Taken by the Alien Next Door (Aliens Among Us #1) - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,110

Selling homemade items at that event had been as firmly ingrained a tradition for the Mathews women as Thanksgiving turkey and presents on Christmas morning.

As always, those thoughts of Nan were bittersweet. Nan had loved the farmer’s market—not just for selling her creations, but because there was so much to see, taste, and buy.

Tabitha reached for one of the little poly bags, but her hand stilled atop the pile. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out quickly, wrestling back her sorrow.

She’d missed the Harvest Fair that had happened a few months after Nan’s death. The thought of going without her had been too much; Tabitha’s pain had been too raw, the hole in her heart had been as vast as the Grand Canyon.

The fair had been strange the following year. Tabitha’s booth just hadn’t felt the same; the fair itself hadn’t felt the same. Of course, Tabitha had recognized that she was what had changed. All the people, some of whom she’d seen at the fair every year since she was a little girl, had been just as friendly, the food and smells and festivities had been just as wonderful, the fall weather had been just as pleasant.

It was all just missing something without Nan there to enjoy it all with.

But this year was different. She wasn’t going alone, and she was far more excited and eager than she was melancholy. With Zevris alongside her, selling his woodwork, everything would be great, and she’d get to have the added enjoyment of introducing a newbie to the farmer’s market.

Four weeks…

She’d lived with Zevris for nearly a month now, and already couldn’t dream of life without him. It seemed unreal. They’d filled that time with so much, had created so many amazing memories. How could she not be eager to create a lifetime’s worth of memories beyond those?

They’d gone out several times for breakfast, lunch, and dinner at various restaurants in and around Portland. They’d gone hiking, had strolled through parks, had walked Dexter along the Willamette, had visited local sights and had braved a few tourist traps. They’d even gone to see a couple movies in the theater and had spent one evening watching a hilarious mystery rom-com play.

She’d enjoyed every outing with Zevris, especially those during which they’d just…spent time together. As much as she loved sharing those experiences with him, they didn’t need movies or shows for entertainment, didn’t need food to converse over in order to enjoy one another’s company. Simply being with him and talking to him was a joy; everything else was a delicious bonus.

She finally plucked up one of the little bags, sandwiched a bar of soap between the ingredients card and a business card with her logo and information on it, and slipped the soap into the bag. She’d packaged thousands of soaps like this over the years, and now that she was moving, her hands did the work automatically. What was that called? Muscle memory?

I have a few muscles that are aching with the memory of Zevris…

Heat flared low in Tabitha’s belly, and she pressed her lips together. She had work to do. She was not going to walk out into the garage to jump her man’s bones.

At least not right this second.

As she continued bagging soap bars, her eyes flicked toward her computer desk in the corner. She smiled to herself. Sitting prominently atop the desk was the wooden keepsake box with alien symbols carved on the lid, the very one she’d examined when Zevris had first taken her into his workshop.

The heat in her belly shifted up into her chest, and her heart melted a little more. He’d gifted her the box this morning, and it would’ve been a wonderful gift on its own, but there’d been more to it. When she’d lifted the lid, she’d discovered that it wasn’t empty.

Zevris had placed an eclectic collection of items inside the box, each of which pertained to something they’d done together. There was a napkin emblazoned with the logo of the restaurant he’d taken her to on their first date, a ticket stub from the first movie they’d seen together in the theater, a tiny twig from the stickwork sculptures they’d visited in Orenco Woods Nature Park. He’d put in the teeniest, most perfect little pinecone she’d ever seen from a hike they’d taken in the Tillamook State Forest. There was also a bookmark from Powell’s Books, her favorite bookstore in Portland; she still felt bad for him having