Page 32 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
Earth Espresso. The real stuff.
My heart trips.
On the step, in a little wax paper bag, sits a chocolate chip muffin top. Still warm. Slightly misshapen.
Handmade.
By someone with claws.
My fingers tremble as I pick it up. I look down the alley, eyes scouring the shadows. But it’s empty.
I hold the muffin to my chest and close the door, heart hammering against my ribs.
Maybe he doesn’t want to be caught.
But maybe—just maybe—he wants me to follow.
“Lyrie, tell me you didn’t.”
My voice cuts sharper than the pastry knife in my hand, and I regret the edge as soon as I see her sheepish, glimmering expression.
“Well, technicallyVonnhit ‘send.’ I just formatted the vidclip and chose your most flattering filter,” Lyrie replies, eyes glinting pink mischief as she leans against the prep counter like she hasn’t just upended my entire life.
Vonn, unbothered, snorts as she sifts almond flour behind her. “Flattering filter my ass. You looked fine without the glitter sparkles and cheek blusher. Should’ve left your face how it is. Honest.”
“Honest doesn’t win votes,” Lyrie sing-songs, flipping her datapad around to show me the holofeed.
There, right at the top of the trending tab, my flushed, flour-dusted face beams back at me. “Earth Bites’ Ruby Adams: The War Orphan Who Bakes Like Heaven,” the headline reads in big, blinking font. A still from our Winter Solstice Festival booth forms the header, and beneath it—gods help me—is a short clip of me piping ganache into galaxy swirl cupcakes while hummingTerran Pie Waltz.
I drop the knife. It clatters against the stainless steel with a shrill note that vibrates up my spine.
“You sent in my application. Without asking me. ForGalactic Panic Chef Surprise.”
“It was time,” Lyrie says softly now, more serious, her voice dipped in something close to reverence. “You’ve been hiding in this bakery for years, Ruby. Hiding from everything.”
Vonn doesn’t even pause her sifting. “You’ve got talent, girl. Not just in your hands. In yourheart.And we figured, if you’re not gonna chase down that broody lizard man, you might as well chase a dream.”
I lean back against the fridge, breath tight in my chest, like sugar smoke too thick in the lungs.
I should be furious. I want to be.
But under the indignation, under the shock, there’s a tiny bloom of… something else.
Hope.
“It’s aholovisioncompetition, Vonn,” I mutter, eyes still glued to my own face frozen mid-frosting on the screen. “They don’t want bakers. They want fireworks. I don’t flambé, I don’t molecular anything, and I don’t scream in fake surprise when I see the secret ingredient.”
“They wantyou,” Lyrie presses, tapping her claw to my chest, right where my apron bears the faded Earth Bites logo. “Your story. Your flavors. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who can make a Fratvoyan cry with a peanut butter bar.”
“Don’t remind me,” Vonn growls, dabbing discreetly at her left eye. “Damn thing tasted like my grandmother’s kitchen before the plague. Could’ve knocked me out with a spoonful.”
I laugh, then slap a hand over my mouth, surprised it’s real. It bubbles up from somewhere below the pain, a cracked place the sunlight’s finally touching.
“They shortlisted you,” Lyrie continues, voice gentle now. “Top fifty. And they’re filming the season on that new Vortaxian station orbiting Thaelos Prime. You’d get your own kitchen pod. A wardrobe stipend. A travel allowance. A plus-one.”
I stiffen at that.A plus-one.My mind reaches for him reflexively, like a hand toward a flame.
But no. That’s done. Or at least buried for now, wrapped in wax paper and left on a doorstep like a farewell.
