicately along the spines as she inspected each shelf, sometimes pausing to fondly stroke a familiar favorite title. Shy Kerridan seemed to have books on any subject one might think of. History, politics, farming, philosophy, murder mysteries, ancient epics, modern epics, romances, spirituality, robotics—she had it all.

“Thisbe, that was shitty of me and I’m sorry. Will you open the door?” Shy pleaded in the background.

“Did you ship all of these with you when you left Earth?” Thisbe called towards the door.

“Please let me in so we don't have to shout.”

“Sorry, ignorant cows don’t know how to open doors,” she shot back, leafing through a thick novel that had caught her eye. She heard Shy mutter something like “Great fucking going, Shy, you monumental asshole,” and smiled to herself.

Thisbe put the book back in its place and took her time walking back to the door, stopping to smell a scented candle here, browse a stack of books there. Eventually, and when she felt Shy had had sufficient time to stand there marinating in thoughts about her own poor behavior, Thisbe unlocked the door and opened it just enough to peek out cautiously through the crack.

“Well? Are you done throwing a tantrum at me about breakfast?” She asked. “Any more critiques about the coffee, perhaps?”

“Thisbe I'm—” Shy hesitated for so long that Thisbe felt compelled to prompt her.

“You're...?”

“I'm... really sorry, truly. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I had just woken up and—look, I know there’s no excuse or anything—”

“There really isn’t.”

“—But, I'm really not used to someone else being... here.” Shy waved her arms around her vaguely. “In my personal space. It caught me off-guard and I overreacted big time. Thank you for the muffins, really.”

Well, it was a start. Thisbe opened the door a little wider.

“And the coffee?”

Shy looked so genuinely pained that Thisbe wondered if she really had messed the brew up that badly. Shy shrugged.

“Your coffee could use work. But I can show you my technique. And you’re not an ignorant cow. I’m the cow in this situation.”

Good enough, Thisbe supposed. She pulled the door open wider for Shy and retreated back into the library with a smile tossed over her shoulder like a peace offering. Shy smiled back.

“If I'm honest, that was the most delicious breakfast treat that I've had in years.”

“Yeah, alright, Kerridan. I already accepted your apology, no need to lay it on so thick.”

“No, I mean it!” Shy trailed after Thisbe as she continued her exploration of the library shelves. “That thing with the crunchy topping, especially. I'm tempted to go back for another right now.”

“You really are out of your mind. This place is a gourmand’s paradise! You've got farm-fresh eggs, goats' cheese, apples,” Thisbe stopped her wandering and turned around, practically bumping into Shy behind her. She spread her hands wide as if to indicate the enormous bounty that Starfall Ranch had to offer. “You have all the ingredients needed to make first class meals every day, if you wanted.”

“I'm not much of a baker,” Shy said to that. Her face turned a cute shade of pink. Thisbe grinned.

“I can show you my technique,” she shot back.

The air felt charged and the large room suddenly felt as small as a closet. If she were back on Earth, Thisbe thought this would be the exact moment when the woman she was flirting with would lean in and find an excuse to touch her or get closer. Her skin practically sang with anticipation.

Instead, Shy froze momentarily and then instead of moving closer, she stepped across the room to the armchair laden with books and began sorting through them, selecting some for a stack she formed at her hip.

“To answer your earlier question, several of these did come with me from Earth, yes. Most of them, in fact. You're allotted a certain amount of cargo weight when you immigrate to Sirona. I figured, furniture, clothes, dishes, all that day-to-day stuff I could pick up once I got here. But books...”

“Those are harder to come by.”

Shy nodded. “Exactly so.”

Thisbe felt a flutter in her stomach and squeezed her fists at her sides, willing her libido to calm down. Her mouth felt dry, useless. Anything she said now, she was certain it would be the wrong thing.

Well this is a first. Tongue-tied and awkward as a Freshman at a Junior prom. Flirting normally came so easily to Thisbe. Then again, she didn't usually go for a woman like Shy. Straight-forward, down to earth, raw. A woman who wouldn't be all that impressed with the usual script of empty niceties exchanged over glasses of pinot at a power broker’s happy hour.

And there was the fact that Thisbe hadn't been honest about what she was doing there on Sirona. Visiting relatives, indeed. She had even lied about her last name. What would Shy think of a spoiled rich kid running into the arms of a strange man halfway across the galaxy, marrying herself off in secret just to avoid letting her parents get what they wanted?

She certainly wouldn't want to show me how to make coffee. Probably wouldn't even want to look at me, let alone fuck me.

The thought was like a sobering splash of cold water down her back. What was she thinking? She didn't come to Starfall Ranch looking for a hookup. This wasn’t a vacation in the countryside. She wasn't supposed to be here at all in the first place. It was probably best for both her and Shy that she had suddenly forgotten how to flirt.

"Storm's not getting any weaker,” Shy observed, interrupting Thisbe's thoughts. She motioned with her chin to the rain-streaked windows. “I was just thinking, if you're interested, I could get a fire going in here and we could bring up the rest of the muffins and maybe have a little reading time for the rest of the morning? You’re welcome to borrow anything in here. Well, except this one,” Shy held up a thick hardbound book and added with a quiet smile, “I’m in the middle of this one.”

Thisbe looked over at the fireplace and chairs behind Shy; she had cleared off the second armchair just for Thisbe. Purely. Platonic. Keep it in your pants! Thisbe reminded herself firmly.

“I'd like that very much,” she said aloud.