by Cara Bristol
An hourglass. Not a long response but one written just for him. The energy drawing him to her coiled tighter, tugging him closer. She upended the hourglass, and the grains in the top chamber trickled into the lower one. When all the sand falls to the bottom, an hour has passed.
Was Earth that primitive? “People use it to tell time?”
She shook her head. Just for show. Her pen paused on the page, and then she wrote, You’re not an Argent resident.
“Not originally, but I am now.” He rented a farmhouse with three of the five ’Topian castaways. “I arrived with some friends a few months ago.”
That was a short, euphemistic way of saying they were refugees who’d fled their home world, which had been destroyed by the Xeno Consortium. Their ship, the Castaway, had been damaged during the escape, resulting in a crash landing on Earth. With no place else to go and their lives in danger if the consortium found them, they’d voted to remain. The Intergalactic Dating Agency had granted them asylum and provided them with new identities.
I haven’t seen you before. She was opening up, conversing with him. His heart leapt.
“I don’t come to town much.” His ’Topian brothers, Chameleon and Wingman, had raved about Millie’s Diner, but he’d never been there. This morning he’d decided to give it a try. He’d hidden the hover scooter in the bushes near the school and walked to Main Street.
I’m new, too, she wrote.
“How long have you lived in Argent?” He was eager to learn everything about her.
Three months.
“What brought you here?”
My mother! Her lips quirked, and he smiled back. We’re from Boise. She got a job in Cd’A.
Located a dozen miles south on Highway 95, Coeur d’Alene was the most populous city in the Idaho panhandle. Psy avoided the town since he’d been arrested there once.
The bell jangled, and a couple entered the store. She excused herself with a gesture and hurried to greet the customers, showing them a page from her notebook.
“We were in the other day and saw a hall tree. We came by to take another look,” the woman said. “We’ll let you know if we need help.”
Cassie smiled and nodded.
“Everything okay out there?” The boss poked out her head.
Cassie flashed a thumbs-up.
“Okay. Yell, if you need—you know what I mean!” She ducked inside.
Cassie chuckled, her tinkling laugh light and bright.
If she could produce sound, why couldn’t she speak?
She shifted from foot to foot, her gaze darting at her cart and then at him.
“You need to get to work,” he guessed. “Can I talk to you while you work?”
She nodded and held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. She dashed into the back room.
“He’s handsome. I think he likes you!” he overheard the older woman say.
He’s being nice. Cassie’s broadcasted thought drifted into his head. He immediately threw up a barricade, although he wished to know more. Did she like him? Or was she just being nice?
Her face pink, Cassie wheeled out a loaded second cart. The boss lady followed and set a tall urn on a table with spindly legs.
The couple approached them. “The oak hall tree in the corner—is that your best price?” the man asked.
“I got this. Go talk to your man friend,” boss lady said.
Cassie ducked her head, pushed the cart toward a long sideboard, and began to rearrange the display.
“Should I push this one over there, too?” He gestured to the other cart.
She nodded and placed a lacquered box between two candlesticks on the sideboard. He moved the cart over to her, leaned in, and said in a low voice, “She’s not wrong.”
Cassie peered up at him, her brow arching with a question.
“I do like you,” he said. “Maybe when you’re not working, we could go somewhere together?”
She blinked as color seeped into her face. Her lips parted and closed. She grabbed her notebook. Her pen poised over the paper, and then she scribbled, I would like that.
He grinned from ear to ear. “Have you been to Lavender Bliss Farm?”
She shook her head.
“Friends of mine own it. It has many nice hiking trails. Maybe you’d like to go there?”
She nodded and smiled.
“I need to tell you something though.” He eyed the people in the shop.
After haggling over the price, the parties arrived at an agreement, and the couple paid for their purchase. The boss lady wheeled out a hand truck, and the man scooted the hall tree onto it. Holding the door open for the couple, the store owner winked at Psy before following them out to the street.
The door swung shut, leaving him and Cassie alone.
“I’m not human. I’m a Verital from planet ’Topia.”
She chuckled.
“I’m serious. I really am an alien.”
Her amusement vanished, and angry tears sprang to her green eyes. Do you think I’m stupid? Play a joke on the poor mute girl? she accused and stomped away.
“Wait, please!” He grabbed her arm.
She wrenched away, grunted her fury, and scribbled, Don’t touch me! Get lost!
“I can prove it,” he said.
Chapter Three
Alien? Try asshole. Psy had seemed like such a nice guy—a hot, sexy guy—and then he pulled this stunt. Cassie may have lacked experience with men, but she wasn’t stupid. Either he’d mistaken her for an easy mark, or he was nuts.
I can prove it, he’d said.
How? By morphing into a bug-eyed green man with three heads? She crossed her arms and glowered. She could deal with customers who shouted like she was deaf and a mother who smothered her with concern, but, for some inexplicable reason, his mockery hurt more than it should.
Through the window, she spied Verna helping the couple load the hall tree into their SUV. Her normally astute boss had been fooled, too. He likes you, she’d said. Yeah, right.
“Please.” His apologetic, beseeching expression pissed her off all the more for its seeming sincerity. Having spent a lot of time listening and observing, she could read nuances in tone and body language. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he believed his own lies.
The hall tree had been loaded and bungeed into the vehicle, and now Verna had engaged the couple in conversation, stalling to give her and Psy time to be alone. No doubt her boss figured she was doing her a favor.
So let the lunatic pretend to turn himself into an alien. She shrugged one shoulder and then wrote, Go ahead.
He held out his hands, palms up. “I’ll need to touch your head.”
Her stomach fluttered at the idea of contact, which ignited a fresh spate of fury. The jerk still attracted her. It’s just because he’s the first man in forever to show an interest.
She loved Argent’s charm, but a small town was not a great place to meet men. She could count the number of eligible bachelors on two fingers, and V did not stand for victory. There was Gus, the eighty-five-year-old widower who owned the bait shop, and thirty-something Bruce who’d recently split from his boyfriend.
She dropped her arms to her sides and nodded her permission.
Psy stepped close, and every cell in her body tingled. His gaze sought hers. She pressed her lips together and scowled. Fingers splayed, he placed his hands just over her ears, his thumbs brushing her forehead.
Her heart thumped, and her breathing quickened. His masculine scent, a mix of leather and cloves, drifted over her. He shouldn’t smell so good.
Then he—or some essence of him—slipped into her mind. She jerked, going rigid at the shock of it. His mind and hers seemed to occupy the same space in her skull.
Are you all right? His voice resonated from inside her brain.
She froze, too stunned to reply. He began to withdraw. I’m all right! she answered.
Suddenly she hurtled through outer space toward Earth aboard a spacecraft, the
likes of which she’d seen only in science fiction movies. At the helm of the ship stood a man with a striped face and fangs like a tiger. Next to him, a winged person jabbed at a control screen. A red-skinned horned alien peered over the shoulder of a blue being with a spiny tail seated at another console. Hovering over the bridge was some sort of an apparition. The men were speaking to one another but not in any language she’d ever heard. However, the stress in their tone resonated loud and clear.
These are my friends, my fellow ’Topians, just before we landed on Earth, Psy explained. Everyone was worried the ship might not make it through your atmosphere intact.
He was an alien! They were communicating via telepathy! Perhaps that should have been scary, but she sensed no threat. Rather, having him inside her head filled her with warmth and closeness—and excitement. She was seeing stuff no other human had.
Can you show me your planet?
Through the camera lens of his mind, she panned over a bustling metropolis of spired buildings connected by catwalks, sleepy hobbit-like hamlets beneath pink skies, a busy spaceport, golden trees, and purple fields. Some of the people resembled Psy, but most appeared to be hybrids of some crazy genetic experiment. Lizard-people, winged fairies, and half-animal humanoids.
Everyone looks so different, she said with wonder.
We are genetically diverse, yet still ’Topian.
“Well, they bought the hall tree, and they’re interested in the sideboard,” Verna boomed. “They’re going home to measure.”
The connection to Psy and his world severed, and he dropped his hands.
No! Cassie stifled the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. Why did Verna have to come back so soon?
“Everything okay in here?” Her eyebrow quirked.
She nodded.
Instead of disappearing again, her boss busied herself at the front counter. Leave it to Verna to be contrary. She left when she should remain, and she stayed when she should vamoose.
“I’d better let you get to work,” Psy said. “So, are we on for the lavender farm?”
It’s a date, she penned, relieved she hadn’t blown it. She’d been attracted to him at the start, and now she had so many questions to ask. I’m so sorry for not believing you.
“Totally understandable.”
They conferred on the best evening. She worked all week, Psy had a trip to Seattle in between, and Kevanne Girardi, the owner of Lavender Bliss Farm had scheduled an event for the weekend, so they decided on Thursday after her shift. She had a feeling time would drag between now and then.
The door clicked shut, and Verna vaulted around the counter. “Well?”
Cassie could float on air. He asked me on a date, she wrote.
“I told you he liked you!” Verna grinned smugly.
I like him, too. She bit her lip. Should she mention he was an extraterrestrial? He hadn’t told her it was a secret, but maybe she should check with him first.
“Where are you going?”
The lavender farm.
“Good choice. Very pretty. Good walking trails. The owner’s husband, Chameleon, is an extraterrestrial. If you see a blue man with a tail—that’s him.”
Psy had said his friends owned the farm and, in the vision he’d showed her, there’d been a blue man with a tail. That had to be Chameleon.
“A couple of aliens live in Argent,” Verna continued. “There’s a young widow—well, she’s not widowed anymore—named Delia Mason, who’s married to one of Chameleon’s friends. His name is Wynn but he goes by Wingman—probably because he has wings.”
She’d seen him on the bridge of the spacecraft, too!
“You look surprised,” Verna said. “A lot of people assume Argent is a little hick Idaho town, but it’s such a wonderful place to live, even extraterrestrials want to settle here.” She paused. “You gotta bring your own social life though.”
If aliens were already in Argent, and they were friends of Psy’s, and Verna already knew about them, then telling her about Psy shouldn’t be a big deal. She was dying to tell somebody, and who better than Verna?
Her boss had become like a second mother, and she could talk to her in a way she couldn’t with her own mom. As Cassie had grown up, rather than loosening the apron strings, her mother had tightened them. She poised her pen over the pad and then took the plunge. Psy is an alien. Chameleon, Wingman—they’re his friends. She turned the pad.
Verna didn’t look the least bit surprised, but she commented, “He looks human.”
He’s not. She omitted mention of the mind-link because it felt too personal to share, like a kiss.
“Except for his eyes. Those were a little weird,” Verna said.
He has beautiful eyes!
“What are you going to tell your mother?”
About the date or Psy being an alien?
“Either. Both.”
I don’t know.
Verna cocked her head. “How old are you?”
23.
Her boss swept out her arm to encompass the store. “Is this the life you desire?”
She frowned, unsure of what she meant. Getting a job, earning her own money, being productive, and making a new friend had been the best things to happen to her until Psy had walked in. I love working here.
“I meant in general.”
Sometimes I want more, she said carefully.
“And you should! You should demand more! A woman your age shouldn’t spend her weekend canning jam! You’re entitled to a vibrant, joyful life in which you chase every dream you can imagine. That might not be the life Rosalie envisions for you, but it’s what you deserve, and only you can make it happen.”
Her mother didn’t much care for Verna, and Cassie was getting the impression the animosity was mutual. She loves me, she defended her.
“I don’t doubt that for an instant.”
She worries because of my disability.
“Poppycrap! Pardon my French. So you can’t speak? So what? Most people talk too damn much, myself included. You’re intelligent, talented, empathetic, kind, and beautiful. It’s no wonder Psy was smitten. Any man with a pulse, human or alien, would be.”
Flabbergasted by the compliments, she had no idea how to respond. She appreciated the flattery, but if she was such a prize, wouldn’t she have met somebody by now? It had been five years since she graduated high school. She could catch a man’s eye, but once he discovered communicating with her took work, he lost interest.
Except…she remembered a few who hadn’t. She’d been at the mall, at the bank, in a grocery store and having a good conversation with a man, him speaking, her writing, when her mother had cut in, telling her they needed to leave.
What if the interruptions had been intentional?
She cringed with guilt for the disloyalty. Her mother wouldn’t do that—she commiserated that Cassie hadn’t yet met anybody special. She’d been thrilled when Cassie had had a boyfriend in high school—and sad when he broke up with her.
“Listen,” Verna said. “If I spoke out of turn, forgive me. Like I said, people talk too damn much, and I’m one of them. I care about you, and I want to see you happy.” She gave her a brusque hug and then said, “Here’s the important question—what are you going to wear on your date?”
Chapter Four
Cassie placed the bear on the kitchen counter.
Her mother stood at the stove frying chicken. “What’s that?”
Verna gave me a cookie jar, she wrote.
Her mother glanced at the message and harrumphed. “That’s one way of getting rid of junk she can’t sell.”
She just got it. If you don’t like it, I’ll keep it in my room. She left out what she’d seen in her mind when she’d laid eyes on the cookie jar, having learned long ago mentioning a vision triggered her mother’s protective instincts. Out of self-preservation, she’d lied, telling her the hallucinations had ceased. She felt guilty, but it did make life easier.
Dinner smells good. What can
I do to help?
Her mother motioned to the pot of boiling potatoes. “They’ll be done in five minutes, and you can mash them.”
Cassie nodded. Be right back. She grabbed the cookie jar and took it to her room, making space on her dresser. The bear’s nose and one ear were chipped, its smile goofy. She had to admit it was kind of ugly. Still, she liked it, and now that she had a physical manifestation of her vision, maybe another one would come to her. None of her visions were the same, but she couldn’t shake the hunch they were related in some way. Each one revealed another piece to the puzzle—only she didn’t have enough pieces yet to figure out the picture.
However, nothing compared to what she’d seen through the mind link with Psy. Literally, he had shown her a whole new world, but the best part had been the ability to communicate with another person on an intimate level.
Cassie hugged herself. Verna had been right about one thing. He did look human, and while his eyes were unique, they weren’t weird, they were soulful. With his thick, near-black hair and remarkable eyes, he was beautiful yet masculine, with a trim, wiry physique. She guessed he fell shy of six feet, and since she was almost five foot six, he stood at the perfect kissing height. His full, soft lips and white-white teeth hadn’t escaped her notice, either.
What if she’d forgotten how to kiss? Years had passed since she’d made out with her high school boyfriend. What if she fumbled? Bumped his nose?
Talk about jumping ahead! Maybe Psy didn’t want to kiss her. Maybe his people didn’t kiss at all. They hadn’t gone on a date yet.
First things first. Like dinner. She washed her hands in the hall bath and returned to the kitchen. Her mother stirred the gravy from the chicken drippings.
Poking the potatoes with a fork revealed they were done. After mashing them a little by hand, she dumped the potatoes into the stand mixer, added butter, milk heated in the microwave, and some salt, and, while they whipped, she set the table.
As usual, they didn’t converse while they fixed dinner because it would have necessitated stopping work to write. The lack of communication hadn’t bothered her before, but the brief mental contact with Psy had shown her what she was missing. People talked as they worked, dined, drove, watched TV. They probably talked during sex. Not that she’d know. She was pretty sure she was the only mute twenty-three-year-old virgin in the entire state of Idaho. Probably the whole USA. Maybe the world.
