Chapter 9
Cody
The shower is incredible. Not just because I'm washing off half the Cerastean desert, though that's definitely part of it.
There's something about standing under the hot pounding spray of water that quiets my mind, and right now my mind needs quieting.
Because all I can think about is tonight, and A'Vanti.
I give myself a firm reminder not to go full throttle like I want to. I need to let her set the pace.
This would work better if I could stop replaying the softness of her knuckles beneath my lips. Or the way her eyes fixed on my mouth with what I'm almost certain was longing.
By the time I'm dressed and presentable, I've got almost an hour before I told A'Vanti I'd find her. I spend five of those remaining minutes pacing my quarters like I'm having a manic episode, and another five trying to figure out what exactly I'm doing.
This is a date. Right? Yeah, it's definitely a date. We had what was arguably the most incredible kiss of my life back in the transport, and now we're sharing a meal, just the two of us. That's a date.
Unless it's not a date and I'm reading everything wrong, and she is only interested in sharing dinner with a colleague.
I'm a fighter pilot, for God's sake. I've flown combat missions and faced down enemy fire. I've made split-second decisions with lives on the line. I should not be this nervous about dinner.
I run my hand through my still-damp hair and take a breath. "Get it together, Johnson."
But even as I say it, a thought nags at me. If this is a date, and I'm choosing to believe it is, then I should step up. Make some kind of effort. Show her what she means to me.
And then it hits me. I know exactly what to do.
I'm out the door before I can second-guess myself.
It takes me the better part of forty minutes to pull it all together, but I manage. Barely. By the time A'Vanti walks into the galley, I'm leaning against the counter, trying to look like I haven't been sprinting around the hangar like a madman.
She's changed out of her dusty field gear into soft-looking pants and a dark turquoise top that makes her scales seem to shimmer.
Her hair is down, golden waves falling loose around her shoulders.
Seeing her like this, relaxed and unguarded, makes my mouth go dry as the desert outside.
The smooth opening line I had prepared evaporates on my tongue.
When A'Vanti spots me waiting in the galley, she smiles. "Cody, thank you for inviting me to dinner. I'm excited for our meal."
And just like that, every nervous thought in my head goes quiet.
"You found me," I say, which is about as smooth as a crash landing, but she doesn't seem to mind.
"You were not difficult to locate." She crosses to where I'm standing and tilts her head, studying me with those striking golden eyes. "You look… refreshed."
"I was going to say the same thing about you." I nod toward the synthesizer. "Hungry?"
"Yes, very."
We move to the synthesizer together, and A'Vanti scrolls through the options.
"This one," she says, selecting her meal. "Chariom noodles. It was my favorite comfort food as a child. My mother made them whenever I had a difficult day."
The synthesizer hums to life, and a few moments later, a steaming bowl of deep red noodles materializes. The smell hits me immediately, rich and complex, with an underlying heat that makes my nose tingle.
She adds a drink to her order, some kind of pale-yellow juice that she calls verak nectar, and then steps aside so I can take my turn.
I input my own selection. I chose a cheeseburger, fries, and a soda, because I'm nothing if not predictable. When our food is ready, A'Vanti turns toward the long table in the galley.
"Actually," I say, "I have something else in mind. Follow me?"
She raises an eyebrow but doesn't argue, just gathers her tray and falls into step beside me.
I lead her out of the transport and through the terminal hangar, past the equipment crates and supply pallets, until we reach the side door I'd scouted out earlier. When I push it open, the Cerastean evening spills in. The air carries the faint scent of sand and something almost floral.
Outside, right where I left it, is the old metal table and two chairs I'd found in a storage bay and dragged out here.
The table is battered and a little lopsided, but the view more than makes up for it.
Spire Mountain rises to the east, its jagged peaks blazing copper and bronze as the last of the larger sun's light catches them from across the sky, painting the horizon in shades of violet, rose, and burnt gold.
The larger sun is setting, but the smaller one still hangs above the horizon, holding the world in a warm, suspended glow.
A'Vanti stops and stares.
"Cody," she whispers.
Then A'Vanti's eyes dart toward the open desert, and a flicker of concern crosses her face. "But what if the keth'ra comes back?"
"Already handled." I nod toward the small device perched on a crate by the door. "L'Zaen helped me set it up. It emits some kind of subsonic vibration that keeps predatory animals away. He assured me we could enjoy dinner without becoming a meal ourselves."
The tension in her shoulders ease. "You set this up for me?"
"I wanted to do something nice." I pull out her chair with exaggerated formality. "Best seat in the house, m'lady."
She settles into the seat, and I take the one across from her. For a moment, we watch the sunset in silence, the sky deepening to richer colors with every passing minute.
"Let's eat while it's still hot," I suggest.
A'Vanti lifts her eating utensil and twirls noodles around what looks like a two-pronged fork. She takes a bite, and her eyes flutter closed.
"Delicious," she announces. "It is not exactly the same as my mother's. But it is close."
Her expression is so vulnerable in this moment, like joy and grief tangled together, that I am unable to look away.
I'd been warned about how spicy the Cerasteans like their food, but watching A'Vanti's face right now, I find myself thinking that I'd been overly cautious.
"Can I try a bite?" I ask.
"You wish to try Cerastean cuisine?"
"I want to try everything." I grin at her. "Within reason."
Her eyes open, and amusement sparks in their amber depths. "You wish to try chariom noodles."
"That's what I said."
"They are quite spicy."
"I can handle spicy."
The look she gives me is deeply skeptical, but she extends her fork toward me with a small portion of noodles. I lean forward and take the bite.
For approximately half a second, I think, 'Oh, this isn't so bad.'
Then the heat hits.
It doesn't build gradually. It doesn't start mild and then intensify. It arrives all at once, like someone set off a small explosion on my tongue. My eyes water and my throat constricts. I'm pretty sure I can feel my sinuses trying to evacuate my skull.
I wheeze.
It's not a dignified sound. Not even close. It's the kind of noise a dying animal might make, and it goes on for an embarrassingly long time while I grab for my soda and gulp down half the glass.
A'Vanti is laughing.
Not the measured, restrained laugh I've heard before.
This is full and vivid and utterly delighted.
And despite my watery-eyed suffering, I can't help but think it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
She's actually wiping tears from her eyes, though hers are from laughter, not capsaicin-induced agony.
"I warned you," she manages between giggles.
"You said 'quite spicy.'" My voice comes out hoarse and ravaged. "That was not 'quite spicy.' That was a war crime."
She laughs harder, and I find myself laughing too, even though my mouth is still on fire. Worth it. Completely worth it.
"Your face," she gasps. "The expression on your—"
"I'm glad my suffering brings you joy."
"It does." She grins at me, utterly unrepentant. "It truly does."
I drain the rest of my soda and reach across the table and steal her verak nectar, downing half of it before she can protest. It's sweet and tart and blessedly cool on my scorched tongue. "I take back every nice thing I said. You're clearly evil."
"And yet you like me anyway."
"Yeah," I say, and I let the word carry more weight than a joke. "I really do."
The laughter in her eyes shift. She reaches across the table and brushes her fingers along the back of my hand – a brief touch, there and gone.
"I like you too, Cody. Very much."
For a moment, neither of us speaks. I think I could happily stay in this moment forever.
But I also want to know her better. All of her. Not only who she is now, but who she was before.
"I was worried," I admit, before I can talk myself out of honesty. "About you coming here. To Ceraste, I mean."
A'Vanti's expression shifts, caution flickering behind her eyes. "You thought it would be too difficult for me."
"No, you're too strong for that. But… I thought it might be very painful.
And it has been. I've seen it. The way you look at everything here, like you're seeing ghosts.
" I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table.
"But that's not all I've seen. The way you talk about the future here, about what needs to be done to make Ceraste livable again.
You're not just surviving here, A'Vanti. You're… I don't know. Coming alive."
She's quiet for a long moment, her gaze drifting across the facility and to the desert beyond.
"It is strange," she says finally. "I expected only grief. And there is grief, so much of it that some moments I think I might drown in it. But there is also…" She pauses, searching for the word. "Purpose. We're going to rebuild, maybe even make something new."
"New life rising from the ashes," I say.
Her eyes snap back to mine
"The phoenix," she murmurs.