Page 121 of Commander’s Mate

No heat.

No escalation.

Just a kiss.

I started crying.

Of course.

Zared immediately looked alarmed.

“No. Good cry.”

“Humans require too many cry categories.”

“I know.”

“Should I hold you?”

I laughed through tears.

“Yes.”

He came around the table.

I stood.

He wrapped me in his arms.

The galley smelled faintly of burned bread and alien butter.

Our plates were still on the table.

Somewhere outside, an alien warship carried hundreds of rescued people through impossible space.

Earth was still lost.

Farseek was still broken.

The Consortium still hated us.

None of that stopped this from being ordinary.

That was the miracle. Not fate. Not biology.

A ruined sandwich.

A stupid red coat.

A man learning to ask before he held me even when I was crying.

I pressed my face against his chest.

“When we find Earth, I’m making you wear jeans.”

“What are jeans?”

“You’re going to hate them.”