Page 64 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

Al told me earlier that she was taking reservations for dinner because of the overwhelming demand. And I was proud even though I was exhausted from cooking my ass off all day. In the back of my mind, I entertained the thought of what it would be like to hire a new line cook. A real one this time, not an accidental alien transplant.

“This is a new start for Southern Charm, Lo, I just know it.” Nat grabbed me from behind by the shoulders and shook me. “And you did this! It was all you!”

Tears threatened to fall as I looked around and let Nat’s words sink in. I nodded, but I knew they weren’t true—not entirely.

“And Kal,” I said thickly. “Along with everyone else I love the most.”

Love. My voice hitched on the word, but I’d said it anyway.

Metal crashing to the floor pulled me back to the present. I turned to find Kal crouching to pick up a bowl. The place had gotten so busy that I’d had to pull him off dishes to help catch up on orders. Clearly, I’d left him alone in the weeds for too long.

I faced my best friend and gave her a quick, tight hug. “Thanks, Nat. Seriously.”

She saluted before pushing through the swinging door back to the dining room. I called after her, “I’m getting back at you for the slap!”

Nat flashed me her middle finger before the door swung closed.

* * *

“Wow, Slugger. You’ve really outdone yourself.” Dad slung a thin arm over my shoulder as the last of the dinner stragglers filed out the front door. “Everyone’s going to line up to eat at Southern Charm when they come to Roswell Falls. Mark my words.”

“You must share the collard recipe with me, Lollipop,” Mom said, hooking her arm through mine.

“Sorry, can’t, Mom. Secret family recipe.” I winked.

Mom shoved lightly at my arm.

“Just kidding, of course. I’ve got the recipe right here.” I pulled Grandma’s tattered recipe book from my apron pocket and held it gently, like a precious artifact.

Dad whistled. “I haven’t seen this thing in forever,” he said, taking the book and flipping through the pages. He smiled as he took in my handwritten notes mixed with Grandma’s instructions.

“I’m thinking of putting it in a shadow box and hanging it there,” I said, pointing to a framed photo of Grandma Gladys by the front door.

Dad ruffled my already messy space buns. “That’s a nice idea. But don’t you think recipe books should be used, not stuffed away behind glass?”

“That’s why I started my own!” I said, pulling out a second notebook. It was nearly pristine except for the words on the front, written in big fat black permanent marker: (Even More) Foolproof Recipes for a Damn Good Home-Cooked Meal by Lola Gladys Maloney.

I’d had an idea for a new recipe variation the other day. It was for a dish that wasn’t even in Grandma’s notebook—something I would create from scratch. I’d waffled over whether it was even worth working on if it wasn’t already Gladys-approved. Would the end result be worth the effort spent trying? But I caught myself letting self-doubt win.

I wondered why it was so easy for me to believe in everyone other than myself. I needed to stop that. I needed to see what they already saw in me.

And then I thought about Kal, who cared for me so effortlessly, but who seemed to care for himself so little. In that way, he and I filled in each other’s gaps. Complemented each other, the way the sun complemented the moon.

My eyes cut to Kal bussing tables with the begrudging help of my little brother. Yes, even Jacob had pitched in to help with Southern Charm’s grand reopening, and he did it with minimal complaining.

As I watched them together, Kal said something that made Jacob roll his eyes exaggeratedly. But behind his ornery teenage exterior, I could see that my brother was smiling. Somehow, Kal had even won over a thirteen-year-old.

It was funny—I think that was the first time I could imagine a world in which Kal was part of my life indefinitely. It was so obvious that he belonged with me, with us, in Roswell Falls.

And I wanted that future.

So why did my intuition tell me that Kal was holding something back? Why did I feel like I was on the cusp of losing something? Something bigger than a job, or a restaurant, or a close friend. Something otherworldly.

A pair of fingers snapped into my view. “Earth to Lola,” Dad said with a laugh.

I blinked in surprise and attempted a laugh of my own, but the result was shaky at best.

“Methinks you and the man friend are more serious than I thought,” Dad joked, poking me with a bony elbow and pointing his chin in Kal’s direction. “And before you ask, yes, you have my approval.”