I pull up to my house, and it looks so sweet and pastoral that I want to cry. I love this little place. I never thought I'd be a farmer, but I love the fresh air and the green fields and I don't even mind raising the Risda-type cattle, called simply meat-stock. With the bots to handle most of the backbreaking chores, I'm left with running things like a manager and spending my heaps of spare time cooking and baking. While I wish I had a little more to occupy my time—or some company—I'm happy here.
And now everything has to change again. That sucks so hard.
Rektar glances over at me. "I will do another perimeter scan, just in case I've missed signs."
"Signs? Signs of what?"
"Other males trespassing on your territory." He blinks at me, as if the answer's obvious.
Oh lord. So now I might have several stalkers instead of just one? The thought makes me want to scream. I take a deep, steadying breath, close my eyes, count to ten, and then open them again, calmed. "How long will that be?"
"Why do you ask?"
I shrug. "So I can make dinner."
Rektar pauses, a look of concern on his broad face. "That is not necessary, Lucy. I have brought protein bars to fulfill my meal requirements. I don't need to take from your supplies—"
I raise a hand, cutting him off. "You're doing me a favor, and you're sleeping in my barn. The least you can do is come in and let me feed you properly." I smile at him to take the sting out of my words. "Not to mention, I'm currently overflowing with vegetables. I hope you're a fan of tahaari root, because I've got them coming out of my ears."
"Tahaari root is my favorite," he admits after a moment, almost shy. "I would enjoy having dinner with you. Thank you, Lucy." He gets out of the air-sled before I can say anything else and heads off toward the barn, firing up his equipment.
I just stare after him hungrily, watching his hard ass flex in his government-issued trou that hug everything. If he likes tahaari root, he's about to get the meal of his dreams.
A half-hour later, I've got a feast spread out on the table in my tiny kitchen. There's stewed tahaari root in a sweet sauce, tahaari root pie, with a crusty, sugar-like topping, buttered tahaari puffs, and tahaari soup. I'm just pulling a fat roast out of the oven when there's a knock at the door. "It's open," I call out, holding the pan with my plas-gloves and setting it down on the center of the table so I can ladle some juices over it. I've outdone myself with this spread, and even if I put on five pounds with the leftovers, I don't care. Ain't nobody to impress but me, and I think I look awesome no matter how much I weigh. "Come on in."
Rektar bends over and sticks his head inside, giving me a concerned look. His feet are firmly planted on the step outside, and he reminds me of when I was a kid and we played “The Floor is Lava.” My house apparently is lava. "Are you certain you don't mind?"
"Get in here," I say, smiling. "You think I can eat all this by myself?"
He takes a cautious step inside, watching me with a wary expression. After a moment, he loosens up and his eyes go to the food. "You…made all this for me?"
"No, baby, I made all this for me. You just get to eat with me," I tease, spooning a bit of the thick gravy atop the roast. "I hope you brought an appetite."
He's silent.
I look up, and he's got a stunned look on his face. "What? What's wrong?" A horrible thought occurs to me. "Did you find evidence of more trespassers?"
Rektar shakes himself, the stunned expression fading. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to scare you. No other trespassers. I just…did you refer to me in a human form of affection?"
A human what? I think for a moment, trying to remember what I said, and then I chuckle. "I was being casual. Sorry if it threw you off." I am absolutely not going to get hurt feelings over his reaction. I'm not. I'm not.
"I see." Rektar watches me with that unreadable expression and then moves over to the far side of the table. He pulls out my chair and gestures that I should sit.
Damn this man for not being interested, because that small, thoughtful gesture makes my heart ache with want. I pull off my oven mitts and set them down on the counter, then sit in the chair he's got for me. He scoots me in and then takes the other chair next to my own, watching me. Always watching me.
"Don't wait on me." I gesture at the food. "You help yourself."