Page 54 of Her Alien Neighbor

I suppose ultimately it doesn’t matter because I’m not telling anyone my neighbors are aliens. This is a secret I’ll take to the grave.

Which leads me to the second conundrum: One of those alien dragon shifters happens to be my sort-of boyfriend who just asked me to marry him. What in the wide world of fuck am I supposed to do with that? I hate myself for noting how Axil didn’t have a ring when he proposed, but the thought persists, and I can’t shut it down. That’s society’s fault, really, with their obsession with diamonds and marriage and procreation.

Even if he did have a ring, however, and it was the most stunning ring I’ve ever seen, would I have said yes? Probably not. We had just had our first fight, a fight that we didn’t technically make up from since he told me he was a dragon. So the issues of Axil not listening to me and telling me what to do still persist. We haven’t solved that one yet. And now he wants to marry me?

I no longer care that he hid his true form from me. It makes sense, and he was just trying to protect his family. I get that, but I can’t help but wonder if he’d be proposing if I hadn’t caught him unmasked. If I hadn’t discovered his family’s secret. I don’t think he would’ve, and that crushes me a little. It was a beautiful proposal, if not poorly timed. He said all the right things. I’ve never been proposed to, but I know I’d want to hear those precise words. I’d want every promise Axil offered me last night.

But would I want to hear it from anyone else’s lips? I’m not sure. There’s a lot about Axil I don’t understand, and with what I’ve just learned, I have several more questions I’ll need to jot down so I don’t forget. I feel like I know the important stuff, though. He’s kind and thoughtful; he knows how to make a mean burrito, which is very important. He’s excellent in bed, but it’s not about skills, it’s more in the way he makes me feel, like he’s worshiping my body with every kiss, every touch. That’s rare.

Pulling myself up in bed, I peer out the window, trying to get a glimpse of the view with the rolling hills, the river, and the cornfields in the distance. I don’t see any of that because of Axil’s damn shed. He’s not even in there, so I don’t get a view of him either.

Grumbling under my breath, I climb out of bed and head to the kitchen to make coffee. I mindlessly scroll through emails while I wait, finding nothing important other than links to casting calls from Tia, all of which are for one- or two-line guest appearances that pay terribly.

After the coffee is done, I add “too much cream” and “too much sugar” as my mom lovingly described it the last time we had breakfast together, and pop two pieces of bread in the toaster. Then I add butter to one slice and jam to the other, and then take a seat at the round kitchen table with only one chair, and watch the birds fly from one tree to the next in the side yard.

I shower, change, tidy up around the house, then thump down on the broken couch with a sigh. What now? I want to see Axil, but he’s going to ask me what my answer is, and I don’t have one for him yet. Plus, space is good. It’s what I need right now.

My gaze goes unfocused as I stare in the direction of the dining room, and when I spot the chair that had the letter taped beneath it, I remember I have another clue! Axil and I found the next letter in his candy drawer, and I brought it home with me last night.

With renewed excitement, I slide into the kitchen on socked feet and grab it from the counter, unfolding the now-wrinkled paper frantically. The top of the paper has “WHEN” written across it.

My Dearest Vanessa,

I smile at the sight of the familiar words, silently thanking Aunt Franny for giving me this distraction. It didn’t feel right opening the letter without Axil, but a lot has changed since I had that thought. Right now, I need this.

The year was 2018. I can’t recall the exact date, but it was early winter, which means the calendar still said autumn, but the first snow had already come and gone. I was sitting in bed, reading a romance novel I’d read several times before, when I spotted movement outside my bedroom window. The sun was high in the sky, and while a thin blanket of snow covered the ground, it had already melted in the cornfields across the river, making it look like the crop was refusing to yield to the changing seasons. The faded yellow of the neatly manicured rows had a defiant glow about it that I found quite appealing.

The view of my rebellious corn was suddenly blocked by a behemoth of a man in a red and black flannel shirt, wearing a navy-blue quilted jacket. He was drinking his coffee and staring off in the distance. I’m sure you can guess who it was…

Oh, I think I can.

It was Axil.

Of course, it was.

He came over that morning and asked if I would mind terribly if he built a shed on the edge of their property. The shed would be facing the aforementioned cornfield and would likely block the view of it from my bedroom. The boy wanted to take away the view of my mutinous corn! How dare he!

I wondered how he convinced her to let him put the shed there. I assumed it was bribery.

He started talking about woodworking and how he was getting the hang of it, and I swear, his face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. His plan was to build the shed and use it as a space to continue making custom furniture, and he said the view of the cornfields inspired him. He looked at it each morning and wanted to make things that took his breath away like that view had.

He wanted to turn his beloved, humble hobby into a successful business, and he’d even met a man in Loudon who had become his mentor. Rick Olsen, or something. Perhaps his last name was Oliver. Or Overland. I can’t recall. He’s in the phone book, though, should you care to meet him.

Come on, Aunt Franny. Who still uses a phone book? I didn’t even know they still existed.

Anyway, the boy was excited. He was so eager to have a space for his work, how could I refuse? I have spent many mornings admiring that view, but I wasn’t using it to inspire my work. I was using that view to help me relax. Does an old woman really require more of an incentive to relax? I think not.

Still, the view was hers, and she knew it would be mine, and she gave it to Axil anyway. I don’t get that.

Then he told me he built something for me and ran outside to get it. What he made me, dear niece, was a cedar rocking chair with the view of the hills, the river, and the cornfields carved into the back. He gave me my view in the form of a truly spectacular and thoughtful gift.

Ah, so it was bribery. Sort of.

I could not say no, so I said yes. It’s not lost on me that the view was a selling point for the house. I know this, and I know you are probably cursing my name for allowing Axil to build his shed right in front of it.

I mean, yeah.

But perhaps you could consider the new view all the more spectacular? Sure, it’s not a cornfield, desperately clinging to life before the frost annihilates it, butit isAxil building furniture with his hands. And on hot summer days, there is much, much more of a view to enjoy.

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