"Welcome to relationships." Dana squeezed my shoulder. "But here's the thing, Vaxon knows you. He's seen you at your worst, covered in grease, ranting about power conduits at 0300 hours. He's watched you work yourself to exhaustion and be brilliantly reckless and say exactly the wrong thing in tense moments. And he still wants to have dinner with you." She met my eyes in the mirror. "That's not someone who's going to run at the first mistake. That's someone who's already decided you're worth the complications."
The chronometer on the wall read 1847 hours. Thirteen minutes until I was supposed to be at Vaxon's quarters.
Thirteen minutes until I voluntarily walked into the terrifying unknown of actually letting someone matter.
"Go," Jalina said gently. "And Elena? Don't overthink it. Just be yourself. That's who he wants to have dinner with."
I nodded. Stood. Checked my reflection one more time and decided that if I looked at myself any longer I'd find reasons to change everything.
The walk to Vaxon's quarters took exactly four minutes through Mothership's corridors. I counted each step, trying to calm my racing heart, trying to remember how to breathe properly.
His door was marked with his name and rank in Zandovian script I'd learned to read months ago. I stood outside for thirty seconds, working up courage.
Then the door opened before I could touch the panel.
Vaxon stood there, still in his tactical blacks but with his jacket removed, the electric-blue markings on his arms fully visible. His quarters behind him looked softer than I expected, warm lighting, personal items I'd never seen before, actual furniture scaled for someone his size.
And on the small table near his sleeping platform, two place settings and food that looked suspiciously homemade rather than synthesized.
"You cooked," I said, because stating the obvious was easier than processing the way he was looking at me.
"I attempted to cook. The results remain uncertain." His eyes tracked over me, the blue tunic, the necklace, my actually-managed hair. "You look beautiful."
Heat flooded my face. "I look clean. There's a difference."
"You always look beautiful. Tonight you just look less like you've been fighting with machinery." He stepped back, gesturing me inside. "Come in. Before I combust from nervous energy or you decide this was a mistake and run."
I stepped over the threshold, and his door sealed behind me with quiet finality.
No more running. No more hiding. Just dinner and conversation and the terrifying possibility of something good.
"I won't run," I promised.
"Good." His hand found the small of my back, warm through the tunic's fabric. "Because I have plans that involve considerably more than dinner, and they all require you staying."
My stomach executed another complicated flip. "Defineconsiderably more."
"Conversation. Honesty. Probably kissing if you're amenable." His mouth curved. "And if we're very lucky, figuring out how two complicated people might actually make this work."
I looked up at him, at the warrior who'd protected me, challenged me, seen through every defense I'd built. At the man who'd been falling for me before I knew how to fall back.
"I'm amenable," I said.
His smile was devastating. "Then let's begin."
Chapter
Ten
Elena
The first clue that Vaxon put genuine effort into tonight greeted me the moment I stepped through his door. The scent of actual food instead of synthesized protein hit me as the door sealed behind me as something savory with herbs I couldn't identify, definitely not the standard ship rations I'd become accustomed to over the past eight months.
The second clue was the lighting. He'd dimmed it to something softer than standard illumination, warm instead of the usual sterile brightness that made every space on Mothership feel like a medical bay. The third clue was the table he'd set up near the viewport, actual place settings, not just trays, with what looked like cloth napkins and everything arranged with the precision of someone who'd researched proper dinner etiquette.
Vaxon stood beside the table, still in his tactical black but with his jacket removed, those electric-blue markings visible on his forearms and collar. His cobalt eyes tracked over me,the blue tunic Dana had insisted I wear, the necklace Jalina had loaned me, my actually-managed hair with an intensity that made my stomach flip.
"You cooked," I said, because stating the obvious was easier than processing the fact that I was actually here, in his quarters, about to have dinner with the man who'd nearly died protecting me three days ago.
