Page 11 of An Alien for the Farm

He’s quick to move. One moment he’s on the roof, the next he’s standing right before me, the earth beneath my feet vibrating with the power of his descent.

Did he just jump? From the roof?

My eyes are wide, hands shaking a little from the sheer adrenaline and power that seems to have sent a delicious tingle from my soles right up through me.

Muscles flex before my face, awakening that girl within me some more, and I blink a few times to clear my head.

“I’d invite you inside but…” My words trail off because at that moment his ears flick at my words. They’re like elf ears but pointing toward the back of his head, pink-tipped and with a purple hue. “But it’s a mess in there…”

“I am fine here.” There are two stumps in the yard where mighty trees must have once been and he moves over to sit on one. His attitude is so nonchalant, so unbothered, that it takes some of the tension from my back. I sit too, liking the fact that he’s fine with not being fussy or formal. Already he seems like the simple type that doesn’t care about getting dirty. Figures. He does hard work for a living.

I take a moment to just feel the cool breeze blowing around us. It’s been a long time since I’ve played host. This almost feels like I’m pretending, but I push away the feeling, adjusting the tray on my lap as the soft wind plays with the steam coming from the mugs. I’m having morning tea with an alien. I’m almost civilized.

Handing the alien one of the mugs and some crackers, I take the rest for myself.

We sip in silence. Or rather, I sip while Zynar blinks at the tea. I suddenly realize it might not be something he’s used to having. Or, probably, that he doesn’t want it at all.

“Oh, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.” Mortification fills me. “It’s totally fine if it’s not to your taste.”

But then he takes a sip. The scales on his brow move upward, his eyes widening slightly.

“Hot,” he finally says.

I choke on a mortified laugh. “You’re supposed to take small sips and blow on it first.”

I demonstrate, heat filling me as his gaze drops to my lips watching as I blow on the tea and then take a sip. He follows my movements, humming a low tone in his chest that sends a vibration across my skin. I clear my throat, rubbing at my arms and he watches me do that, too.

“It is good,” he finally murmurs.

I smile again before focusing on sipping more of my tea. “Yeah, it’s good. Not like the tea I’m used to. This one uses actual petals from edible flowers.”

My gaze shifts to his hands holding the mug. It looks like he’s holding a kid’s toy for a tea party. That’s probably what this feels like to him. I get the distinct impression he’s doing this only because I offered. He’s a stranger that doesn’t owe me a thing, but at least he’s being sweet about it and I can’t help the little bit of happiness it brings me. Just doing this, feeling normal after feeling displaced for so long, is healing a bit of me inside.

I watch as the alien sips the tea, my focus snapping to his lips. He’s even eating the crackers too. That firm jaw works as he chews and swallows, the muscles in his neck adjusting as he eats.

It’s hard not to stare, even despite my reservations and the war inside my head. It’s like having a display of pure masculinity right in front of me. One that doesn’t seem toxic and riddled with conditions. If I was brave enough, if I hadn’t sworn off men, I’d actually, maybe flirt with him.

God, I’m shameless. Flirt? He’s in his prime, and I’m…well…not.

Trying not to stare at him directly, I settle for glancing at him every now and then. He’s incredibly sculpted. His face, his shoulders, his arms, his abs. Every single part of him. How is it possible for one man to look this good? This perfect? Where I come from, people go to great lengths to look like he does. Gym, steroids, surgery, you name it. Maybe it’s his species? Maybe also the hard labor.

And his color… It’s like looking at a canvas meant to invoke pure and utter awe and peace.

His long green mane rustles in the breeze and when my gaze shifts up to his, I realize he’s staring at me. Probably been staring at me the entire time that I’ve been ogling him. My heart does a little stutter that makes me almost choke on a cracker. That’s what I get for staring so shamelessly. Luckily for me, he doesn’t say a word.

But now that I’ve caught him looking at me, I’m completely aware of it. We sip in silence, only the occasional sound of an ooga baying or the sounds of the breeze in the tall grass breaking the silence. And every few minutes when I dare to look over, Zynar is watching me. And not just watching me either. Even in my limited experience with other beings, aliens, I can tell he’s not looking at me like he’s wondering if I’m food. If I’m sentient. Not looking at me like I’m ugly or disgusting either, like some of those aliens would do back on that refugee ship. He’s looking at me in a way that sends a strange shiver right through me. As if there’s nothing else around us and I’m the only thing he can see. Despite the swaying grasses in the fields, the animals grazing, the beautiful pink sky and sun, I’m his sole focus. My heart does a strange little thump that makes me completely aware of every inch of my skin.

I thought his looks earlier had depth, but the way he’s looking at me now, his eyes hold me pinned in place. I wonder what he’s thinking. Probably about the laugh lines around my eyes or the few gray hairs starting to appear. The last few years haven’t been kind to my body. Age and stress have taken their toll, and I’m not the woman I used to be. I look at my hands, fingers a little shaky around the mug, and wonder if he notices the age spots from too many years spent gardening in the sun or the way my skin isn’t as firm as it used to be. Does he see the tiredness etched into my face, or does he see past that, to the woman who’s trying to rebuild her life from scratch?

Of course, he doesn’t. How could he? Most of my own kind don’t, or don’t even care to. As soon as you can no longer bear children, it’s like the world ceases to care about you anymore. It’s probably the same here. Probably the same everywhere. It’s only nature.

Again, I thought I was past this.

Zynar’s still staring and I take a bite of a cracker and sip my tea, pretending to be oblivious even though the tiny hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. All these years of confidence I’d built up teaching at the community college back in my town on Earth seem to go out the window and I can’t open my mouth to ask him what’s caught his attention so much. Too afraid to know. Too afraid to find out what his truth might be.

Oh, Eleanor. What has happened to you? You’ve lost a lot but you haven’t lost it all, have you?

I clear my throat, the alien’s eyes still on me as I force my attention on the swaying orange grass. I’m as alien to him as he is to me. For all I know, he’s wondering what this strange, obviously-out-of-her-element thing is doing here on his planet. As far as I know, humans are rare, having only been trafficked by that horrible race called the Tasqals. Perhaps Zynar’s wondering which planet I originated from. But when my eyes shift over to his once more, I find his gaze is steady, thoughtful, as if he’s trying to figure out something else. Like what makes me tick. It’s unsettling, but also…thrilling.

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