Page 32 of Wayfinder
My heart had nearly stopped when he leaped off the boat and onto the back of the alien shark. Something inside me seemed to shatter with the realization that there was a possibility he might not make it out alive. That same part of me burst with joy when he survived unharmed. The rush of relief that washed over me was near-debilitating, and I couldn’t get my hands onhim fast enough. I needed to touch him, to make sure it was real—that he was safe and whole.
There was no sense in pretending any longer.
I liked him.
I liked him a whole freaking lot.
I could blame the kiss on the emotion of the moment, but it wouldn’t be true. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to kiss him again. If I’d known it was his first kiss, I’d have taken more care... not that it wasn’t completely wonderful.
The contest was over. It felt bittersweet because along with my win came the realization that I no longer needed Jutuk by my side. I’d miss how safe I felt in his presence, how he always stood by me, ready to defend and protect me. Most of all, I would miss the warmth in his smile and the sense of completeness that enveloped me like a blanket whenever we were together.
My mind raced with thoughts of our inevitable separation. Jutuk would return to whatever life he led on his ship, and my friends and I would most likely return to Earth. The realization that I might never see him again made my heart ache.
I didn’t like that idea.
Not at all.
I couldn’t think about this now.
I had to get my mind off Jutuk and on the fish.
While I was cocky about my cooking prowess, I wasn’t stupid. The best way to get beat was to think you couldn’t be. I might not be able to do anything about the animal tampering, but as far as the cooking went, I’d won fair and square.
I set the fish to marinade, crushed up salt for the vegetables, and pulled out the supplies for flatbread. Alien flour was fine and powdery... complete shit when it came to bread and pastry, but it made a decent cracker.
“What is this dish?” Jutuk peered at the small cubes of fish marinating in the grapefruit/lime concoction.
“It’s called ceviche, a popular dish in the Latin American countries of Earth. It’s made by macerating raw fish in a liquid like lemon juice along with stuff like chiles and onions.”
“You do not cook the fish?” Jutuk’s long, straight nose curled ever so slightly. Remind me never to serve him sushi.
“No, but the acid in the juice breaks down the proteins in the fish, causing it to take on a flakey texture similar to being cooked. Here, try some.” I scooped up a few pieces of fish on the edge of the flatbread, still warm from the kiln.
Jutuk eyed the proffered bite warily for a moment. His firm lips brushed my fingers as he took the fish on his tongue, chewing and issuing a low, pleased moan, his eyes rolling back in his head a little.
“Delicious,” he groaned.
I finished mixing the ceviche and arranged fresh greens and slices of the grapefruit/lime fruit on the dish in decoration. The aroma of tangy citrus and ocean-fresh seafood filled the air. With a nod of approval from Jutuk, I delivered a dish to each judge and one to the Chancellor, keeping a portion put aside for Jutuk and me to enjoy later.
The judges’ reactions mirrored Jutuk’s, their faces contorting into expressions of unadulterated pleasure. Moans escaped before they could form coherent words, and a flurry of compliments showered upon me like warm rain.
With a haughty flourish, Uilay presented his masterpiece on pristine white dishes. The main attraction appeared to be grilled fish drizzled with a vibrant green sauce. The judges seemed impressed. However, for me, the powerful scent reminiscent of fermented herring wafting from the dish was a bit gagging.
After the last bite was savored, and the plates cleared, the judges huddled together in whispered discussion. Their faces remained stoic, giving no indication of their thoughts.
Jutuk stood tall and solid beside me, his hand warm and reassuring as I clutched it tightly. My nerves were swirling in a strange mix of excitement and anxiety, with the unfamiliar feeling of butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
Finally, the Chancellor approached the dais, his robes swishing behind him as he prepared to announce the results.
“By unanimous vote, the winner of thebragging rightscompletion is... human chef Pearl!”
The judges erupted in applause. Lady Jessup, with her elegant dress and sparkling jewels, declared that she would speak to the Baron about buying me. Counselor Trie and Master Iffas expressed excitement over the menu for the Duke’s upcoming birthday dinner.
Chef Uilay just scowled in my direction.
“I still insist you used human trickery to win,” he hissed through bulbous lips. “I am the best chef in the universe.”
Granted, I recognized that sometimes my over-confident attitude could be a rather unattractive trait. Right now, I didn’t give a damn.
