Lola
Especially if it’s you.
The words made tears spring to my eyes. I wasn’t used to receiving help. In my experience, I had always been much better at offering help than accepting it.
My gaze caught on Grandma’s recipe book. The one she wrote because she believed anyone, from any background, could learn to cook a decent meal.
My stomach clenched as guilt settled there. I’d said I wanted to create a menu that honored my grandma’s legacy, but I hadn’t been honoring her legacy with my actions. I had been snippy and rude. I’d withheld information and tried to push Kal away.
What would Grandma Gladys have done in my place? She would have accepted help as readily as she offered it, and without being a stubborn pain in the ass. She also would have loved the idea of teaching someone new to the kitchen how to cook “the right way”—which meant her way, of course.
I gave in.
“What are we cooking first?” I asked, nodding my chin toward the recipe book. I leaned against the counter with my swollen wrist resting on ice. Kal had insisted that I take care of my wrist, and his stern expression was so sincere that I couldn’t deny him.
“Cinnamon rolls,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Because they’re your favorite.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, watching him fumble with a bag of sugar. “I love them.”
Kal was so lovely in his true form. Even like this—frazzled and nervous—I couldn’t help but look at him.
Truly look at him. The vivid wash of his skin, his hair, the luminescent blue-green of his tentacles.
I wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped up in him.
Physically, I mean. Emotionally, I was already there, caught in a tangle of Kal.
It was the eyes, though—always the eyes— that sent me off balance. Like I was sinking into the depths of the ocean. I could drown in his eyes.
Three hours later, Kal was covered in flour and powdered sugar and pulling a seriously deformed tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven.
“I did it!” He balanced the baking sheet as his tentacles shut the oven door behind him. “I made Lola’s favorite cinnamon rolls!”
Out of all the options in my grandma’s recipe book, he’d picked my favorite.
“Here,” I said, pushing a fresh bowl in front of Kal. “For the icing.”
“I can’t believe you do all of this,” Kal said, arms spreading wide to encompass the absolute mess he made of the kitchen, “every single day.”
“Well, I don’t quite do…this,” I said, looking between him and the mess. “But it is a lot of work, running a kitchen. Even for a small place like ours. It gets easier as you learn, though.”
Kal reached for the bowl and knocked it over, sending sugar everywhere. His face dropped.
I grabbed a cloth and started cleaning the spill. “It’s okay, really. We have a saying on Earth: Don’t cry over spilled milk. Or in this case, sugar, I guess. Do you know what that means?”
Kal shook his head.
“It means…” I thought about it for a second. “It means that you shouldn’t worry about situations you can’t change, because they’ve already happened. You can only control what happens next.”
“I try to do that,” he said. “But sometimes it seems like I can’t do anything right.”
The way he said it made my chest hurt. I knew exactly how he felt and what made it so hard. When you’re trying your best, and even that didn’t feel like enough.
I placed a hand on Kal’s arm. He stilled. “You just started learning, though. No one gets good at something overnight.”
“That’s not what I mean. It’s not just here on Earth, with new things. It’s everything. Even things I’ve been doing my entire life… I’m always messing things up.”
His hands shook as he added ingredients to the bowl. “I was never supposed to come here,” Kal said. Then he stopped abruptly and looked at me wide-eyed. I knew an unintended confession when I heard one.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Kal said.
He was lying. But I couldn’t confront him about it, because I had never actually asked Kal why he ended up in Roswell Falls. Which kind of made me a jerk—a clueless jerk without a leg to stand on.
Jacob was right. I would definitely die first in a horror movie.
But I think it’s because somewhere deep down I wanted to believe Kal ending up in Roswell Falls wasn’t just a coincidence. I wanted it to be—I don’t know—cosmically significant? That Kal was meant to be here, with me. Hadn’t I begged for a miracle? Wished upon a star?
Couldn’t Kal have been the result of wishing on a falling star?
I had, however subconsciously, told myself that meeting Kal in such an improbable way meant that it was written in the stars.
I watched, half-seeing, half-daydreaming, as Kal’s icing became the perfect consistency. After looking at the recipe book again, he picked up a spatula and used it to scrape down the sides. He was a quick learner, all things considered.
Moments later, Kal spread the icing in great white dollops onto the cooling cinnamon rolls, successfully creating a picture-perfect final product.
“Ready for lesson number two?”
He swiped a lock of wavy hair from his forehead and smiled.
Before I realized what I was doing, I’d reached out to wipe away a smudge of flour from his cheek, just below his right eye.
I’m not sure how it happened, but I swear my hand lost mobility.
It lingered there—resting beneath his jaw, thumb settled gently on the apple of his cheek.
“Yes, chef,” he whispered, eyes locking onto mine.
I wanted to kiss him again, soft and slow like before. Fast and deep, like we couldn’t resist. I wanted to be wrapped up in him.
Gently—so gently I almost didn’t realize it at first—one of Kal’s tentacles twisted around my wrist and pulled my hand away.
He held it for several seconds, momentarily tightening his grip and flexing in a way that made me forget how to breathe.
When he let go, my hand fell to my side like dead weight.
Despite it being my uninjured wrist, I could feel the skin radiating heat as Kal turned away.
He picked up Grandma’s recipe book and flipped to a new page.
Message received. Back to business.
Kal looked so calm, but I knew when his voice cracked as he said, “Let’s try the chicken and dumplings next.” It gave him away. This thing between us wasn’t all in my head. I wanted him; he wanted me. So why did it feel like we were galaxies apart?
I stood there on a knife’s edge, deciding. Would I push for more, or let the moment pass? I opted for the latter. When the tension dissipated, I could almost believe it hadn’t been there at all. With a lump in my throat, I settled my sprained wrist back on ice—along with my feelings for him.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, mercifully drawing my attention away from whatever this thing between Kal and me was. I groaned at the messages.
Mom
Dinner tonight. NO EXCUSES. Dress nice.
Mom
That means no sweatpants.
Mom
I mean it.
Checking the time, my phone let me know we had a little over an hour to get ready, and I still needed to coach Kal on what to expect.
“Did I mention you’re meeting my entire family tonight?” I asked sheepishly.