Rafael’s hands move on autopilot as he prepares his final order of the day. He could automate the last step with the kitchen station like most vendors, but doing it by hand is half the joy of opening up.
Sliding the steaming empanadas into the bag, his gaze lifts to the elderly woman waiting under the orange glow of his “Crunch and Fold” sign—something Pixie created in her spare time.
“That’ll be fifteen credits,” he says, motioning to the scanner.
During rush hour, a drone handles payments, but it’s moments like this that remind him why he wanted a stand in the first place.
She shakes her head and raises her hand, letting the device scan her worn wristlink. “You really should charge more, young man.”
He lets out a chuckle. “I already feel guilty charging this much.”
The prices from Echo’s supplier are less than half of what VitaCorp Grocery charged. Maybe the bulk orders help, or this is the trade-off of working with the black market.
Either way, Kane was clear that his business stays separate from the crew’s.
“And that’s why I keep telling my friends about you,” she teases, clutching her bag. “That, and the delicious food.”
A swell of pride fills him. “Thank you…I really appreciate it.”
She turns away, immediately waving at an older man near a neighboring stall. Rafael follows her gaze until the cook there catches his eye and nods. He returns the gesture with a wave.
A month in, the easy camaraderie still surprises him.
When he opened “Crunch and Fold,” the other shopkeepers welcomed him without hesitation. A few stepped in when his station glitched. Most call him by name—not Kane’s boyfriend, not the empanada guy. Rafael.
But this is Shreveport. Not Midtown.
His wristlink flashes 7:30 p.m.
Around him, vendors are already pulling shutters and packing up before the street shifts. Rafael does the same. In Shreveport, you know when to close.
He swipes the controls beneath the counter, activating the mini cleaning drone—a housewarming gift from Coda. It whirs to life and floats toward the register as Rafael moves back to the kitchen station. He starts the refresh cycle, fingers hovering over the sign’s shutdown switch—
“Too late to put in an order?”
His smile breaks before he turns around.
Kane waits before his shop, eyes crinkling at the corners and lips curled gently. His armor and weaponry are gone, butthe tactical vest remains with his usual visor pushed up.
A few vendors glance his way, but most are used to seeing the “Chrome Baron” stop by these days.
“Never too late for you,” Rafael answers, circling his stand.
By the time he draws close, Kane’s arms are wide open. Rafael melts into them, his heart skipping as he’s wrapped in the familiar scent of cooling liquid and synthetic leather.
They hold each other tight until Rafael finally steps away to peer up at Kane.
“Just have to turn off the lights and lock up. Then you can walk me home,” he says, releasing Kane and hurrying back to his shop.
A chuckle rumbles from Kane. “Home. That’s something I’ll never get tired of hearing from you.”
Heat creeps up Rafael’s neck, but he pretends not to notice as he powers down his stand. Once everything’s locked, he returns to Kane’s side and intertwines their fingers.
“All set.”
“Let’s go.” Kane’s grip tightens as he guides Rafael through the dimming stalls to the market’s exit. “So, tell me—how was business today? Drowning in credits yet?”
Rafael laughs. “Not quite.” He gives Kane’s hand a playful squeeze. “I did okay. Hopefully, I can upgrade the kitchen station pretty soon.” His tone softens. “What about you? How was the lieutenant’s briefing? I feel a little bad. I haven’t seen Wren, Echo—any of them in a minute. Been buried under prep for ShreveFest.”