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Maybe that makes me a coward, but I don't feel strong or powerful or safe as a human woman alone. Best to just avoid a fuss entirely. "No, it's fine. I really need to get going."
"Very well." He frowns like he disapproves, but he doesn't contradict me. "Let me get a scan of your hand so I can pull up your file."
I obediently hold my hand out, trying not to glance impatiently over at the store.
"Colonist Aliette Laurent, your complaint has been recorded," he says, and I wince at the word “complaint.” "No need to worry about your friend."
"M-my friend?" I stammer, thinking of the woman inside the store. Am I so obvious? Horrifying.
"The praxiian. I'll pull his information from his sled, and I'll also make sure he's not around when you return. And if he ever gives you any more trouble, you just come to the custodial office and ask for Rektar, all right?" His voice is gentle and reassuring.
"Yes," I say quickly. "Great. Perfect. Thank you. I really must be going." I gesture at the store across the street and then all but race there.
"Have a nice day, Aliette," he calls after me, and I feel like the biggest, most awkward goober on the planet. A bolder person would tell him that it's Ali, that only my grandma called me Aliette, and that I'd prefer my records be updated with the correct name, but I don't want to talk to him any longer than I have to.
I want to go see her.
I all but race inside the general store, the door sliding open the moment I step on the hidden panel at the entrance. The moment I enter, everyone turns and stares at me.
"Hello again," the male behind the counter says. It's a younger avian male this time, with downy green feathers and a tall head-plume. I think he's the son of the owner, but I don't know his name. I never ask.
"Hi," I breathe. Part of me wants to smooth my flyaway hair down but that would just be obvious.
Because she's here.
The woman that I fantasize about. Not filthy fantasies—well, mostly not filthy fantasies—but of us spending time together. Of us holding hands, or her arms going around me. Of her just…smiling.
Like she's smiling right now. "Hello there," she says, pulling a stack of noodle packages out of a plastic container and filling the shelf in front of the counter. Her dark eyes, as pretty as a doe, seem to warm as she looks at me. She's dressed as she always is, in the red and pink-racing-striped jumpsuit that is probably a work uniform. It should clash with her deep blue skin, but she just looks vibrant and alive in it…though I'm probably biased. Her thick black hair is pulled into a loose tail at her nape, and her horns are capped with shiny silver in just a hint of a design.
Her face is wide for a mesakkah, with her features broad enough to not be pretty. Her cheekbones are too prominent, her face too square and her mouth too wide. She's tall, but all the mesakkah aliens are tall. She's broader built than most, too, with strong arms from lifting freight.
And maybe she's not anyone's idea of a gorgeous woman, but…I love the sight of her. I love the smile she always wears. I love how strong and capable and self-assured she seems to be. Most of all, I love her bright laughter that rings out in the store every time she's here. I'm addicted to that laughter. It sounds so full of joy.
I don't know who she is—I don't even know her name—but I'm pretty sure I could watch her forever.
She gives me a warm, friendly smile as I take a step into the store and gestures at the noodles she's stocking on the counter by the register. "Let me know if I'm in your way."
I gulp and nod, ducking my head and retreating to the far side of the store. She always greets me, but I never have the courage to say anything back. What could I possibly say that wouldn't come across as completely weird anyhow? Hi, I think I'm in love with you because I love your laugh?
Just like I do every week, I stay on the opposite end of the store and pretend to shop. All the while, I watch her talk cheerfully to the guy behind the counter. Someone else comes in—another woman—and my crush pauses to talk to her, too. They joke about the weather, and how everyone's buying up a particular flavor of noodle that must be popular with humans, and she just seems like she's having the best time.
I watch her mouth as she smiles. I watch the play of her ponytail at the nape of her neck. And I thrill with quietly shared joy every time she laughs. I hug a candle to my chest and pretend to sniff the other ones, even though I already have a dozen extra candles back home. It's just that this particular spot in the store allows me to watch her without interruption, and so when she glances my way, I add another to my basket. I don't want to make her uncomfortable.
"Well," my crush eventually says, folding down the last container and tucking it under her arm. "That's all from me this week. I'll be back next Thursday. Let me know if you have any particular requests between now and then."
She looks over at me meaningfully.
Oh. A request? A chance to talk to her? God, I would love that. I lick my lips, full of yearning…and then the shopkeeper glances over at me. The door opens, and another woman walks in, and my shyness gets the better of me. I duck my head again and add yet another candle to my growing purchases.
"See you, Brttaa," she calls out, and then the doors to the store slide open and she's gone.
I could kick myself. I had a perfect opportunity to speak to her. She looked at me. Made eye contact.
And I clammed up like an idiot. I'm devastated. Now I have to wait a whole other week before I can even look at her, much less talk to her. My shoulders slump and I feel completely deflated.
"You going to buy that crap or what?" the shopkeeper asks me. He crosses his feathered arms over his chest and glares in my direction, all sense of politeness gone now that the mesakkah female has left.
Right. I put back all the heavy candles except for one, take it up to the counter, and then carefully set a credit down to pay for it. "Thank you."
