Page 37 of Alien Warrior Chef… With Benefits

RUBY

I lean against the counter beside Rekkgar, the hum of conversation and espresso machines blending into a comfortable symphony.

The bakery’s twilight glow casts long shadows on our worn oak floors, each scratch and nick a testament to the storms we’ve weathered.

I breathe in the familiar aroma of toasted croissants, caramel, and fresh dough—flour and honey swirling together like a promise.

“Everyone’s buzzing tonight,” Lyrie calls from behind the display case, voice vibrant. She’s upholstered in cosmic-bright scales, elegantly wrist-deep in macaron fillings and marketing ideas. “Our holopromo hit two million views, and guess who left a fan dub in the comment train?”

I glance at Rekkgar. He stands beside me, arms folded, a gentle half-smile on his face.

His rose-gold pauldrons reflect the soft café lights, his presence as structured and protective as always.

I slip my fingers into his, feeling the ridges of old scars along his palm.

“Who?” I ask, voice warm as molten sugar.

Lyrie laughs, leaning closer. “An Andrus ambassador. Said Earth?Bites is ‘a taste of unity across star systems.’ Thought you’d like that.”

I let out a low sound—part laugh, part disbelief. “I’ll take it.” But under the bravado, pride blooms. Not just for the bakery’s galactic reputation—but because we built this . This place, this life, is ours.

Vonn storms through the orders station, arms crossed and brow raised—her wartime discipline repurposed for inventory command. “Ruby,” she growls, though her tone is fond, “the spice crate from Xeros-12?” She slams her datapad down. “It’s shipped in two hours—are you ready to launch?”

I tilt my head. “Yes. Today. We’ll test the warrior-muffin blend—Raven-Shade hot-pepper dust included. Rekkgar, you good to taste-test?”

He grunts, shifting. “Only if you bow to my muffin-making mastery.”

I wink. “Deal.”

Behind the glass wall of our branding hub, Lyrie sketches expansion concepts on a holo-template.

There’s Earth?Bites boutiques launching on moon-stations, fusion pop-ups at trade summits, and catering orders from embassies.

I step between her and Vonn in the adjoining office, soft suede carpet grounding me.

I hold up a holo-pastry, its spun sugar cauldron shimmering in violet dusk tones. “This is the unity cake—layers of planetary grains, galaxy-hued frost, edible nebula dust. Serving size: one world peace piece.”

Vonn snorts. “If peace tastes like that, I’ll have five.”

Lyrie nudges me. “Ruby, you’re unstoppable.”

I hesitate, memories of war or heartbreak momentarily flickering. But then I remember how I conquered those days—flour, fire, Rekkgar—and I nod. “Yes. We are.”

Mid-afternoon, the final warrior-muffin test: arrayed with his pepper-dusted creations. I stand over a sleek tasting table as Rekkgar lowers a muffin to his lips, silver spoon in hand. He breathes deeply—spice and grain and salt. The bakery holds its breath alongside him.

He chews slowly, expression shifting. I press my lips tight. L tension threads through my chest…and then he grunts.

He hands it back. “Perfect.” Then his eyes soften. “Sweet. Fiery. Like…”

I grin. “Like me?”

He picks up my fingers. “Exactly.”

Hot blood rises to my cheeks. “Second favorite.” I poke him. He grunts again, half-laugh in response.

Evening drapes low over Novaria as the last customers drift out. I lock the register just after the clock chimes—and dust motes swirl in the café lights like tiny galaxies anchored in time.

Rumbling footsteps behind me. I turn. Rekkgar stands there in soft leather, armor replaced by comfortable twin-toned garb. He holds two mugs—steam twisting in the dim light.

“You still like the muffin tops best?” I ask, voice teasing as I step closer.

He offers me the mug. “Second favorite.”

I laugh, then catch his gaze—something more steady here, used to the rhythm of quiet nights. I take the mug, raise it in salute, and brush my lips across his cheek. He exhales, chest rising, and kisses me soft as pastry cream.

Above us, the stars ignite in black velvet sky. Below, the signboard plaque glints: “Earth Bites—Founded in Flour. Forged in Fire. Forever by Love.”

We sip sweet coffee in silence. The door chime hums in the distance as one last passerby taps the glass and smiles at us—a couple bound by war and sugar, by love and purpose.

We watch the light dim, then go out. The ovens cool. The counters empty. But the aroma stays. Deep, dreamy, home.

Our story isn’t over. It’s just beginning.

We’re not a legend yet—but we will be. One recipe, one sunrise, one fierce laugh after another.

Anchored in love. Baked into eternity.