Psy (Alien Castaways #3) - Cara Bristol Page 0,3

charged inside the store.

That she couldn’t talk stunned him for a moment, but he quickly recovered, realizing it didn’t matter. Then she’d shown him the pre-written message, and he wrestled with disappointment, wishing the note had been written for him alone.

The question still needed to be answered. Cassie waited, an attractive blush creeping up to her hairline.

“I liked what you did with the display,” he said, struggling to make sense of his riotous feelings. He’d just met this woman.

She flipped to another preprinted message. Can I help you find something? Are you shopping for something specific?

“No.” He found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words. His gaze scrambled across the window display before landing on a wood and glass object. “What is this? What does it do?”

An hourglass. Not a long response but one written just for him. The energy drawing him to her coiled tighter, tugging him closer. She upended the hourglass, and the grains in the top chamber trickled into the lower one. When all the sand falls to the bottom, an hour has passed.

Was Earth that primitive? “People use it to tell time?”

She shook her head. Just for show. Her pen paused on the page, and then she wrote, You’re not an Argent resident.

“Not originally, but I am now.” He rented a farmhouse with three of the five ’Topian castaways. “I arrived with some friends a few months ago.”

That was a short, euphemistic way of saying they were refugees who’d fled their home world, which had been destroyed by the Xeno Consortium. Their ship, the Castaway, had been damaged during the escape, resulting in a crash landing on Earth. With no place else to go and their lives in danger if the consortium found them, they’d voted to remain. The Intergalactic Dating Agency had granted them asylum and provided them with new identities.

I haven’t seen you before. She was opening up, conversing with him. His heart leapt.

“I don’t come to town much.” His ’Topian brothers, Chameleon and Wingman, had raved about Millie’s Diner, but he’d never been there. This morning he’d decided to give it a try. He’d hidden the hover scooter in the bushes near the school and walked to Main Street.

I’m new, too, she wrote.

“How long have you lived in Argent?” He was eager to learn everything about her.

Three months.

“What brought you here?”

My mother! Her lips quirked, and he smiled back. We’re from Boise. She got a job in Cd’A.

Located a dozen miles south on Highway 95, Coeur d’Alene was the most populous city in the Idaho panhandle. Psy avoided the town since he’d been arrested there once.

The bell jangled, and a couple entered the store. She excused herself with a gesture and hurried to greet the customers, showing them a page from her notebook.

“We were in the other day and saw a hall tree. We came by to take another look,” the woman said. “We’ll let you know if we need help.”

Cassie smiled and nodded.

“Everything okay out there?” The boss poked out her head.

Cassie flashed a thumbs-up.

“Okay. Yell, if you need—you know what I mean!” She ducked inside.

Cassie chuckled, her tinkling laugh light and bright.

If she could produce sound, why couldn’t she speak?

She shifted from foot to foot, her gaze darting at her cart and then at him.

“You need to get to work,” he guessed. “Can I talk to you while you work?”

She nodded and held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. She dashed into the back room.

“He’s handsome. I think he likes you!” he overheard the older woman say.

He’s being nice. Cassie’s broadcasted thought drifted into his head. He immediately threw up a barricade, although he wished to know more. Did she like him? Or was she just being nice?

Her face pink, Cassie wheeled out a loaded second cart. The boss lady followed and set a tall urn on a table with spindly legs.

The couple approached them. “The oak hall tree in the corner—is that your best price?” the man asked.

“I got this. Go talk to your man friend,” boss lady said.

Cassie ducked her head, pushed the cart toward a long sideboard, and began to rearrange the display.

“Should I push this one over there, too?” He gestured to the other cart.

She nodded and placed a lacquered box between two candlesticks on the sideboard. He moved the cart over to her, leaned in, and said in a low voice, “She’s not wrong.”

Cassie peered up at him, her brow arching with a question.

“I do like you,” he said. “Maybe when you’re not working,