Page 22 of Exiles on Earth
“I’d say… they’re fascinated you can take your coat off, Ellen,” Nicole says faintly.
“Must be like removing your skin to them,” Laura adds.
The aliens don’t say anything, but I can see the truth in Ilia’s eyes. He stares like I’m the only thing in the world.
Not a bad feeling at all.
“Don’t you have clothes?” Arabella inquires, foot bouncing with an irregular rhythm where it drapes over her opposite knee. “You’re wearing shorts.”
“Yes, but… I thought these coverings were your skin,” Ilia says faintly. “We will adjust, but we may need to replicate some of your coverings to help us blend in.”
“Right.” Arabella nods. “Can’t have you half-naked in front of the postman.”
Laura puts her hand over her mouth, too dignified to giggle, but Nicole snorts with laughter, and I chuckle at the mental image of the elderly village postman coming face to face with six hulking aliens. Arabella’s good at putting people at ease, and hopefully that extends to extraterrestrials as well.
Ilia’s shoulders tighten. “Who or what is the post…man?”
“They deliver letters to the house. They’ll be wearing red.” I pour the water, my thoughts racing. The language barrier hasn’t been too bad so far, but do they have the same words for colors, or is it all automatically translated? And how do their nanites even work?
Focus. One thing at a time. “Okay, so again—do you prefer sweet or bitter tastes, and can you even have milk?”
“Let me see this ‘milk’ substance,” Gara says, his green scales glinting under the light.
“Sure thing.” I pour a small cup, moving toward him, but Ilia steps between us, his massive frame blocking my view of Gara.
“I will test it,” he growls, glaring at Gara with a fierce protectiveness.
Gara sighs, unfazed. “At least let me look at it first.”
Ilia doesn’t relent, protective big brother vibes radiating off him. It’ssweet enough to make me smile. “Whoever’s going to try it, here.” I hold the cup out, the milk sloshing faintly.
Ilia takes it, his huge, warm fingers brushing mine. A jolt shoots through him like he’s been shocked, and the cup tips dangerously. Before I can react, he snatches it mid-fall, saving most of the milk, though a splash lands on the floor.
I cluck my tongue with frustration before I can stop myself. “Oh, well, this place is so messy, you’d never even notice,” I joke before anyone else can make a jibe.
Ilia’s open face creases with shame. Gently, the big guy sets the cup on the table with a delicate click. “I’ll clean this,” he vows, patting at his pockets as though searching for a cloth.
He undoes a buckle at his hip with a click. Uh…what? Is he seriously about to take his shorts off to clean the floor?
“Wait, no—here!” I lunge for a tea towel and thrust it into his hands. “Use this. Please.”
“At once.” He drops fluidly to his knees on the cold flagstone floor, his broad back rippling with every movement as he sops up the spill. For someone built like a tank, his movements are graceful. He glances up at me every few seconds, as if checking for approval, and my stomach does a ridiculous flip.
The kettle hisses and shudders, yanking me back to reality. What am I doing? Oh yeah, making tea. Shaking myself, I focus on setting the mugs in twos and threes around the table. “There. Try that—sugar’s here if you want it.”
My voice sounds steady. I hope it is. Anything to distract from the heat crawling up my neck.
“Thanks, babes.” Arabella dumps four sugars in hers and a splash of milk.
“Yes, thank you.” Laura drinks hers black with no sugar, sipping the liquid while it’s boiling hot.
Nicole’s preoccupied. Having backed Arture into a corner, she turns his head this way and that. His Adam’s apple bobs,silver threads running down his throat. “This cut’s really bad,” Nicole says with a tut. “I’ve got some steri-strips, but if your medic hasn’t recovered enough to do something about it in the morning, I’ll pitch in.”
Gara whips around. “I’ll heal him.”
“No,” Ilia says firmly, rising to his full height. He folds the wet towel between his massive hands. “You need to rest first. You’re no use to us if you collapse.”
His calm authority silences Gara, and then his gaze flicks to me. “Where should I put this?” he asks, holding up the cloth.
