Page 19 of Tech Prince Troubles
“This is a good place when it’s sunny. And when there aren’t many cars.”
“And you can’t beat that view of the ocean, right? Have you been to the beach?”
Adri shook his head. “Not yet.”
I waited for him to say more, but he kept his eyes on his tablet. Maybe I should go, but I wanted to give it one last chance. “So, how’s the renovation going?”
The drop of his shoulders told me changing the subject back to work had been the right choice.
“I’m learning a lot about Art Deco.”
He mentioned the delays and glitches. “Not what I’m used to. Here I get to hide our NiraTech behind old plinths to create a dream or a getaway for some people. At least that’s how Riley calls it.”
In bits and pieces—seeming far more relaxed—he told me all I ever wanted to know about energy flow, renovating a hotel, and Art Deco when I was dying to ask him about his family and where he lived.
I’d looked up Niralen—and the Niren—obviously, and I knew their island was somewhere near Micronesia. It seemed they had dropped to Earth in a meteor crash a long, long timeago. But the first human-Niren connection had been in the early 1900s. I couldn’t remember how big their population was, but most of them seemed to either work in tech, IT, or environmental jobs, like the podcast Quinn was so fond of.
Midway through our conversation, after his questions about our coffee machines, Adri abruptly stopped responding and watched the fountain like a hawk. I thought maybe his mind was on his drawing, but then he rose.
“I need to check something.”
“Is something going on?”
“There’s something wrong with the water flow.”
I tried to figure out what he saw. “You mean the stuttering? It happens sometimes. Could be the weather.”
Adri shook his head. “That’s not it. Sorry. This was lovely. Thank you.”
He left without looking back, leaving me staring at the fountain, thinking of his beautiful drawings. And him. So gorgeous. So contained.
Despite his reluctance to share more of himself, I wouldn’t have minded seeing him again.
Chapter Nine
ADRI
life is not solely about work
Iturned to face the entrance. Outside, Sam had already reached the café’s patio. Too late to go back. Why did I have to ruin it? We’d been having such a lovely conversation, even if talking about my birds had made me feel awkward. He probably assumed I wasn’t interested. What had I been thinking?
The moment the fountain glitched and the water stuttered, my system switched focus, and I couldn’t process both at the same time. So I’d left… which meant standing here, in the lobby, feeling foolish. Worse, there was no point in going to the Tech Hub at this hour. Rick wouldn’t be in until later, and he was the only one I could consult about this glitch. The only one at the hotel with the training and authority to run NiraTech scans.
I could do it myself, since Rick had permitted me access to the server, but that would mean exposing my personal credentials, undoing all the careful reroutes and shielding I’d set up to keep my family from discovering where I was.
I sank into the nearest chair. Sam had been so kind. I appreciated how he hadn’t been as chatty with me as he was with his baristas and most customers at the café.
Whenever I came in, he greeted me with a smile, prepared my espresso, and even inquired about my shift, but never pressed for more. He made me feel welcome as I was. But I hadn’t felt truly seen until he sat next to me.
It had been wonderful to sit with him, listening to his voice as he shared stories about his day. Even when he asked me about my drawings. I’d been so nervous sharing them with him.
From a young age, we were encouraged to find a hobby, an outlet to balance our systems, for “Life is not solely about work.” After my Choosing—when I’d picked my human name and form—I’d stopped sharing my drawings with my mins. Not because I thought they’d judge. It simply hadn’t occurred to me. But Sam had genuinely liked my birds, as if my art held value beyond mere relaxation.
There’d been a moment when he’d seemed on the verge of sharing something personal. In that instant, I’d felt I could confide in him completely, felt I might have made a friend. But he did not, and that moment slipped away, leaving us once again as customer and barista, discussing superficial topics like our workdays and his appreciation for my drawings.
I rose with a sigh and retreated to my room. Perhaps it was for the best. It wasn’t as if I could tell him who my family was.
Settling on my balcony, I stared at the trees, trying not to get lost in what I should have done. A bird landed on a branch. Watching it preen brought a welcome relief. I reached for my sketch pad, the screen flickering on to the drawing of the fountain. Prince Bartholomew. A runaway prince. Like me.
