Claimed by the Alien Bodyguard - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,35
it toward his face, examining her wounds.
Last night, her palm had been blistered and red—almost as red as his natural skin color. But the calathas had done its job. All that remained of her wounds were a few tiny bumps and a little patch of flesh that looked pink and slightly raw.
After applying a bit more calathas, Broxen bandaged her palm, able to use a few smaller adhesive bandages instead of a full-hand wrap. “It’ll be healed, soon, kit.”
Ana smiled at him. “Muchas gracias, Mason.”
He couldn’t help but return that smile. “Ah, so you do speak Spanish.”
Her smile only seemed to widen. “Do you?”
Broxen stood upright and closed the first aid kit. “I…understand it. Don’t think it’d sound good coming from me, though.”
“It’s easy. Someone says gracias, and you say con mucho gusto.”
With much pleasure.
Now it was Broxen’s smile that widened. He returned the first aid kit to its place, faced her fully, and said, “Con mucho gusto, Ana.”
“See, you got it. We’ll have to work on your accent a little, but you show promise.”
Laughing, he plucked the loaf of bread off the counter and handed it to her before taking some plates from the cupboard and setting them on the counter next to the toaster.
“Do you have strawberry jam?” she asked while opening the bag.
“I have jelly,” he replied as he opened the fridge.
“What kind?”
“Jelly.” Broxen grabbed the jar from inside the refrigerator and placed it on the counter before grabbing the carton of eggs on the top shelf.
Ana peered closer at the jar and nodded. “Grape. That’ll do.”
Broxen arched a brow at her. “That’ll do?”
She grinned as she put four slices of bread into the toaster. “I approve of your taste.”
He set the eggs on the counter beside the stove and opened the cabinet where he kept his pots and pans. “Because I have grape jelly?”
“Yes. Strawberry’s better, but grape is still good. But the best kind is Mom’s homemade huckleberry jam. We go and pick the berries every year to make it.”
Broxen hummed thoughtfully and dug out one of his frying pans. He’d seen signs in town about huckleberries, and was aware they were popular in the region, but he hadn’t tasted anything made with them yet. “Hopefully I get to try it some time.”
“You can pick them with us next year!”
“Maybe.”
He’d make sure of it. Next year, and the year after that, and the year after that.
He slid open one of the drawers and dug out his spatula. He’d slacked in cooking other things, but breakfast foods, especially eggs, were something simple to make, versatile, and delicious. “How do you like your eggs?”
The toaster popped.
“Scrambled.” Ana carefully plucked the toast out of the toaster one slice at a time to place them delicately atop a plate.
Broxen turned on the burner and set to work. Though it was easy to cook a bunch of scrambled eggs, he was nonetheless grateful for Ana’s help; he hadn’t mastered multitasking in the kitchen, even when all he had to do was turn on the toaster and make sure the eggs didn’t burn.
“Did you like the cookies?” Ana asked a little while later.
Broxen flipped the semi-cooked eggs with the spatula. “Best cookies I ever had.”
“You didn’t want to eat the bear?”
Broxen glanced over his shoulder to see her standing next to the bag with the lone cookie—the bear with its mismatched eyes and friendly grin. “Wanted to, but I couldn’t. I just liked it too much to do that. But now that you’re here, you can have it.”
She looked up at him. “Can we save it for Mom?”
He smiled. “Maybe we can all share it?”
She returned his smile. “Okay.”
Broxen and Ana chatted—mostly Ana—as they cooked. She talked about school, about her best friends, Max and Julie, about unicorns, about her favorite arts and crafts. She spoke easily and openly, as though she and Broxen had spent countless mornings like this, as though he weren’t an omnyrian in disguise who would’ve terrified her had she seen his true appearance.
She spoke to him as though they were already family.
It wasn’t until he’d cracked the last of the eggs into the pan that his bedroom door opened. His heart quickened, and he turned to see Gabriela stepping out of the hallway. She was still wearing his clothing, and her hair was tousled, with strands of it dangling on the sides of her face—just the way he imagined she’d look after being well pleasured. She wasn’t wearing any of the makeup she normally had on