“I didn’t know if you’d show up today,” he says, keeping his voice casual as he works. “Figured you might head back to your mountain for good.”
“June wanted to help,” I reply simply.
Dale glances over at June, who’s organizing a supply distribution station with impressive efficiency. “Yeah, that tracks. She’s always been the responsible one.” He pauses. “So, you two are… together, right?”
I stiffen. “That’s a rather personal inquiry.”
“Hey, I’m not judging.” He holds up his hands. “Just trying to make conversation. You saved my life yesterday. Least I can do is be friendly.”
I consider this. Perhaps it’s time to practice my “small talk” skills, which June insists are an important part of human social functionality.
“Yes,” I say finally. “June is my mate.”
Dale’s eyebrows shoot up, but to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. “Mate. Right. That’s… serious, then.”
“Vyders mate for life,” I inform him, adjusting my grip on the sign. “It is indeed ‘serious.’”
“Well.” Dale clears his throat. “She could do worse. God knows she’s turned down every eligible bachelor in this town.”
I feel an unexpected surge of possessive pride. “As she should have. She deserves the best. Which would be me.”
Dale laughs, the sound startling me. “You know what? I think I’m starting to see why she likes you.”
Before I can respond to this bewildering statement, a commotion near the diner catches my attention. An older human male has arrived with several large boxes, and June is running toward him with unusual speed.
“Dad!” she calls, throwing her arms around him.
Ah. Frank Hartwell. June’s progenitor. The man who raised her.
My potential father-in-law.
All eight of my legs lock in place as a new form of terror seizes me.
“Go on,” Dale says, noticing my paralysis. “He’s actually a pretty chill guy.”
I force my legs to move, approaching the scene with the caution of a Vyder entering unknown territory. June turns as I near, her face lighting up.
“Dad, this is Riven,” she says, gesturing toward me with unmistakable pride. “Riven, this is my father, Frank.”
Frank Hartwell is a sturdy human male with graying hair and June’s hazel eyes. He’s balancing a stack of boxes with one arm while holding a tray of coffee cups with the other. He looks up—way up—at me, and I brace myself for the inevitable fear response.
Instead, he shifts the boxes to free one hand and extends it toward one of my legs.
“So you’re the one who saved my Junebug,” he says gruffly. “And the whole damn town, from what I hear.”
I stare at his outstretched hand, then awkwardly extend my front right leg, unsure of the protocol for leg-hand interactions. Frank grasps it firmly and shakes it as though this is a completely normal greeting.
“It was merely an acceptable risk management decision,” I respond, mandibles clicking nervously.
Frank’s weathered face cracks into a grin. “That’s not what the videos show. You were something else out there.” He claps me on what approximately corresponds to a shoulder on my exoskeleton. “Any man, human or otherwise, who puts himself in danger for my daughter is all right in my book.”
I blink all six eyes, processing this unexpected acceptance. “I… Thank you.”
“Dad brought coffee and donuts for everyone,” June explains, rescuing me from having to respond further.
“Least I could do,” Frank says. “Town’s been good to our delivery business. Figured fuel was needed for the cleanup crew.”
A small crowd forms as Frank distributes the offerings. I step back, allowing the humans their refreshments, content to observe June in this familial context. She moves with the same efficiency she applies to her delivery routes, ensuring everyone gets what they need. Her genuine care for these people is evident in every interaction, and I find myself captivated by her gentle competence.
