Page 113 of Commander’s Mate

“Then tonight you are Harper who delivers messages badly enough to damage trash receptacles.”

“I hit one trash can.”

“And I am Zared who cannot judge distances between roofs.”

“Exactly.”

He inclined his head solemnly.

“Good night, Harper of the damaged trash receptacle.”

I threw a pillow at him.

He caught it.

For the first time since I was taken, I went back to sleep smiling.

Chapter Nineteen

Harper

Zared did not know how to make grilled cheese.

This was not surprising.

What surprised me was how personally he took the failure.

“The bread is burned.”

“Yes.”

“The center is cold.”

“Yes.”

“That should not be possible.”

“Welcome to cooking.”

He stared at the pan as if it had betrayed command.

I leaned against the counter.

The tiny galley attached to his quarters had been designed for heating military meals, not recreating suburban America with alien ingredients.

The bread was not bread.

The cheese was definitely not cheese.

The butter-equivalent smelled faintly like nuts and threatened to catch fire if I looked away.

I had decided this was a good idea anyway.

Why?

Because nothing was exploding.

No one was crying.