Page 50 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits
The silence that follows is not awkward. It’s sacred.
She touches my wrist. Light. Steady.
“Then fight for it. Don’t hide behind honor or code or whatever else you think disqualifies you. You’ve already fought for my life. Fight for my heart, too.”
And just like that, the spiral stills.
I lean down, forehead brushing hers. Not a kiss. Not yet.
But a promise.
CHAPTER 11
RUBY
The morning air in the prep dome crackles like static against my skin, primed for broadcast. Cherry blossoms drift on artificial breeze machines, nodding in time with my racing heart. My apron smells of warm cherries and risk—the perfect metaphor, somehow, for this moment. I press the fondant dragon-flame gently into the lava cake’s top, my fingers trembling like leaves in a storm. Skillet heat doesn’t flinch. But it does nothing to steady me.
I exhale, tasting sweet sugar and burnt caramel on my tongue. My hands shake—not from fear of the oven, or even of the live feed, but ofhim.Of the silent promise he made in that late-night kitchen, under fluorescent lights and flour-dusted countertops.
The dome door whooshes open, and there he is: Rekkgar. Towering, silent, deliberately poised. He wears the official competition gear now—sleek black vest emblazoned with the show’s holo-logo, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms etched with scars that speak of other lives. He carries my emergency mug: dark ceramic with “Earth Bites” etched gold, palm-warmed still. In one hand, a steaming Earth Espresso. In the other, a look that calms storms.
I swallow. My heart tricks me into thinking we’re back in that kitchen together—just us, messy and authentic—until I remember the audience. Millions of eyes. Live.
“Here,” he says, pressing the mug into my palm. His fingers brush mine, and the jolt is immediate. I don’t have to think. I just breathe in, mouth open, and drink. The rich bitterness cuts through my jittery nerves like truth.
“Thanks,” I murmur. My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
He simply nods. No fanfare. No pep talk. Just presence. Solid.
Lights flash. The announcer’s voice booms through overhead speakers like distant fireworks.
“Welcome toGalactic Panic Chef Surprise! Live from the Thaelos Prime Station!”
My pulse jolts. The camera’s red light blinks. I plaster on my practiced smile—the one that’s won me fans since I opened Earth Bites.
But even as I say my opener, even while the domed lens broadcasts me to dozens of worlds, I’m not thinking of fame or fortune. I’m thinking of him. His flank pressed close. His presence behind me. The warmth in his jawline. The confidence that settled in my chest the second he walked through the door.
“Ruby Adams, representing Novaria, brings us her signature lava cake—volcanic cherry-lava volcano with a pearled fondant flame. Taste profile inspired by criminal hot springs on New Theros.” I deliver the line like I practiced, but my eyes skip to him. He’s watching me with the weight of everything he didn’t say, everything hewillsay when the cameras fade.
The announcer’s voice tickles the mic again.
“Judges are ready. You have thirty minutes. Begin!”
The lights shift. The music drops. And now we’re in the fray. Gears whirl. Tools clink. My fingers glide across fondant andflour, but each time I glance at him, I remember: I’m not alone out here.
When I drop a spoon of glaze, he catches it before I do. When my sleeve dips into a pool of ganache, he’s there with a towel before even I notice. My nerves settle. I whisper, “Thank you.”
He responds by indexing his thumb—you’ve got this.
Midway through, one judge leans in, sniffing the aroma. I hold my breath. But it’s not the chocolate or berries she notices—it’s theair.The calm.
I flash her a confident smile.
She nods. “Balanced. Sweet and grounded.”
That word loops in me like an anchor.
After thirty minutes, chaos crescendos—steam, electric buzzers, shimmering display of final plating. I steady the lava cake, crown it with micro-edible blossoms, and step back. The judges lean in. I look across the prep station to find Rekkgar—standing just behind me, arms crossed, giving me the steadyest, most supportive gaze I’ve ever seen.
