Page 6 of Accidentally Abducted

"An experience," he repeats, like this is a revolutionary concept.

"Yeah. And if we're going to be figuring each other out for the next couple days, food seems like a good place to start." I gesture at the pancake disaster. "Can your synthesizer make individual ingredients? Like, flour, eggs, milk, that kind of thing?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Perfect. Cooking lesson number one: how to make pancakes that don't look like they could be used to patch hull breaches."

The next hour is... educational. For both of us.

It turns out that Zeph approaches cooking the same way he probably approaches everything else: methodically, precisely, and with a level of focus that's both admirable and slightly intense. He measures ingredients to the exact gram, follows my instructions with scientific precision, and asks more questions about the chemical reactions involved in cooking than I ever thought to ask myself.

It also turns out that watching him concentrate, the way his tongue darts out slightly when he's focusing, the way his ridiculously long fingers handle the mixing spoon with surprising delicacy, is doing things to my brain that are definitely not appropriate for a cooking lesson.

"The consistency appears adequate," he says, holding up the spoon to examine the pancake batter. "Though I am uncertain about the... lumps."

"Lumps are good. Lumps mean you didn't overmix it." I'm standing behind him, probably closer than strictly necessary for cooking instruction, and I can feel the warmth radiating off his skin. "Here, let me show you."

I reach around him to adjust his grip on the spoon, and the contact makes him go very still. "Like this," I say, guiding his hand through the proper mixing motion, trying to ignore the way his breath catches slightly when my chest brushes against his back.

"I see," he says, and his voice is a little rougher than usual. "The technique is more... intuitive than precise."

"Exactly." I step back, mostly because if I don't, I'm going to do something stupid like press my face against the spacebetween his shoulder blades and see if he tastes as good as he smells. "Cooking is more art than science."

"Art," he repeats, turning to look at me. "You consider food preparation to be artistic expression?"

"Among other things, yeah." I take the spoon from him and pour the first pancake onto the heated surface of what I think is supposed to be a griddle. "Food is culture, memory, comfort, pleasure. It's how we take care of each other."

Zeph watches the pancake bubble and set with the kind of fascination most people reserve for fireworks. "How we take care of each other," he says softly.

"Yeah. I mean, think about it, when someone's sick, we make them soup. When we're celebrating, we bake cakes. When we want to show someone we care about them, we cook their favorite meal." I flip the pancake, pleased when it comes out golden brown instead of gray. "Food is love, basically."

"Food is love," Zeph repeats, and there's something almost wondering in his voice.

"Metaphorically speaking." I glance at him, suddenly feeling a little exposed. "I mean, it doesn't have to be romantic love. It's just... caring about someone enough to put effort into making them happy."

"And you are doing this for me."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I'm teaching you to do it for yourself. And for future humans who might appreciate pancakes that don't double as construction materials."

"Future humans," Zeph says, and something shifts in his expression that I can't quite read.

"Yeah, I mean..." I flip the pancake onto a plate and pour another one. "This whole compatibility program thing. You'll probably get matched with someone eventually, right? Someone who actually signed up for this."

The silence that follows is heavy enough that I look up from the griddle to find Zeph staring at me with an expression I definitely can't read.

"Jake," he says carefully, "are you under the impression that this program involves multiple human partners?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, this is basically alien dating, right? You try out different humans until you find one that works?"

"No," Zeph says, and there's something almost urgent in his voice. "No, that is not how the program works."

I set down the spatula and turn to face him fully. "Okay, then how does it work?"

"Each Nereidan is matched with one human, based on compatibility algorithms. The assessment period determines whether the match is viable for long-term partnership."

"Long-term partnership," I repeat slowly. "As in..."

"As in permanent. Life partnership. What humans might call marriage."

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