Misshapen Pastries and a Date

Most people turn away from the work of a freelance specialist. The jobs are short and temporary, the pay is inconsistent, and you must rely on word of mouth… or maw… or beak.

But Rone had spent years on his mother’s starship, living the life of piracy. The skills he learned made him perfectly suited. Also, he didn’t have much of a choice, space piracy is frowned upon on résumés.

With nothing but the clothes on his back, and a chest full of Gold, he moved to Pleates, A melting pot planet, ripe with work.

Rone had just completed grooming a Cerval’s pet hound. Unfortunately, a phaser got too close leaving a burned patch, on his blue and purple coat. The great thing about Cerval’s is they always keep their pets well training, so he was able to do the full cut, wash, and shoulder rubs.

So far, he was able to pick up work he was familiar with, his mother’s crew were always needing the cut, and wash after various escapades.

She thanked him for his help and gave him some credit chips.

“You know I have a friend with a bakery; she had a bit of an incident and could use some help.”

This was new, the only experience he had was with the box mix. Even then he just pours it into the Actuator, and it does the work for him.

Bakers do it all by hand or tentacle.

But he needed the work. And the money.

Just as well any specialist worth their pepper would be willing to learn and study for any request.

So, he accepted, replying that he’d be happy to take the job. She gave him the information, and he was on his way back home.

He pulled up the bakery’s menu on his phone. Thankfully, they specialized in traditional human pastries: cream rolls, breads, and tarts. Before he could start watching tutorial videos, his friend Ward called.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Sorry if you’re busy,” Ward said. “Wanted to see if you’re free tomorrow night?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a weekday, so I try to reserve it for jobs.”

“Anier will be there.”

Rone was no stranger to romance, hours of soap and medical dramas have prepared him for anything. And she wasn’t just anything, she was everything

He thought it out. Hanging out with his best friend, getting a chance to talk to the woman he adored, and put what he learned into practice was a three birds one stone situation.

“When and where?”

“At seven. Petit Gourmand in the Boroki district.”

The Boroki were famous for their culinary mastery and not just their own, their lineup of dishes could feed any race. It was all too good to be true, but he also had to consider what lost opportunities for work he’d be missing

Specialists must take every opportunity that comes their way. He reasoned

“I’ll do it.”

“Great. I’ve got some good news to share, so I need you there.”

After the ritual of pleasant goodbyes, Rone checked the kitchen dashboard to see what he was out of.

“Low on coffee and cyoco crackers. That’s not too bad.”

He added flour, and yeast to the list, then sent it to his phone.

He put his pants back on and headed out of his apartment. The sliding door chirped as his thumb pressed the pad, flashing Locked. He took the platform to the lobby and stepped into the cool evening air. Streetlights glowed softly. The smell of cooked meat and damp pavement lingered.

Flour and yeast were easy to grab, just pick out whatever was on sale. Coffee, however, was a battlefield. A hundred varieties, and your favorite was never discounted.

He debated between Mylana Red beans and the pricier Gurren blend.

Coffee is coffee, right? And as a specialist, I should try new things.

He grabbed the Mylana Red and headed home to bake. All through the evening practicing his kneading and folding.

His alarm blared at 3:30 A.M. He had hoped it was enough sleep, but the Sugar hangover was a bit much.

He hopped out of bed, wrestled into his slacks, and scurried to the kitchen panel.

“Coffee. Cream. No sugar.”

The machine hummed, poured, and dinged. A Piping hot cup ready to go.

He grimaced; the aroma was suspiciously close to freshly cleaned socks with the foot still in it.

He took a sip.

It tasted like a walnut shell he’d picked off the ground.

He coughed, forcing the rest down.

Coffee is coffee, right?

Outside, He shivered as the crisp air wrapped around him.

I forgot my jacket. Should I go back?

He checked his phone: 3:45.

Not enough time.

He turned on the hover bike heater and took a deep breath.

“There’s plenty of time. I shouldn’t rush,” he whispered, closing his eyes, trying to calm his nerves.

When he opened his eyes, his Gurren neighbor climbed into their car. Rone waved. The neighbor’s four eyes looked heavy with bags.

“Cold morning, eh, Rone?” they croaked.

Rone blanked on their name. Remembering names was his weakness, unbecoming of a specialist, but he’d made it this far.

“Yeah. Wish my jacket wasn’t drying.”

He tucked his lips, hoping it sounded casual and not: “I’m freezing and incompetent.”

The heater fought the wind as he sped toward the Human Culinary District. His chest warm; his legs and face did not.

“That’s it I’m getting a car after this.”

He parked behind the bakery and knocked. A woman’s voice came through the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Rone Castle. The specialist for today.”

She opened the door warmly. “Grab an apron. Let’s get started.”

The shop was small, quaint, and smelled of sanitizer and coffee.

“Have you eaten?”

“Just coffee.”

“Want anything?”

“Just coffee.”

She handed him a cup. It smelled of oak berries and chip nuts. It was smooth, rich, and heavenly compared to the one at home.

In the changing room, he tied on a headband and apron, then scrubbed his hands. The warm water felt amazing.

“Ever baked before?” she asked.

“I’ve… dabbled.” thinking of last night.

“Perfect.”

She wheeled out a cart of utensils and ingredients.

“All the droids are gone?” Rone asked.

“My son tried to watch something he wasn’t supposed to on the store server and infected them all.”

Rone winced. “We’ve all been there.”

As a teenager, he’d tried to download a movie and accidentally disabled his mom’s ship. They drifted in deep space for three days before help arrived.

She brought out bowls of proofed dough. They were like tan pillows.

“Want to give them a punch?”

“Punch?”

“To let the air out.” She demonstrated with a satisfying whump.

He followed, grinning at the gentle collapse.

No wonder bakers make it all by hand. This is fun.

They shaped dough, piped batter, and arranged trays. Her lines were elegant; he was chaotic. But she didn’t seem to mind. And even showed him, slowly line by line.

“Sorry my hands are a bit shaky”

“It’s not bad, It has a very human quality.”

She placed her pastries in the display case, his to the side with a sign reading:

‘The New Guy’s Attempt’

He snapped a photo and posted:

‘First time baking. Not the prettiest but tastes good.’

By six, she turned on the aromatic which pushed the smell of freshly baked goods throughout the shop. She unlocked the doors and had him work on the register while she baked backups.

Customers trickled in Humans and Gurren alike even a few Cervals. They were even nice enough to buy his misshapen cream rolls.

On lunch he ate in the office, taking bites between scrolling through posts on his phone. Seeing what all his friends and family are doing.

his aunt’s daily pet pic, his mom’s haul from taking down a trader ship, Analiz’s morning jog featuring a Willow Wark nest.

Nothing from Anier.

He messaged her: Hey, are you coming to Ward’s dinner tonight?

By closing, the baker counted the register and handed him his cut.

“We had a good day. Thanks for your help.”

“Honestly, thank you. This was an experience.”

He handed her his card: Rone Castle, Freelance Specialist.

“If I need help again, I’ll call.”

“Please do. And tell your friends. I can almost do everything”

She laughed. “Key word is almost?”

He stepped outside with his pay, leftover pastries, and the warm satisfaction of the day gone well.

A new request pinged on his phone, a Gurren needing help with human etiquette.

The Gurren loved two things:

celebrations and festivals

Human Culture

This one had an exam for Human Studies and needed Rone’s expertise.

As they shared the misshapen pastries He taught him:

small talk (“Always mention the weather, traffic, and how tired you are.”)

socially acceptable lying (“Good.” “I’m fine.”)

overthinking (Rone’s specialty)

and the greetings/ goodbyes

Rone left confident the Gurren would ace his test.

Back home, he rested on the couch. Greblar’s Anatomy was on, but too close to Wards dinner.

Anier finally replied:

I’ll be late, but yes. Can’t wait to see everyone. Looking forward to those pastries. Garnished with a smiley face

He felt giddy but he was short on time to bring pastries. Not just any pastries but the ones from the bakery.

He called the baker for the cream roll recipe.

“I’m watching the season finale of Greblar’s Anatomy! Marbelle was just diagnosed with—”

“No spoilers! Just the recipe, please!”

Gasps and screams erupted through the phone.

“I can’t believe He- “

He hung up before hearing too much and found a recipe online instead. By the time he finished making deliberately misshapen rolls and tying them in little baggies, it was already 6:05.

“If I catch the train at 6:30, I’ll be on time.”

He purchased a ticket online and headed to the Boroki district.

Ward waited outside the restaurant.

“Thanks for coming.” They hugged.

Rone handed him pastries. “I brought gifts. Why aren’t you inside?”

“They won’t seat us until everyone arrives. You’re the first.”

“Who’s coming?”

Ward started counting on his fingers “Analize, Anier, Rory, and my coworker Betany.”

“Betany?”

“She works in botany and herbology.”

Maybe I can get work out of her, Rone thought.

“This is pleasure, not business,” Ward said, side‑eyeing him.

The group arrived, exchanged greetings, and headed inside. Warm lighting, sizzling food, and chatter filled the air.

Betany sat beside Rone. Unlike the others, she wore no fragrance at all. maybe part of her work.

“So, what’s your job like?” Rone asked.

“Well, as a—”

the server interrupted. “Hello, my name is Kasha I'll be serving you all today. What can I get you started with today?”

Rone let everybody go ahead of him. As he skimmed the Menu, uncertain.

“And for your sir?”

“Something fizzy but nonalcoholic.”

“Our Leen is popular among humans.”

“Yes, I’ll try that.”

“Do you already know what you want?”

He spotted a dish marked safe for humans. “The Ver-us-kale?”

“Great choice.” The servicer scribbled on her pad.

Rone exhaled.

“Anyway,” Betany continued, “I catalogue species on different planets.”

“So, Betany the Botanist” Rone said.

She chuckled, “yes exactly.”

Now’s my chance he thought, “well Im a Freelance specialist, if you ever need help with anything I’m willing to learn and work.”

“Funny enough, I’ll be going to Japped next week, It’s a planet full of carnivorous plants. want to see a video?”

Rone knew better than to say yes to a researcher’s field video. But he needed to keep the bridge strong.

“Sure.”

A snoot‑nosed gecko was perched on a tree, sap seeping out, trapping it, melting it into goo before the bark absorbed it.

Perfect timing for his Veruskale dish to arrive.

I’m a Son of a Pirate captain. I can handle this.

It looked like Taurus shank, and as he prodded it with his fork, the juices seeped out. And all he could think about was that dissolved gecko.

Just one bite, you coward.

Thankfully, Anier arrived, weaving through tables. His appetite returned instantly.

“Sorry I’m late. Makeup interview.”

“You’re still job hunting?” Ward asked.

“Yes. It’s been a pain.”

Rone remembered the pastries and handed them out.

“I’ve been thinking about these all day.” Anier’s smile warmed him.

“I made them extra misshapen for you.”

Anier shared her interview struggles.

“I’m completely over submitting applications”

“I get that,” Rone said, trying to sound extra invested.

He glanced at Betany, she was chatting with Analiz. Hopefully she didn’t feel like he completely ignored her.

Ward raised his glass.

“I wanted us together tonight because… I’m transferring to another campus.”

“Oh, that stinks,” Rone blurted.

Ward laughed. “It’s a good thing. I’m going to Halcyon.”

Rone frowned, and whined “but halcyons too far”

Ward chuckled, and the friends continued talking until each person took their leave.

“I’m heading out, before I miss the late train.”

“Ill walk you out.” Rone offered. He could see Ward grinning from the corner of his eye

Rone walked Anier to the train station. They talked about the food, her job hunt, everything and nothing.

She’s so pretty.

Maybe I should ask her out.

We should get coffee. Or get married.

No. Too fast.

“If you’re not too busy,” he said, “maybe we can grab something to eat?”

“We just ate.” She tried to hide her smirk. Rone caught the tiny lift at the corner of her mouth.

“I didn’t specify.”

“You sure didn’t.” Her smile cracked through. “But yes. I should be free Wednesday or Thursday.”

Glad I don’t have to pay anything, the voice in his head whispered.

No, too soon for these kinds of jokes

“Just message me what works for you. I’ll keep my schedule clear.”

“Or I’ll just send in a request for a specialist,” she teased.

Damn, she’s good.

They exchanged goodbyes and boarded separate trains.

Back home, Rone collapsed at his table, replaying every moment.

and because of the long day, he fell asleep.