Page 19 of Her Alien Neighbor

“Yes,” Axil replies easily. “Have you not?”

“Of course, I have!” I practically shout. “Every woman my age, er, every woman of any age, I’m pretty sure, has seen it. But I’m surprised you have. And multiple times?”

“I have seen it only once,” Axil corrects, “but I did enjoy it.”

“A delightful story,” the man says, rocking back onto his heels. “Lady Norton wanted us to see it. Then I simply couldn’t stop at one viewing. So I kept going. And then I read the books.”

I was not expecting that.

“There are books?” Axil asks as if his entire world has just been thoroughly rocked.

“Why, yes,” the man says. “Several, in fact.”

Axil throws his hands up. “Why did you not tell me this?”

The man shrugs and continues eating his apple.

Axil gestures to the newcomer. “Vanessa, this is my brother, Mylo. Mylo, this is Vanessa, Lady Norton’s niece who inherited her home.”

“Ah, yes,” Mylo says, extending a hand. “Axil has spoken about you many times since you arrived.” His large hand wraps around mine, and I’m amazed at how soft it is, whereas Axil’s is rough and calloused, though the latter is clearly due to Axil’s work.

“I’m sure it was all bad,” I say with a laugh.

Mylo doesn’t disagree. He only smiles as he rubs the scruff on his chin. He adjusts his glasses and gives us a slight bow. “I must be off to work. Lovely to meet you, Vanessa. I am sure we will be seeing much more of each other.” He shoots me a wink before crossing through the backyard and onto the long paved driveway.

“Where does he work?” I ask Axil.

“He is a librarian at the Sudbury branch,” Axil replies.

My eyes remain fixated on Mylo’s back as he makes his way toward the compact hybrid vehicle parked near their mailbox. A male librarian who binge-watchesBridgerton, wears sweater vests, and drives an electric car? Whoarethese guys?

“Are you coming?” Axil yells from several feet in front of me. “Or would you prefer to ogle my brother all day?” His voice drops to a low growl, and instinctively, I quicken my pace as I run to catch up with him, while trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that shoots through me upon hearing that voice.

He leads me into the large detached garage, which has six parking spots. All but two are empty. There’s a black Cadillac Escalade parked in the far corner with dirt covering the bottom half, and an older navy-blue F-150 in the spot closest to us.

“Let me guess, yours is the truck,” I say, moments before he unlocks the doors from the fob in his hand.

“Yes,” he replies, his tone hesitant. “Why? Do you not like trucks?”

I chuckle. “No, trucks are fine. I could just tell you drove one. You’re that type of guy.”

He opens my door and offers a hand as I climb into the passenger seat, which I wasn’t expecting. I’m not used to manners from men who dress like they’re about to install aluminum siding.

When he climbs in on his side, I wonder briefly how his giant body will even fit inside the truck. “And whattype of guyis that?” he asks, settling into his seat with surprising grace.

“You know,” I begin. “The kind of guy who works with his hands and is always covered in sap or dirt, and who drinks cheap beer. The typical rural man who hunts and fishes and all that.”

Axil’s brow furrows as he looks at me. “This is who you think I am? This typical rural guy?”

I tilt my head as I take in the sharp line of his jaw and the enticing shape of his lips. “Am I wrong?”

He backs out of the garage, and the garage door shuts the moment we’re in the driveway. Axil remains silent for several minutes, his intense gray eyes focused on the road. “Does it matter?” he asks, and it takes me a moment to remember what we were talking about. “You have already decided what kind of man I am. Why argue?”

I’m…stunned. I expected him to fight back, to list all the ways he’s not that guy, or even to embrace the stereotype and explain why hunting and fishing are thrilling ways to pass the time. At least join in on the banter and tell me the kind of woman he thinks I am. But he doesn’t. He’s letting me sit with my assumptions of him, of this idea that he’s just like all the guys I grew up with around here.

My gut twists as a disappointing thought pops into my head. What if I’m wrong and Axil isn’t like them? What if he’s unlike any man I’ve ever met?

CHAPTER 7

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