Page 25 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

Number one, always mind your manners.

That meant saying please and thank you, no matter who you were talking to.

Number two, everyone is welcome. Except rude people.

Rude people, she contended, didn’t deserve her delicious home cooking.

The third and final rule, do what good you can with what you have, no matter who you are.

It was that third rule that drove her to donate food to nearby shelters and offer pay-what-you-can meals for customers, so even people going through hard times could eat. I had always admired her kindheartedness and how fierce she was in her convictions.

Grandma Gladys was difficult to define, but if forced to put her into words, folks often called her a firecracker, or one tough cookie, or—most common of all—a pillar of the community.

She was the kind of woman I wanted to be.

Which was really fucking inconvenient. Because when I saw Kal’s dirty clothes, the leaves in his hair, the softness in his eyes, I knew I had to do something to try to help this man. I couldn’t be sure of his situation, of course, but it was enough to know that Kal had been sleeping outside. He didn’t have a place to call home.

And maybe he was a secret axe murderer with a nondescript face, and there was a chance I would seriously regret my decision sometime very soon. But I just didn’t think so.

The Kal I knew—as much as I could know a stranger—was kind and easygoing, and honest. I had known him for less than twenty-four hours, but I was trusting my instincts and taking a chance. So, I decided to be like my Grandma Gladys.

If it came back to bite me in the ass later…well. At least I could say I tried. And, hey, it didn’t hurt that Kal was fun to be around, if not a bit ditzy. He asked the strangest questions that made me raise my eyebrows and chuckle at his naivete.

“So these are cinnamon rolls?” Kal asked as I placed a tray of freshly baked pastries on the counter.

See, this is exactly what I meant. Because was Kal implying that he’d just learned what cinnamon rolls were? I knew the guy was from out of town, but was he from another planet?

I pictured Grandma Gladys scolding me for passing judgment. You don’t know his situation or background, Little Lolo, she’d say with a stern hand on her hip and a stiff nod that brooked no argument. Be nice.

Okay, I could be nice. Besides, hadn’t I already determined that Kal was probably from a remote Amish compound where he was never allowed contact with the outside world—or somewhere in Ohio?

I bit my tongue, held my judgment, and said, “Yup. These are cinnamon rolls.”

Kal’s face hovered above the tray, and I heard him sniff deeply. “They smell amazing,” he crooned. His grin was a white half-moon, wide and contagious. I felt my own cheeks tug as my face settled into a smile in response.

Kal was cute, there was no denying it. He was attractive in a plain, conventional way. Tall-ish, soft brown hair, average almost to the point of being unremarkable.

Except for his eyes. Those were deep green, clear and radiant. The color of jade, or emeralds, or sea glass that’s been tumbled over and over by the sand and the waves of a distant beach. They captivated me, pulled me in like twin tractor beams.

I shook my head to empty it of the thought—the inappropriate thought. This was not productive, and it definitely wasn’t a good idea to ogle my new hire. I grabbed powdered sugar, butter, vanilla, and a block of softened cream cheese, and pulled a mixing bowl from a shelf.

I needed the distraction from Kal’s stupidly charming energy and tractor-beam eyes.

“What is all that stuff for?” Kal asked, watching me.

I made the mistake of making eye contact with him when I answered. A tickle traveled up the back of my neck, the tips of my ears tingling. I turned back to my ingredients.

“These are ingredients for the icing that goes on top of the cinnamon rolls,” I said, measuring out the sugar and dumping it in the bowl. “We make it fresh here. Not everyone does that, you know. Some kitchens prefer shortcuts because they’re cheaper and take less time. But not here. We do things the old-fashioned way. My grandma always said…”

Oh, great, I was rambling. Kal probably thought I was the one from another planet, the way I couldn’t hold eye contact with him. And for that matter, what if he thought I was overstepping by inviting him to sleep at the restaurant? Oh god, was that inappropriate? That was weird, right? It was definitely weird.

Thank goodness we don’t have HR, I thought.

The rest of the ingredients got dumped unceremoniously into the mixing bowl before I lowered the paddle and turned on the machine.

“Your grandma always said…?”

I jumped at the sound of Kal’s voice so close to my ear. Why was he standing so close to me? And why didn’t I mind?