Page 6 of Pyne

“Maybe we should tie it down,” I suggest, only half-joking.

Pyne wags a finger at me. “Kinky, Becca. At least buy me dinner first.”

I roll my eyes, fighting back a grin. “Focus, Mr. Cosmic Charmer. We’ve got a cake to bake.”

But as the minutes tick by, it becomes increasingly clear that our Earth cake is more likely to end up a mess than a masterpiece. The fondant continents are lumpy and misshapen, the sugar glass support keeps collapsing, and the layers are more leaning-tower than perfect-sphere.

“Do you think we should add more… flour?” Pyne asks, peering dubiously at the sagging cake.

“Any more flour and it’ll be denser than a black hole,” I sigh. “Face it, we’re doomed.”

When the final buzzer sounds, we step back to survey our sad, lopsided creation. It looks like a kindergartener’s arts and crafts project gone horribly wrong. My chest is full, my throat tight as I imagine my manumission papers flying away on imaginary sci-fi wings.

The judges barely contain their winces as they approach our station. They poke and prod at the cake, exchanging skeptical glances.

“Well, points for… creativity?” one judge offers weakly.

“I’ve seen more appetizing asteroid fields,” another mutters with a grimace.

In the end, we come in second to last. The only team worse than ours was the Bletharian team whose cake was burned to a cinder. They had the audacity to insist it would be a delicacy on planet Blethar. Despite their protestations, they were eliminated.

Arisha points the losing team toward the large doors as the announcer bids the team goodbye.

“With the first competition out of the way, we’ll let our teams off early today. Tomorrow will start with an immunity challenge before the baking begins. I suggest our contestants get a good night’s sleep.”

The superior sneer on that pretty face tells me all I need to know about how hard tomorrow’s tasks will be. Any hope I had of having a fighting chance has disappeared in a puff of Bletharian smoke.

“I think it was the close quarters and unfamiliar gadgets. I’m a gladiator who spent every day of his life exercising and honing his skill. I’m normally quite agile. Tomorrow I’ll be better.” He slashes me with a genuinely apologetic glance.

“Guess we better hope tomorrow’s immunity challenge plays to your strengths, gladiator.”

He puffs out his chest. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of strengths, sweetcakes. With the right task, I’ll shine.”

As we exit the cooking arena, I glance back at our misshapen cake and can’t help but laugh at our disastrous first attempt. But beneath the humor, a flicker of warmth blooms in my chest.Pyne may be a walking disaster in the kitchen, but his blustery charm is starting to grow on me.

Who knows? With a little luck and a lot of improvisation, maybe we can turn this unlikely partnership into a recipe for success.

Chapter Five

Pyne

All the teams are allowed to eat free in the hotel’s main dining room, but Becca shouts, “Hard pass!” when I ask if she’s ready to go downstairs for dinner.

“So… you’re not hungry?”

“Really?” She cocks her head. “You’d feel fine striding in there and being the laughingstock of every team remaining in the competition? The smirks? The not-even-whispered derisive comments? No freaking way!”

“Got it. By the way, I have excellent hearing. No need to shout” Although my scold is gentle, her eyes flare wide as she realizes she just screamed at me.

“Sorry.” She looks contrite.

“I’m not that hungry,” I admit. “I think I ate several pounds of fondant while I was helping mold the continents and the Leaning Tower of Penis.”

I don’t know what I said that elicited such a loud laugh from her, but it seems to calm her down a notch.

“Glad you’re not hungry… I’m starved.” Becca plops into a chair across the little table from me and sags against it. I restrain myself from reaching over and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m going to order room service. Because I work in the kitchen, I know their best dishes. You sure you don’t want anything?”

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