Page 37 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
Her smile tightens, automatic. “Enjoy, sir.”
Sir.
I take a step back like I’ve been struck. The espresso scalds my palm through the cup. I don’t care.
Around us, the crowd doesn’t notice. Or if they do, they pretend not to. The bakery pulses with life, color, celebration. She’s not just surviving. She’sascending.And I’m?—
What am I now?
A relic?
A cautionary tale?
I slip to the far corner table—our table. The one closest to the window, with the view of the plaza where she once leaned her head on my arm under starlight. I sit. Watch. Drink.
The espresso is perfect. Bitter and bold, just how I like it. But it tastes like ash in my mouth now.
Because this—this is the world without me in it.
This is what she becomes when I’m no longer blocking the sun.
She shines.
I sit in that corner long after the crowd thins, after the reporters vanish in a cloud of cologne and holoscreens. I don’t speak. Don’t move. Just watch her wipe counters, laugh with Vonn, toss a playful jab at Lyrie. They close ranks around her like she’s treasure—and maybe she is.
Maybe I never deserved to be the one to guard her.
Finally, she approaches, tying the strings of her apron behind her back with a yank. “Still nursing that espresso?”
Her tone is casual, light. But not warm.
“I never got a chance to congratulate you,” I say, voice rough from disuse. “Galactic Panic. That’s… huge.”
She shrugs. “Apparently, people like watching humans bake under pressure.”
I smile, weak and crooked. “They likeyou.I do too.”
She doesn’t respond.
I push the muffin toward her, untouched. “It’s perfect. Like always.”
“Then why didn’t you eat it?”
“I couldn’t.”
Her jaw tenses. “Why?”
“Because it tastes like goodbye.”
The silence stretches between us, taut and suffocating.
“I’m proud of you, Ruby,” I whisper.
Her expression softens—barely. A hairline fracture in the mask. “You had a funny way of showing it.”
“I was scared.”
“You’re a war hero, Rekkgar. What could possibly scare you?”
