Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Robyn sat in one of the white Adirondack rocking chairs on her front porch. Birdsong in the trees glorified the joy of living, and the cool morning air held a promise of warmer temperatures to come later in the afternoon.
In other words, a typical late-summer day in southern California.
She raised her steaming mug and inhaled the deep, rich cinnamon aroma of her favorite blend of Kona coffee. Mornings like this, especially when such mornings fell on a Friday, were the best. No work, no obligations, just her and nature, and….
Meryl rounded the end of the neighbor’s hedge, her tightly curled mop of bleached golden hair bouncing. She strode up Robyn’s front path with a confidence borne from having faced life’s hard knocks and survived.
Her friend spread her arms wide as she ascended the two steps to the porch. “I cannot tell you how disappointed I am to see you out here this morning, alone. Where is he?”
“He is not here.” She set her mug on the whitewashed wood table between the chairs.
“Obviously.” Meryl plopped herself in the second rocker. “I’d so hoped you had an overnight house guest. Are those your aunt’s cinnamon rolls I smell?”
“Yep. They’re in the oven.” Robyn picked up the white carafe and tipped it to fill the waiting mug. The soft sound of bird wings swooshed past the porch. “Why would you come over if you thought he’d spent the night?”
“I figured I’d walk by to see.” Meryl accepted the now-full mug. “And there you were, fully dressed and sitting on your porch. If he was here, you wouldn’t be dressed…or on the porch, if you know what I mean.”
A snort escaped Robyn. Yeah, she knew all right. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Sorry that you’re disappointed, and probably don’t realize it.” Meryl’s grin was full of innuendo. “So, you ready to talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She blew out a short, heavy breath. “By the time I hung up with you and got back to the door, he was gone.”
Except for that feather. There was something about it.
It had called to her from her vanity last night as she’d tossed and turned in bed.
Until she’d finally caved in after forty-five minutes and relocated it to her pillow.
It was weird how the combination of the downy soft piece of fluff and the scent of nutmeg, was all it took to zonk her out.
And the dreams she’d had…oh, boy. Or, “whoa” boy. Her gaze was drawn to the buzz of a hummingbird flitting around the feeder at the other end of the porch. She’d never had such sexually charged dreams, even back in the days when she believed Kevin was her one-and-only.
“Was he from the Silverstar Agency?”
Robyn blinked away the lovely wisps of her dreams and refocused on her friend. “Actually, yes. You were right, Nixy had texted me. Unfortunately, it was during a barrage of Kevin texts that I was ignoring, so I missed it.”
“That bastard. You’d think that, after five years, he’d get the hint.” Meryl took another sip from her mug. “He is denser than most.”
A snicker escaped Robyn. She couldn’t disagree with that observation.
“Anyhoo,” Meryl continued. “What are you going to do about your angel?”
The chime of the timer on her phone going off filled the space with its happy tune. The hummingbird gave an alarmed chirp and darted away. “I’m going to get breakfast out of the oven.”
“Not what I meant, but I’m too hungry to argue.” Meryl trailed her into the house like a shadow.
Minutes later, the cinnamon rolls were cooling on a rack and more coffee was brewing.
Robyn set two forks and napkins on the breakfast bar, then leaned back against the sink as Meryl retrieved a couple of plates.
Being in the same neighborhood of small 1930s craftsman bungalows, and in houses with the same floorplan, had its advantages.
The plates clinked together as Meryl set them on the bar. “You going to answer my question?”
“Well, I texted Nixy Vogel last night to explain the situation, and asked how to fix it.” She gave her shoulders a shrug. “I guess she’ll text back once she gets into the office.”
“Probably….” Meryl’s gaze flitted to somewhere over her shoulder. “Ohh.”
“Oh, what?”
“It looks like someone got that text.”
“What?” She turned to look out the kitchen window, and the massive male figure striding up her front path. It was him…Kyzel Raptorclaw. “Ohh.”
His tan skin held the lovely warmth of golden honey.
And, oh my, the silver in his variegated wing feathers practically glowed in the sunlight.
Was it possible for him to seem even larger and more ridiculously magnificent this morning than he had last evening—even though his man-nipples were now covered with a drapey, sky-blue shirt thingy?
The answer was, yes. Yes, it was.
“Aw, he even has flowers,” Meryl breathed out. “Yellow tulips, your favorite.”
Robyn glanced at the bright bouquet held to his chest in one large hand. How had he known those were her favorite?
Because you included that in your application, you dolt.
A sudden flurry of motion drew her attention back to Meryl. Her friend had sprung into action as if poked by a cattle prod.
Robyn frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving.” Meryl tore a paper towel from the roll and wrapped it around two cinnamon rolls.
“But, why?”
Her friend’s expression turned incredulous. “Honey, do you see what’s walking onto your porch right now?”
Well, yeah, she kinda had. The entire neighborhood probably had, too.
“That’s all yours, and you don’t need me around to interfere.” Meryl winked. “Call me later. Have fun.”
Then she was gone, the back door closing with a sharp snick before Robyn could think up another protest.
Kyzel drew his wings in close to his back and stepped onto Robyn Martin Donahue’s small front porch. Today would be different than last night. This time, when she opened her door, she would find him “presentable.”
He smoothed his free hand over his omlek.
According to Ms. Vogel’s early morning text, wearing a torso covering would make him less intimidating than his standard flying leathers.
Apparently, Earthling males did not make a habit of showing up shirtless for their first meeting with a female.
Not in this locale, at any rate. The Bezchian style shirt covered his chest and back, yet allowed his wings free range of motion.
The flowers—yellow two-lips, per Robyn’s bio—bobbed cheerily with each step.
He frowned at the bouquet. How odd that, despite their name, they looked nothing like one lip, let alone two.
More like dainty cups. But these were supposedly her flower of preference, and he was determined to make a better impression this morning.
A delicious scent that smelled like the sacred spice cinbin wafted through the open doorway. He gave his wings a shake, lifted his hand, rapped his knuckles against the doorframe three times in quick succession, then took a small step back.
“Be right there.” Her voice, like a melody, drifted to him from inside the house.
The quick slap-slap of her footsteps approached the door, and then, she was there. Her bright blue gaze met his, and her smile was welcoming. “Hi.”
“Hello, Robyn Martin Donahue. I am Kyzel Raptorclaw. The Silverstar Agency matched us.”
“I know, now.” She pushed her silver-blonde hair back over one ear. “I read your bio. You can just call me Robyn. I’m really sorry about slamming the door in your face last night. I didn’t realize who you were.”
“It is understandable. I have since discovered that it is proper for me to contact you first instead of coming over unannounced.” He extended his arm, presenting her with the two-lips. “And to bring a ‘courting gift.’”
“Oh, my favorite.” A faint pink color dusted her cheeks as she accepted his gift.
The brush of her fingers against his sent the heat of a thousand suns through his veins and into his crotch. He stifled his gasp even as she took in a sharp breath. Had she felt it too?
He cleared his throat and managed to give her a teasing grin like nothing had happened. “I, uh, know. I also read your bio.”
Her laugh folded around him as she brought the flowers to her breasts. “Thank you. Would you like to come in?”
“I would.” He eyed the doorway. “Most of Earth’s doorways are not built with Bezchians in mind, however, I have been working on a technique.” He shifted his shoulders, drew his wings together, then pulled them against his back. “If you would step back, please.”
“Sure.” She retreated inside several steps.
This had all the wingmarks of an awkward situation, but he was committed now. He turned his body sideways and hugged one side of the door frame. One wing and leg in first, duck his head, twist, and…in.
“Bravo.” Robyn laughed again, a delightful sound he would never tire of hearing. “I wasn’t sure how you were going to do that, but it worked.”
He folded his wings as close to his back as possible. “I will try not to knock anything over.”
“I trust you.” She moved to stand next to the tall counter between the front room and what was clearly her food preparation area. “Are you hungry?”
He inhaled deeply through his nose; the aroma of cinbin was much stronger here. “I have not eaten yet this morning. What is this delicious scent?”
“My aunt’s cinnamon rolls. Old family recipe. Reminds me of her every time I make them.” She rounded the end of the counter, waving her hand in the direction of the four backless perches. “Pick any stool you want while I fix you a plate.”
“Cinnamon. Is that what I smell?” He slid onto one of the middle perches…stools…to give his wings room to relax. “It smells similar to a spice on my planet called cinbin.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” She turned on the faucet and water flowed into a white vase. “Cooking with cinnamon reminds me of Christmas. I love it.”
“You cook with this spice?”
“Yeah.” She placed the two-lips in the vase and set them on the counter. “And I’d be happy to try your cinbin in a recipe if you’d like…. Aaaand the expression on your face tells me I just said something wrong.”
He opened and closed his mouth, then rubbed his hand over his face. “Please forgive me. On Bezchi, cinbin is a sacred spice used only by the Firewing clan during re…during a certain ritual. The thought of cooking with it seems…unusual.”
“Ah. I can see why. Sorry if I was insulting in any way.” The way she leaned against the other side of the counter, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, was endearing.
“Not at all. I am sure there are many new things we will be learning as we get to know each other.” Like why he could still smell her vanilla scent over the cinnamon?
Her smile brightened and she gathered up the two plates sitting on the counter. “I’d like that a lot. So—” She scooped up a fist-sized roll, glistening gooey reddish-brown threads dripping under the spatula. “—it’s pronounced Bez-chee then, right?”
“That is correct.”
“Good.” The roll slid onto the plate and she placed it in front of him. “I was nervous that I might pronounce it wrong.”
“I appreciate your attentiveness. Thank you.” He could not seem to focus anywhere else except on her.
Everything about her appealed to him, right down to the way she sucked the sticky concoction off her thumb as she came back around the end of the counter.
She slid onto the stool next to his and smiled up at him. “Bon appetit.”
His translator chip made a fizzle sound, then spat out, “Well hunger.”
He frowned. “I do not understand.”
“What, bon appetit? It’s French for enjoy your food.”
“Ah.” He tapped his finger behind his ear where the implant rested just under his skin. “My translator is programed for English only. Maybe I should expand to include other Earth languages.”
“Hmm. Well, maybe Spanish too, but otherwise don’t worry. I don’t mind helping out when you’re stumped.” She turned her attention to her roll. “So. Besides most of the doors being too small, and English being a complicated mishmash of other languages, what do you think of Earth so far?”
He waited until she raised her beautiful blue gaze back to his, then smiled. She stopped chewing her food. “Earth is quite arresting.”