Page 36 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

Um. Okay, I knew Kal wasn’t exactly normal, and my assessment that he was from some remote cult in Ohio was looking truer and truer each day, but to not know what a kiss was? That was far above my pay grade. Besides, I was too tired and embarrassed to try to explain.

“I’ll—I’ll tell you some other time.”

Kal smiled his goofy, dazzling smile, and I blushed. How did you explain to a grown man what a kiss was?

Luckily, my stomach growled and distracted me from…whatever that was. I hadn’t eaten all day, and I was famished. And since I hadn’t eaten anything, Kal hadn’t either. For that matter, had I ever seen Kal eat anything other than the cinnamon roll? It’s none of my business, except I’m Southern—and more than that, I’m my grandmother’s granddaughter. I can’t let someone into my life and just not feed them. It’s against the Maloney family code.

I tossed a bundle of trash into the bin as I built a dinner menu in my head. I was pretty sure I had the right ingredients for chicken salad sandwiches with homemade chips and a dill pickle ranch. My brain barely registered that there was something at the bottom—something that looked a lot like blueberry cobbler.

“You hungry?” I asked Kal, grabbing at my growling stomach.

“Very,” he said.

“Is there anything you don’t eat? Or anything you really love?”

Kal shrugged. “I usually just eat nutritional supplements.” Then his face brightened. “But I love cinnamon rolls now!”

What in the world were nutritional supplements? And what kind of cult was he in before coming here? The more I learned of Kal, the more confused I felt. I was beginning to wonder if this guy had ever had a good, home-cooked meal before.

“Well…I have some leftover cinnamon rolls,” I said. “But let me make you something filling to eat first. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Kal said.

I coughed and turned away. I couldn’t be in his tractor beam any longer. “Well…I’ll get started on that.”

A half hour later, I slid plates of sandwiches and still-warm potato chips onto a table and sat down across from Kal. The first alone time we’d had where we weren’t occupied with something else, and I had no clue what to say. Considering my track record of making things awkward that day, I opted to stay silent. I took a bite and chewed slowly, ruminating over this man across from me—the strangeness of him.

I peeked at Kal and found that he had already downed half of his sandwich, and he was making a valiant effort to demolish the chips as well. My eyes bugged out of my head. He must have been starved. I felt guilty for not offering him something sooner. Another part of me was annoyed. Because as I watched his look of pure joy as he chowed down, I regretted having to be subjected to this particular torture of watching a man I was attracted to—despite my better judgment—thoroughly blissed out over my food.

“Do you like it?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. I just wanted to hear it from him.

“It’s delicious,” Kal said, grinning wide through a mouthful of sandwich. “I love it.”

My heart tossed and turned in my chest, on the verge of an awakening. I’m in big trouble, I thought. Big, big trouble.

I squeaked out a pathetic, “Great!” then turned my attention back to my plate of food. I was dipping a chip in ranch when Kal asked a question that made me freeze.

“Who is Gladys?”

My chest tightened at the casual mention of my grandma.

“What?”

“Gladys. The person who created that recipe book I found. Who is she?” Kal asked, all gentle eyes and sincerity.

How could I explain who Grandma Gladys is, or was, to me? I could say the family matriarch, but that sounded too official. The heart of the family? Too sentimental. Someone I missed terribly? Too sad.

“Gladys is—was—my grandmother. She taught me how to cook,” I said, sweeping my arm around the dining room. “She’s the reason Southern Charm even exists. And that recipe book was her most prized possession.”

“Was?” Kal asked, and I wanted to slide off my chair and hide under the table like I used to do when I was a kid.

“She died a few years ago,” I responded, ignoring the hitch in my voice.

“Oh,” Kal said. A pause. “I’m so sorry.”

“Mhm,” was all I managed to get out. I stood up quickly and busied myself with gathering our plates. My sandwich was only half-eaten, but Kal had practically licked his plate clean.

“Are you going to finish that?” Kal pointed at the rest of my sandwich. I shook my head no and held out the plate so he could take it.