Page 29 of Prize for the Alien Grumpus

"Someone's in the kitchen."

His red eyes snap open. "Behind me."

We creep down the hallway. The smell of vanilla and... burning sugar hits my nose.

"Mom! Mr. K! Look what I made!"

Sam stands on a chair by the counter, surrounded by flour, egg shells, and what might have once been cookie dough. A thin trail of smoke wisps from the oven.

"Samantha Carson!"

"The small one shows initiative." Krampus reaches past me and opens the oven, pulling out a tray of blackened lumps with his bare hands. "Though her execution needs work."

"I wanted to surprise you with Christmas cookies." Sam's lower lip trembles.

"Here." Krampus grabs a mixing bowl. "First, you need proper ratios. Mathematics is key to warfare and baking."

"Since when do you know how to bake?" I ask.

"I had a lot of time to watch cooking shows in cryo." He measures flour with surprising precision. "Now, tiny human, crack these eggs. But gentle - like disarming a plasma bomb."

Sam giggles as she taps the eggs. Flour dusts her nose and cheeks.

I should stop this. My kitchen's already a disaster zone. But Sam hasn't smiled like this in weeks.

"The secret is creaming the butter properly," Krampus explains, showing Sam how to work the mixer. "Like crushing your enemies into submission."

"You have interesting metaphors," I mutter.

"Mom, come help us cut shapes!"

Before I know it, I'm elbow-deep in cookie dough, watching Krampus teach Sam how to properly wield a cookie cutter "like a deadly weapon."

My chest tightens as I watch them together. Tom never spent time with Sam like this. His idea of bonding was buying her expensive toys then complaining when she played too loudly with them.

"Look mom, Mr. K showed me how to make stars!" Sam holds up a perfectly shaped cookie. "He says these are like the ones where he's from."

"The Ataxian system has three suns." Krampus wipes flour from Sam's cheek with surprising gentleness. "The light creates patterns unlike anything on Earth."

A warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the oven. This seven-foot-tall alien criminal shows more patience with my daughter than her own father ever did.

"Tell me more about your stars, Mr. K!" Sam bounces on her toes.

"Perhaps tomorrow, small warrior. The cookies need attention now."

My mind wanders as I watch his massive hands delicately arrange cookies on the cooling rack. He's so... present. When he looks at you, he really sees you. Not like the endless parade of men who looked through me, already planning their escape.

Heat rises to my face as my thoughts take an unexpected turn. Those hands, that intensity... could we even...? I mean, physically, would it be possible to...?

Oh god. What if we did and I got pregnant? Would the baby be blue? Have horns?

"Mom! You're squishing the dough!"

I snap back to reality, face burning. The cookie dough oozes between my fingers where I've squeezed it into mush.

"Sorry sweetie, I was... distracted."

"Here." Krampus's hand engulfs mine as he shows me how to reshape the dough. "Gentle pressure. Like defusing a quantum bomb."

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