Page 24 of Star-Born Anomaly
“I cannot agree to that,” he finally said.
Her fingers flexed. “Why not?”
“I have already agreed not to lie.”
A strangled noise emerged from her throat, her heart leaping at his words.
“Then I guess I have time to convince you to leave without me.” She wouldn’t go anywhere with him. Not in a million years.
She thought he would say he couldn’t agree again, but he nodded once. “Agreed. You may try to convince me.”
Even though it seemed irrational, those words relaxed her shoulders and lowered her heart rate. Wynn stared at him, waiting. She didn’t know why, maybe for some sign he would go back on his word, but he didn’t move.
The longer they stared at each other, the more the tension eased from her spine.
“All right,” she said aloud. “Okay.”
She swallowed, making the final decision to trust him at his word, though she might be a fool to do so, and gave him her back to face the kitchen.
The need to do something skittered through her arms and legs. Lifting her shaky hand, she touched the closures of her UV-suit, unfastening the front, then pulled the neck over her head and back to shimmy out. She slipped out of the boots, then gathered the bulky material, tossing it on the counter. It would be fine there for now.
Her gaze went to the dispensary on the left. She wasn’t hungry, even though she hadn’t eaten anything yet this morning.Tea.
Ignoring the man whose gaze burned into her spine, she skirted the counter and stopped in front of the dispensary. “Cup of water, hot, teabag number seventy-six on the side.”
A beat of time passed, then the dispensary door opened, shoving the steaming cup on a saucer, the bundle of tea sitting beside it.
Movement rustled behind her, and she tensed. She turned her head and saw him stop at the entrance to the kitchen, but he advanced no farther.
Tossing him a scowl, she grabbed the saucer and headed out of the kitchen, cut across the living room, right past his glasses on the floor, then through the short hallway to the entrance of the greenhouse.
The doors slid open with awhoosh, and the scent of green and dirt washed over her. She aimed for where she’d finished last night, four partial pots of dirt, the germination chamber sitting beside them, its hard silver exterior glinting from the strips of lighting from above.
She probably shouldn’t even be in here because of the chance the glass might crack due to the extreme weather. But if transparent aluminum could withstand conditions in space, then it should withstand this storm.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself as she refocused on her plants. If she didn’t have them to take away that itchy sensation, then she’d fall back on her other source of comfort.
Her hand reflexively went to the scars hidden beneath her shirt, her hand cupping her forearm. She curled her fingers inward, then forced herself to release the pinching sensation.
Not now. Not today.She focused on the germination chamber and opened it up with a swipe of her thumb. The seal released, and the lid popped open, revealing the rows of preserved seeds inside.
She lifted the first transparent packet and separated four seeds to plant in the waiting pots. Fertilized dirt stuck to her fingers as she pushed them into the loose soil. Even if the seeds out in the field didn’t live through the storm, at least she had this—months,years, of work she and Foster had accomplished together.
The itchy sensation returned on the heels of thoughts of her friend. Wynn tapped the surface of the counter, found a spaceball game to listen to as she worked, then centered her gaze on the next seed, the next pot.
With all four planted, she set them in their spots on the rotating shelves, pressed the control on the terminal beside her, and they rose in the air, presenting a new row empty of pots.
The door to the greenhouse slid open with a hiss, and Wynn tensed. She didn’t look toward the entrance as soft footfalls headed her way, but focused on retrieving empty pots and a container of soil from beneath the counter.
They clunked onto the work surface a little too hard. She winced, then took a sip of her tea. The heat was perfect, sending a little pain across her tongue, but not enough to scald. Setting the cup back on its saucer, she unstacked the pots until she had six.
The announcers’ voices fell into the background as those footsteps came closer. Her heart pounded louder and louder. Wynn kept her eyes on her hands, on the dirt, on the seeds, and didn’t look until a pair of boots stopped right beside her.
Her fingers stilled, bits of dirt falling to the work surface. She tipped her chin and scanned upward, along the path of his black-clad legs, past his waist and chest, to his face. She expected him to be looking at her, but he stared at the worktable with a furrowed brow. At first she thought he was staring at the spaceball game, but then she followed his line of sight to her tea.
Wynn pursed her lips. Had he never seen tea before? Why wouldn’t he have? What did Calypsons eat, anyway?
Annoyance followed in the wake of her thoughts. She didn’t want to be curious about him. She didn’t want him here, period, but that didn’t make her mind any less inquisitive. Her fingers itched for a scanner, to run it over his body to see if his insides looked as human as his outsides.
