Page 33 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

I felt a hesitant hand snake around my middle and come to a rest at the small of my back. The other hand followed. Kal was returning my hug. Then, gently, he rested his head on top of mine as I squeezed him tight.

It was nice. Too nice. I was not prepared for how my body would respond. Stomach swooping as if I’d just crested a hill on a roller coaster, breath hitching like I’d just run a mile. If I shifted my head just the tiniest bit, we’d be close enough to kiss, and I was almost tempted enough to try.

But then I remembered Walter’s words from the night we broke up for good: I know your type. Say you don’t need a man, but you throw yourself at the first man who pays you any attention.

He spat them at me, sour as a lemon, before walking out the door. I knew he was wrong; obviously he was saying anything he could to make me hurt. But this one stuck the most. Because hadn’t I actually kind of done exactly what he’d accused me of? I’d moved back home and almost immediately fell into Walter’s arms, vulnerable and scared, looking for something familiar.

Now that my ex’s words were in my head, I couldn’t shake them. I cringed and wriggled myself out of the hug I’d initiated, leaving Kal standing awkwardly with both arms hanging by his sides. He looked confused, and I couldn’t blame him, considering the strange sequence of events.

First, Kal thought I was mad at him, then I had started blubbering over a notebook and forced him into a hug. No wonder he looked completely bewildered.

But as much as I couldn’t shake Walter’s harsh words, I couldn’t ignore the way it felt to be held by Kal.

I aimed for a change of topic. The restaurant—that was a safe choice. Looking around, I took in the updates Kal had managed overnight. How had I not realized how grungy the place had gotten? With his small improvements, it was easier to pinpoint all the ways Southern Charm had deteriorated since I left for culinary school. This place, that used to be Grandma Gladys’s pride and joy, really was outdated.

For the second time that morning (and it was still frightfully early for this), I had to blink away hot tears. I was in a losing battle, though, and it wasn’t long before I was openly crying. For feeling like a complete failure. For the kindness of a near stranger.

“So,” Kal said, still mystified. “You’re not mad at me?”

I shook my head rapidly, tears streaming down my cheeks. “No, not at all.”

“But you’re crying.” It was a statement and a question all in one.

Yes, I was crying. No, I was not mad. So what the hell was wrong with me?

I didn’t know how to explain that what Kal did for me felt like a milestone. Or perhaps more like a breakthrough and a new starting point.

Even though I had vivid memories of the restaurant from my younger years, I’d moved away over ten years ago and never looked back. I was on a path of my own, pursuing a dream that began in the sticky-hot kitchen of Southern Charm. But over the years, I lost sight of what our restaurant had once been, and I was too used to seeing what it had become.

A shell of its old self. A weight around my shoulders. But what about the opportunities it presented? The possibilities? I was hit with the hard realization that I had spent the past year looking in the rearview mirror, completely ignoring the road ahead of me. But Kal’s kind act reminded me that I wasn’t done yet.

I dabbed at the corner of my eyes with the collar of my shirt.

“It looks amazing,” I told Kal honestly. He beamed. “But you know we don’t open until eight, right? I didn’t expect you to do all of this work just because I let you sleep here.”

He looked around the room, then back at me. “If it made you happy, it wasn’t work.”

More tears came unbidden, and I hastily wiped them away. Why was I crying so much? Why couldn’t I keep it together?

It was hope, I realized. That’s what Kal had given me. Some much-needed hope. For the first time in a long time, I could picture what could be. I could see a future, and it looked golden.

Normally, it was not in my nature to accept favors. I didn’t even like to ask for them. But Kal had made me feel safe enough to try.

“Well,” I sniffed, scratching my nose. “If you want to keep not working, I have an idea.”

I texted Darlene with my apologies, then scribbled a note and taped it to the front door. Closed today for renovations. See y’all tomorrow! With a final sniffle, I locked the door behind me and shared my plan with Kal.

* * *

Watching Kal walk through a home improvement store felt a little like watching a kid see snow for the first time. It was entertaining, to say the least. But I still didn’t understand—had Kal really never been to a place like this before? Or was he just easily excitable?

Or perhaps, like I’d predicted the other day, exceptionally Amish?

Either way, I couldn’t take my eyes off him and his unbridled joy as we snaked our way through the aisles.

Kal unknowingly inspired me to do something I had been putting off for too long: restore Southern Charm to its former glory. If not its former glory, to something new and equally glorious. Besides, if I wanted to win the upcoming contest, Southern Charm needed to look the part. As much as I was loath to admit it, Walter wasn’t wrong when he’d said the restaurant looked old-fashioned. Even some minor tweaks could brighten the place up and hopefully bring in more customers.

Sure, it meant dipping into my meager savings to get the supplies and doing physical labor myself. But I wasn’t mad about it. Kal’s enthusiasm had rubbed off on me.