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Ella pursed her lips. “I know, that’s what Frowh keeps telling me. I wasn’t even allowed at the Feast yesterday. But I can’t seem to just sit around doing nothing, so I collected your eggs and brought them over.”
She indicated the replenished stash on the counter. I murmured my thank-yous, mentally ticking off “egg collection” from my list of tasks.
“Well, then,” she said, rising from the chair with some difficulty. “It seems like things are okay around here without me. Maybe I’ll take a walk to the processing plant before heading back.”
She turned to Twyla. “Let me know if you have any trouble figuring out where things are.”
Then, as she took a few steps, she raised a hand to her forehead. “Why do I keep speaking to the bot? It’s not like it understands me.”
The “bot” responded promptly. “I understand you just fine, miss. Please come again soon.”
Ella let out a trill of laughter as she shut the back door behind her.
“I didn’t know if you’d told anyone about me,” Twyla said softly as she ran a cloth over the frying pan.
I split an egg with my fork and raised it to my lips. It was perfect. Ella had taught her well.
“I hadn’t,” I replied, chewing with little grace.
I knew what she wanted to hear from me—that I’d made up my mind and she could stay. But I didn’t want any trouble, and harboring a runaway—a Royal runaway—definitely seemed like too much trouble.
But there was something about her, something that kept me from calling HumanoidGadgets and demanding a refund. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
I cleared my throat and stood as the sun fully cleared the horizon. I would have twenty minutes before the cows needed to be milked.
“My shirt,” I said, making the two words a question.
She brushed past me in the small kitchen space and I got yet another draft of her scent, the same deeply addictive notes that had infused my dreams. As she scrambled to get the rough blue synthi-cotton shirt off a hanger in the service room, I felt a not-unfamiliar pull begin in the pit of my stomach. It churned slowly, spreading to my chest and making my heart thud faster than usual. I stood a little straighter as she came back into the room and handed me the old shirt.
“There’s a small tear in the sleeve,” she commented. “I was hoping to find a sewing kit in the service room to mend it.”
“You sew?”
I hadn’t meant to sound incredulous. The art of sewing had all but died on my Star; most people just purchased cheap bot-made clothes from Royal One catalogs.
Her chin tilted upwards in response to my question—something I now realized she did when she was indignant.
“Yes, it’s something I’m very passionate about. Please don’t make fun of me for it.”
I raised a brow. “Why would I make fun of you?”
She shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Never mind. Would you like me to mend the tear?”
I handed the shirt back to her. “My mother’s old sewing kit should be in one of the boxes in the service room.”
Her eyes lit up like I’d offered her the moon. “Really?”
“Yes, but it must be over twenty years old by now,” I hastened to warn her, but she was already rushing back to the room to look for the kit. Her multicolored skirts flowed around her as she moved boxes around, tongue-clicking at the back of her throat as she rifled through them.
I stood, watching her a while longer, taking in her obvious enthusiasm for such a menial task. I’m not ashamed to admit that I liked watching her. As she worked quickly, her lovely exposed stomach rippled with her movements. I could just imagine how lovely it would be to press a kiss against that soft expanse of flesh on my way to lovelier assets...
I shook my head at the thought. It had been years since I’d thought of anyone that way, not since Riane had left and shred everything I’d believed in.
With a rush of breath, I slowly relaxed the fingers that had curled into fists.
Enough, I scolded myself. No more pain.
“Feel free to use whatever you find.”
Her thanks was muffled by a particularly deep box.
I left Twyla to herself in the service room, eager to put some distance between us and start the day.
