Page 6 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

The post-work routine of a thirty-something was far less glamorous than I had imagined it would be.

“Ready to go, J?”

Jacob looked up from his book, eyes bleary and tired, before tossing his stuff into his backpack and throwing it over his shoulder. “Ready.”

“Take care of the computer, will ya?”

Modern computers didn’t need to be turned off every night. In fact, I hadn’t properly shut down my laptop in probably two years. But ancient computers like the one weighing down the office desk needed to be shut down nightly. The consequences of forgetting were costly—like getting blue-screened when you tried to do a single freaking task the next day.

I was watching as Jacob reached for the power button, which means I saw what happened next with my own two tired eyes. Before his finger ever reached the button, the screen flickered blue, then white, rapid like a strobe light. My brother pulled his finger away, and we watched together as the display cycled through a scramble of colors before going completely black.

Crap. If that thing is bricked, I’m in for a big expense.

Too tired to do anything about it, I told Jacob not to worry; I would fix it tomorrow. He shrugged and followed me to the door. Just as I wrapped my hand around the doorknob, the overhead lights began to flicker and buzz. Then the radio in the corner came on with a loud crackle, emitting a series of rapid clicks.

In a horror movie, this kind of thing would be creepy as hell. In a restaurant in a small town in Eastern Tennessee, it was creepy as shit. And I did not like it one little bit.

Jacob inched closer to me as we froze in the office doorway, like we were stuck to the floor. When the lights went out completely, he shoved his arm into the crook of mine and clung tight.

“Lola? What’s happening?”

What was happening? The hell if I knew. But as the honorary adult in the room, I felt it was my obligation to say something comforting.

“Um. A storm?”

My brother did not seem particularly comforted by my attempt. Probably because a storm on a perfectly nice day in Roswell Falls, with no hint of rain or even clouds on the forecast, was as feeble an explanation as they came. Jacob knew it. I knew it. Yet, we both agreed with frantic nods that it was indeed a freak storm, and definitely nothing to panic about.

Until a loud, eardrum-splitting boom from outside made us both jump and scream in unison. (And, if I’m being honest, I might have peed just a little bit). Within seconds, the ground was shaking, accompanied by a chorus of metal pots and pans tumbling to the kitchen floor. I was trying to remember if you were supposed to duck and cover under a table or stand in a doorway during earthquakes when, suddenly, the commotion stopped.

Complete silence at first, followed by the buzz of appliances and electronics coming back to life. The last thing to chime in was the computer, gracing us with a cheerful beep as it booted up.

Jacob and I looked at each other, stunned. We waited. I wasn’t sure what we were waiting for, just that it seemed like a good idea to wait. Maybe we were hoping for a clap of thunder or the wail of sirens to make the last few minutes make sense. Nothing came.

When I had determined that we’d waited long enough, I tugged my brother by the arm and bolted for the exit.

“But don’t you want to turn off the comp—”

“Nope,” I said, not letting him finish his question. “I don’t. We’re going home.”

Kal

Between panicking and pacing the small spacecraft, I slept so that I could be rested for more panicking and more pacing. I didn’t know how much time had passed, or where I was currently, or what I was supposed to do next.

During one of my panic-induced dozes, the sound of shrill beeps woke me up.

“Your flight has commenced. Please state your final destination.”

My final destination? I had no clue what my final destination should be. I wasn’t supposed to be on this trip in the first place!

Without any luck, I had tried multiple times to reach my unit’s command center for further instructions. Anytime I was able to reach someone, the signal was too choppy to make out more than a couple of words at a time. Even more frustrating, those few words were all some form of admonishment from Sel.

Eventually, after the third or fourth “What in the ever-living universe is wrong with you, Kal?” I decided to ignore all incoming comms for a short while. If my coworker wasn’t willing to help me, I wouldn’t allow her to hurt me, either.

So, I took matters into my own hands. Or, tried.

A real travel pod, it turned out, was nothing like the games or simulations I’d played as a child. Which severely challenged my long-held belief that, even without training, I would have the innate skills to pilot a spacecraft. I was quickly humbled by that notion as soon as I sat down in the pilot’s chair. I stared in terror at the control panel and decided on a change in tack.

If I remembered correctly, Xaerean ships were equipped with a computer and built-in artificial intelligence. I would ask the ship for help.