Page 35 of What Makes an Alien a Dad?

“I mostly just watch TV for fun,” I said. “But when I was growing up, I loved gardening.”

“Gardening?” He tilted his head, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

I nodded. “There is true satisfaction in nurturing a plant from a seed. Nothing ever tastes as good as the fruits and veggies that I grew in my little garden.” I glanced at him sheepishly, thinking about what I’d just said. “It may not sound like much of an achievement to someone like you—”

“But it is,” he disagreed. “I don’t think I could grow anything without the help of my AI. My apartment would look like a desert wasteland if it wasn’t for the drones maintaining all the plants.”

I smiled, but the professor’s expression remained serious.

“I’ll have more plants brought to your room,” he said. “Or better yet, I’ll order whatever seeds you want, and you can plant them yourself. Would you like that?”

Excitement warmed my chest at the thought of having something to do. I hadn’t had a garden since I left the small town where I grew up to go to college. Then, I moved in with Walter, and we ended up even farther away from my hometown, living in a big city. I hadn’t even had a single potted plant at our place. There just hadn’t been time to properly look after it.

“I’ll try,” I replied uncertainly. The luscious Voranian flowers looked like they required specialized care. “I’m not familiar with the plant forms here.”

“The hospital drone will help you with any information you need.” He gave me a closer look. “Anything else you would like to do while you’re here? I know you’ve been bored, but you don’t have to be anymore.”

I twisted the remaining fruit string in my fingers.

“You know, back home, staying in and relaxing was a rare treat. Here, that’s all I’ve been doing, to the point that I’m actually looking forward to going out now. These trips feel special.” I tilted my face up to the sunshine. A light breeze played with the ends of my unbound hair. The heady scent of summer flowers filled the air along with the chatter of people and the laughter of kids. “It’s nice here.”

The professor shifted on the bench to face me fully. He blinked, catching my gaze, then grabbed my hand holding the acax fruit.

“This does taste good,” he said.

Bringing my hand closer, he took another bite of the fruit.

“Hey!” I laughed. “This was supposed to be my treat.”

Twisting my hand, I bit the fruit from the opposite end.

There wasn’t that much of the fruit left. With both of us biting from each end, the professor’s mouth moved toward mine.

His eyes ended up right in front of mine. In the bright sunshine, their color lightened to gentle lavender. Startled by his closeness, I sucked in a deep breath through my nose, filling my lungs with air saturated with the sun-heated spice of his skin mixed with the woodsy flavor of his cologne.

If each of us took just another bite of the fruit stick, it’d be gone completely, and we’d be kissing—in the fashion of Lady and the Tramp.

This was wrong.

I jerked away. The short piece left of the fruit fell to the bench between us.

The professor cleared his throat. “I’ll get you another one.”

“No.” I stopped him. “It’s okay. I’m not hungry anymore.”

Not hungry for food.

What on earth was going on with me?

His warm hand covered mine on the bench between us.

I looked up at his face. His eyes darkened to a deeper shade of purple as he slid his gaze down my front, then to our hands on the bench. Of the wild mix of emotions playing out on his face, curiosity seemed to be the predominant one.

He stared at our linked hands in wonder, as if trying to read the feelings the connection brought up in him.

His hand was large, but the palm felt soft, save for a few hard calluses at the base of his fingers, probably from the exercise equipment he used in the mornings. His claws were all filed down to the tips of his fingers for that gentle medical touch of his. Though, the way he was squeezing my hand right now felt far from medical. He slid his thumb over my skin, then fitted his fingers between mine, tilting his head to admire them laced together like that—my light-brown and his dark-gray.

He seemed curious. Curious about the way our hands linked like puzzle pieces, so very different yet compatible, nevertheless. He appeared intrigued by the many paths where this one touch could lead us.

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