Page 64 of Reluctantly Abducted
"Ready," I confirm.
He steps closer, wrapping an arm around my waist. "The transportation process is easier if we maintain physical contact," he explains, though the way his bioluminescence brightens at our proximity suggests there might be more than practicality behind the gesture.
"Whatever you say, Ry," I reply with a smile, leaning into his touch.
The familiar blue light begins to envelop us, and I hold tight to Ry as we transport to his ship and whatever future awaits us.
Chapter Twenty
Ry'eth
The transport is successful, Owen and his belongings materializing perfectly on the platform. I release the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Despite knowing the technology is reliable, I find myself experiencing significant relief at seeing him safely aboard.
"Welcome back," I say, unable to keep a small smile from forming despite my attempt at composure. The memory of what occurred in his shower mere minutes ago sends waves of blue light pulsing visibly beneath my skin.
Owen grins, clearly noticing my reaction. "Good to be back," he says, stepping off the platform and looking around. His gaze meets mine, and there's a warmth there that makes my chest tighten pleasantly.
I lead him from the transport chamber toward the living quarters, finding myself walking closer to him than strictly necessary. Our hands brush occasionally, each contact sending small flares of light across my skin that I don't bother trying to suppress.
Owen sets his bag down in the sleeping chamber—the same one he occupied during his previous stay. I watch as he takes in the space, struck by how right he looks here, how the room seems more complete with him in it.
"Man, I'm starving," he says suddenly, turning to face me. "Running six miles will do that. Kitchen still in the same place?"
"Yes," I reply, finding myself smiling again at his directness. "I've made sure the synthesizer is well-stocked for human needs."
"Perfect," he says, already heading in that direction. I follow, enjoying the view of him moving confidently through myship as if he belongs here. Because he does, a voice in my head whispers. He belongs here with you.
In the nutrition center, he turns to me with raised eyebrows. "You hungry?"
I start to say no automatically, then reconsider. "I'd enjoy sharing a meal with you," I admit, the honesty feeling strangely freeing.
His expression softens. "What would you like?"
I hesitate. During our previous time together, Owen had introduced me to several Earth foods, insisting that eating should be about pleasure, not just sustenance. The memory of his passionate explanations creates another pulse of light beneath my skin that I make no effort to hide.
"I would like..." I begin, then make a decision that feels significant. "Surprise me."
Owen's eyebrows rise briefly before a slow smile spreads across his face. "Surprise you? That's... not very scientific of you, Ry."
"I'm discovering I can be more than just scientific," I reply, the admission easier than I expected.
"I like this new side of you," he says, turning to the synthesizer with a mischievous expression. "One surprise coming up."
I watch as he inputs commands, deliberately blocking my view of the selections. His focus as he works is oddly endearing, his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. After several minutes, the synthesizer produces a large platter of something colorful and chaotic.
"Nachos," Owen announces proudly, carrying the platter to the small dining area. "One of humanity's greatest culinary achievements."
I approach curiously, examining the concoction. Triangular pieces of what appear to be fried corn are piledhaphazardly, covered with multiple layers of melted cheese, vegetables in various colors, and what smells like seasoned protein. The entire arrangement looks gloriously chaotic.
"This is intentionally disorganized, isn't it?" I ask, sitting across from him at the table.
"Absolutely," Owen confirms with a grin, already reaching for a piece. "Maximum deliciousness, minimum order. You eat it with your hands."
I watch with a mixture of horror and fascination as he picks up one of the triangular pieces, dragging it through the toppings and creating even more chaos in the process. Multiple items fall off, landing back on the platter in a completely random arrangement. The sound of appreciation he makes as he eats it, however, sends a pleasant shiver through me.
"Your turn," he says, gesturing toward the platter.
I hesitate, studying the mess before me. In the past, this level of disorder would have bothered me significantly. Now, looking at Owen's expectant face, I find myself caring less about the chaos and more about sharing this experience with him.
