Page 39 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
I raise a brow. “Evening to you too.”
“You owe me six apologies and a blood sacrifice for how much I’ve had to endure watching Ruby try to keep herself together while you mope around like a cursed poet in a bad romance novel.”
“I don’t mope.”
“Youdo.It’s your default setting. Like a fridge with too much humidity.”
I sigh, rubbing a knuckle into my temple. “Why are you here?”
“Because,” she says, slapping a datapad onto my desk, “I need an assistant.”
I squint at the screen. It’s the Galactic Panic Chef Surprise competitor docket—Ruby’s name, bright and blinking, highlighted with a gaudy star graphic.
“She’s already got Vonn and?—”
“Not for the show. Fortraining.We’re staging mock rounds in the studio kitchen starting tomorrow. Simulations, ingredients, plating rehearsals, alien flavor calibration. We need a test mouth. And a strong pair of arms that can handle a plasma whisk without whining.”
“I’m not qualified?—”
“You’ve got taste buds, don’t you? And two functional hands? Good. You’re in.”
“I have classes?—”
“I already rescheduled them. You’re welcome.”
“I don’t?—”
She steps in close, too close, her scaled face dead serious. “She’s leaving soon. You’re running out of chances to stop being a coward and start being someone worth staying for.”
The words land like fists. Not cruel. Not mocking.
Just truth.
And that’s worse.
I exhale slowly. “Why do you care so much?”
“Because she’s family,” Lyrie says, suddenly quiet. “And because I’ve never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at you. Not even close.”
I glance at the datapad again. Ruby’s picture is grainy, taken from a festival last cycle, her arms flung wide in a sugar-flour cloud, laughing mid-spin.
Alive.
Free.
“Tomorrow,” I murmur.
“Ten sharp.”
“I’ll be there.”
Lyrie’s lips twitch into a knowing smirk. “Wear something you don’t mind catching fire.”
She spins on her heel, flounces out, and leaves the scent of lavender and alien spiced rum in her wake.
I stare at the closed door for a long while.
Then I lean back in my chair and let the first honest breath I’ve taken in days rattle out of my lungs.
