Chapter 10
Taking a deep breath, Talia crossed to the small dresser and pulled out the carvings she’d begun. They were nothing like he could create, but they were a start.
"I thought I could make toys. Simple ones at first, but if I had access to better tools—to your tools—I might be able to create something more valuable than raw apples or even apple butter.
" She thrust the pieces toward him. "The village doesn't have a proper toymaker.
Most children make do with carved sticks or corn husk dolls.
If I could offer something better, something more detailed. .."
He took the samples and examined them with the meticulous attention he applied to everything. His long fingers traced the joints she'd cut, testing the fit, assessing the work. She held her breath.
"The concept is sound," he said finally. "The execution is limited by tool quality, not skill. These joints demonstrate understanding of basic structural principles."
"So... you think it could work?"
"The probability of success is high, provided you have access to appropriate equipment." He looked up from the wood pieces, his blue eyes meeting hers directly. "I can provide such equipment. And instruction, if you require it."
Relief flooded through her, so intense it made her knees weak. "You'd do that? Really?"
"The logic is sound. You require trade goods. You possess the capability to produce valuable items with the proper tools. My tools are currently unused. It would be inefficient not to maximize their utility."
There he goes again, making kindness sound like mathematics.
But she was beginning to understand that this was how he processed things, how he made sense of a world that often defied his rigid logic.
He was helping because it was logical. Because the numbers added up.
Not because he cared about her specifically or wanted to see her succeed.
Just... logic. The thought should have been disappointing. Instead, it was oddly endearing.
"Thank you." She took the wood samples back, her fingers brushing his in the exchange. That same spark of awareness immediately flared between them.
His hand stilled but he didn't pull away. "You express gratitude frequently."
"Because I'm grateful." Her voice came out disturbingly breathless.
"The behavior is statistically anomalous. Most individuals reserve such expressions for significant gestures, not routine assistance."
"Maybe I just have better manners than most individuals."
His lips twitched—an almost-smile, gone too quickly to be certain it had existed. "Perhaps."
The moment stretched between them, charged with something she couldn't name.
Want, yes. Attraction, definitely. But also something deeper, something that felt like recognition.
Like finding a piece of yourself you hadn't known was missing.
It was undoubtedly foolish, but she couldn't quite make herself move away.
He made the decision for her, slowly lowering his hand. "You mentioned a workshop. I should assess the space to determine optimal tool placement."
"Right. Yes. The workshop." She shook herself mentally. "It was my brother-in-law's workshop. I should warn you, it's not exactly state of the art. Mostly hand tools and a few pieces of equipment that have seen better days."
"Primitive tools are not inherently inferior, merely less efficient." He moved toward the door. "Show me."
She grabbed her coat and followed him into the cold evening air.
The sun had set fully now, stars emerging in the crystal-clear sky with that impossible brightness that still startled her sometimes.
In the city, light pollution had muted the heavens to a dull glow.
Out here, the universe blazed with distant fire.
He paused, his head tilting back to study the sky. His expression shifted into something approaching wonder, though it was hard to tell in the darkness.
"You can see the Amanthan galaxy from here." He sounded surprised.
"That’s one of the few advantages of living in the middle of nowhere." She started toward the workshop. "Lots of stars, very few neighbors."
"It's not much," she added as he entered behind her. "But it's weatherproof and it has decent light during the day. Willem mostly used it for basic repairs before he—before he got too sick to work."
“He was ill?”
“Yes, for a long time. Sarah tried to manage on her own for too long before she wrote and asked me to come and help her. But it was too late. They were both dead by the time I arrived.”
Her voice broke on the last words. He hesitated, then placed a huge, warm hand on her shoulder. It was only a brief touch, but there was something infinitely comforting about the weight of his hand. She lifted her own hand to cover his lightly, and gave him a watery smile.
“Thank you. What do you think of the space?” she added, changing the subject.
He surveyed the space with his usual methodical precision, examining tools and assessing the layout.
"The structure is sound. The primary workbench requires minor repairs but is serviceable. The tool selection is limited but includes several items of adequate quality." He picked up an old plane, sighting down its length. "This has been well maintained."
"He took good care of his tools as long as he could.”
He set the plane down gently. "I will retrieve my equipment. The molecular bonders and precision cutting tools will expand your capabilities significantly."
"Klaus, wait a minute." She caught his arm before he could leave. His skin was warm even through the fabric of his suit, the muscles beneath solid and unyielding. "Why are you doing this?"
"I explained the logical—"
"No. Really. Why?" She stepped closer, close enough to see the way his pupils dilated slightly, the barely perceptible increase in his respiration. "You could just repair your ship and wait out the seventy-three days without getting involved in our lives. You don't owe me anything."
"Incorrect. You preserved my life."
"Anyone would have—"
"No. They would not have." There was no doubt in his voice. "I told you—most sentient beings prioritize self-preservation over altruism towards unknown species. You chose differently. Therefore, I am in your debt."
"So this is just... repaying an obligation?"
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze dropping to where her hand still rested on his arm. When he looked up again, something in his expression had shifted.
"I am not sure,” he said carefully. “You generate responses in me that my training suggests are counterproductive.
" He paused. "And yet I find myself wanting to ensure your success.
To witness your pleasure when you create something of value.
To hear your nephew laugh because of actions I have taken. "
Her heart thudded against her ribs. "Klaus—"
"These desires are illogical and directly contrary to Tandroki principles." His free hand lifted, hovering near her face as if he wanted to touch her but didn't know how. "I should resist them and focus on ship repairs and my duties."
"But?"
"But I find I do not wish to." His fingers finally made contact, the barest brush against her cheek. "I do not understand this. I do not understand you, or what you do to my carefully ordered thought processes. But I am... not displeased by the disruption."
It was everything she'd wanted to hear and absolutely terrifying in equal measure. Because he didn't do anything halfway. If he decided to let himself feel, to allow attachment—
He's going to leave in seventy-three days. She should step back. She should thank him politely and maintain a safe distance between them and protect her heart from inevitably breaking.
Instead, she rose on her toes and kissed him. It was impulsive, irrational, and completely contrary to self-preservation, everything he would categorize as illogical.
But his lips were warm against hers, and after a moment of frozen shock, he responded.
Tentatively at first, like someone learning a new skill.
Then with increasing confidence as she pressed closer, her hands coming up to rest against his chest. She ran her tongue across the seam of his mouth and his lips parted.
His tongue swept into her mouth, impossibly long and agile, exploring with the same intense focus he applied to everything he did.
He's never done this before, she realized.
This wasn't just new with her—it was new.
First kiss, first embrace, first moment of willing vulnerability.
The knowledge made her start to pull back, but a sound rumbled in his chest, something deep and possessive that vibrated through her entire body.
He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, while his other hand slid into her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss.
The workshop, the cold, the grief—it all faded away. There was only Klaus, his solid strength holding her, the way he was kissing her like she was the only thing in the universe that mattered. This wasn't logical. It was wild and messy and real, and she wanted more of it.
She wanted to feel that cool, controlled exterior break completely, to see what lay beneath the discipline. She wanted to be the one who made him forget duty and training and everything that kept him so carefully contained.
He pulled back suddenly, breaking the kiss but not releasing her.
His breathing was ragged, and in the dim light, with those impossible blue eyes burning into hers, he looked less like a warrior and more like a male discovering a new and dangerous territory.
He looked stunned, but he also looked hungry for more.
"That was..." He stopped, seemingly unable to find words.
"A kiss." Her voice came out shaky. "Pretty standard human behavior."
"Nothing about you is standard." His thumb gently traced the line of her jaw. "I have observed this ritual among other species but I never understood its appeal. The exchange of moisture and breath seemed unsanitary.”
"And now?"
"Now I understand why individuals engage in such behavior despite its logical drawbacks." He leaned down, his forehead coming to rest gently against hers. "I would like to repeat the experience. If you are amenable."
She laughed, the sound bubbling up from the knot of tension in her chest. "Amenable. You make it sound like a contract negotiation."
"I am unfamiliar with the appropriate terminology for these circumstances."
"How about this—would you like to kiss me again?"
"Yes." No hesitation. No calculation. Just immediate, honest desire.
So she kissed him again. This time he was ready, meeting her with an eagerness that contradicted his carefully controlled exterior.
His tongue swept into her mouth, learning the shape of her, the taste of her, the way her body responded to his.
One of his hands moved to the small of her back, pressing her closer until there was no space between them.
He was hard and unyielding, a wall of muscle and restrained strength, but his hands were gentle.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her head against his chest. His heart beat fast beneath her ear—rapid, almost frantic, a sharp contrast to his usual controlled demeanor.
"This is inadvisable," he said into her hair.
"Probably."
"I will leave in seventy-three days."
"I know."
"Attachment will make departure difficult."
"Yes." She pulled back to look up at him. "Are you trying to talk yourself out of this?"
"I am attempting to apply logic to an inherently illogical situation." His arms remained around her, solid and warm. "It is proving ineffective."
"Good." She smiled up at him. "Because I'm done being sensible.
I've been sensible my whole life—worked when I should have played, saved when I should have spent, planned when I should have lived.
And you know what it got me? Stuck on a failing homestead with no idea what I'm doing and a nephew who thinks I'm a poor substitute for his actual family. "
"You are not a poor substitute."
"Maybe. But I'm tired of being careful. Tired of always choosing the safe path." She traced the line of one of his horns with careful fingers. "You're here for seventy-three days. Let's make them count."
He captured her hand and brought it to his lips with unexpected courtliness. "I am uncertain of the parameters of this agreement."
"There are no parameters. No contracts or negotiations or logical frameworks." She laced her fingers through his. "Just... let's be together. However that looks. For as long as you're here."
"And after?"
The question hung between them, heavy with implications. After meant goodbye. After meant returning to separate lives on different worlds. After meant ending whatever this was before it fully began.
"We'll deal with after when it comes." She stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. "Right now, I want to focus on making toys that will keep Theo and me fed through winter. And I could really use the help of an alien with fancy tools and infinite patience."
His expression shifted into something that might have been relief. Concrete tasks and clear objectives were something he could understand and execute.
"That I can provide." He released her with obvious reluctance.
"I will retrieve the necessary equipment from the house—the tools that will allow you to create items of significant value with minimal resource expenditure.
" He moved toward the door, then paused.
"When I return, we should develop a production timeline.
Identify the most efficient designs. Calculate material requirements and—"
"Klaus."
He stopped.
"You're doing it again. The thing where you process emotions through logistics."
"It is how I function."
"I know." She crossed to him and took his hand. "And it's fine. I like your logical brain. But sometimes you can just feel things without analyzing them to death."
"That seems inefficient."
"It absolutely is." She grinned. "Try it anyway."
He looked at their joined hands for a long moment. Then, very deliberately, he pulled her close and kissed her again. No hesitation this time, no careful analysis. Just want and heat and the determined focus of someone who'd decided to master a new skill through dedicated practice.
She melted into it, into him, into the impossible reality of kissing an alien warrior in a dusty workshop while stars blazed overhead and her nephew slept safe in the house.
Seventy-three days. It should feel like a countdown to heartbreak.
Instead, it felt like a gift.