Page 1 of Sun's Roar

ONE

HELENA

Helena wiped beads of sweat from her brow as she leaned over the simmering pot and inhaled the complex aroma of her newest creation. The kitchen of Ember & Spice buzzed around her, a symphony of clattering pans and shouted orders she’d grown to love more than any birthday song.

“Chef, the supplier called about the truffles. They’re delayed until tomorrow.” Marco, her sous chef, appeared at her elbow with a clipboard.

“Of course, they are.” Helena tucked a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. The same rebellious red hair that had been with her for thirty years as of today. Not that anyone needed to make a fuss about it. “Tell Jean to redo the special menu card without the truffle risotto. We’ll substitute the wild mushroom ravioli.”

“On it. Also—” Marco hesitated, a poorly concealed grin spreading across his face. “Happy birthday.”

Helena rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “It’s just another Thursday, Marco.”

“A Thursday where you’re officiallyold,” Marco teased.

“Thirty isn’t old!” She flicked her kitchen towel at him as he ducked away laughing.

The rest of the morning passed in a rapid blur of prep work and taste testing. Helena lost herself in the familiar patterns, her hands working from muscle memory while her mind raced ahead to the evening service.

Her phone buzzed occasionally with birthday texts from her best friends scattered across the country—Lorelei in Boston, Isolde in Portland, Seraphina in Miami, Thea in Providence, and Everly in New York City, all promising to video chat on the weekend when Helena might actually have five minutes to spare.

At two o’clock, she took her customary fifteen-minute break, collapsing onto the chair in her small office. The mirror on her wall reflected her flushed face and her hazel eyes bright from the kitchen heat. She looked the same as yesterday despite crossing the threshold into her thirties today.

“So, this is what thirty looks like,” she murmured, running her fingers through her hair.

She shook her head and glanced down at her desk. Like usual, there were stacks of invoices, reviews, and scheduling conflicts—the less glamorous side of running the hottest restaurant in San Diego. Helena sighed and felt a strange warmth building in her chest. Heartburn? At thirty? She pressed a hand to her sternum.

“God, I really need a life beyond these walls,” she whispered to the empty room. “Maybe a date that doesn’t involve food critics or supplier meetings.”

The warmth intensified suddenly, spreading down her arms. Helena frowned, rolling up her sleeves. Her pale skin looked normal but felt like she’d stepped too close to the wood-fired oven. Before she could process this further, a knock came at the door.

“Chef, the Nicholsons are here. They’re asking if you’ll come out and say hello.” Her lead server poked her head in.

Helena nodded, pushing away the strange sensation. “Tell them I’ll be right out.”

As she stood, the warmth receded, leaving only a lingering tingle in her fingertips. Probably just stress and exhaustion—the constant companions of a restaurant owner who hadn’t taken a real day off in three years.

Before she knew it, the workday was just about over. Her shoulders ached as she wiped down her station one last time. The last customers had left twenty minutes ago, and the kitchen cleanup was nearly complete. Her thirtieth birthday had passed by in a blur of seared scallops and plated desserts, exactly as she’d wanted—no fuss, just work.

“Chef, could you check the walk-in before you go?” Marco called, his voice oddly formal.

Helena frowned. “I thought Javier already inventoried?—”

“Just real quick,” Zoe interrupted, appearing from nowhere to guide Helena by the elbow. “Something looks off with the produce delivery.”

Helena allowed herself to be steered toward the refrigerator, too tired to argue. The strange warmth from earlier had returned intermittently throughout service, flaring whenever she’d gotten frustrated with a returned dish or a missed ticket. She’d dismissed it as some weird birthday anxiety.

When she pushed open the heavy door, darkness greeted her.

“What the?—”

The lights flicked on.

“SURPRISE!”

Her kitchen staff crowded inside, Marco holding a chocolate cake blazing with candles. Her favorite—dark chocolate with ganache filling and raspberry coulis. The sight made her throat tighten.

“You guys,” Helena whispered, the warmth in her chest expanding into something that felt dangerously close to tears.

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