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In the week and a half since Chameleon’s arrival on Earth, Argent hadn’t ever been this crowded. People lined up outside to get a seat at Millie’s Diner, and the bait shop and the antique store were doing a bustling business. Parked cars lined bumper to bumper along Main Street from the highway to the school.
I shouldn’t be here. Kevanne had communicated her wishes, but he couldn’t stay away. He had to see her one more time.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the double doors of the gym—into pandemonium. He’d never seen so many humans congregated in one place. Their jabbering voices melded into an indistinct, cacophonous noise, overwhelming his translator. Screaming children dashed back and forth. People waited in long lines at the half dozen food booths at the front of the gym, while the back two-thirds was taken up by white canopied stalls, laid out in neat rows. On the stage at the far rear, a group of performers played music, singing a ballad about a man who lost his beloved pickup truck and his girl all in the same day.
Cam could empathize with the loss. His heart ached.
Switching the personification had been a wise call. For sure, he would have been recognized from the billboard, and he wished to avoid attracting any attention. He would check on Kevanne, and then he would leave. She would never need to know he’d been here.
Four days had passed since she’d ordered him out of her house. He’d guessed many humans would have difficulty accepting an alien, but he’d hoped Kevanne would be different. He hadn’t intended to ever bother her again, but then, this morning, he’d gone for a ride on the scooter and found himself in Argent.
He started up one aisle, peering left and right and over heads. He spied all manner of handcrafted objects, primitive, yet appealing—baskets woven from grasses and reeds, colorful glazed pottery, paintings of landscapes, botanicals, and animals, hats and scarves knitted from woolen yarns, carved wooden figurines and boxes, metal sculptures, and dried bouquets.
Down the third aisle, he spotted the sign: LAVENDER BLISS FARM. Sucking in air, he halted, and somebody slammed into him from behind. He moved out of the way and crept down the row, ducking into a space between two booths diagonal from her. In a quick perusal of his surroundings, he noted the booth on his left sold wooden toys; the one on the right purveyed fantasy paintings of...outer space, he supposed. It wasn’t any galaxy he recognized. The artist had taken creative license to a whole new level, he noticed before focusing on Kevanne. Her dark hair curled around her beautiful face, lit by a smile as she talked to customers who examined the dried floral arrangements, scented candles, bottles of lotion and vials of oil, metal boxes of tea, and sachets and tiny pillows filled with the blossoms. She looked happy and well.
The last time he’d seen her, he’d scared her. She’d been afraid of him. His heart contracted.
She handed each customer who talked with her or entered her booth one of the little bags. He remembered her filling them in her living room. He could smell the lavender from across the aisle. He would always associate the scent with her.
A customer purchased a vial of oil and a tin of tea. Kevanne swiped the woman’s plastic card through her phone and bagged the purchases. “Thank you. Come visit Lavender Bliss Farm in the summer. The opening date will be posted on my website, which is on the tag.” She held up one of the little lavender bags and dropped it into the sack.
“Will do. I love lavender. I find it very calming.” The woman left, and two other women in the booth followed her out. “Thank you for stopping by,” Kevanne said. “Here—have a free sachet.”
She rolled her shoulders and then scanned the crowd, smiling and saying hello to people as they passed by. Her gaze skipped over him then skidded back.
She doesn’t know it’s me. She can’t—unless I’ve turned blue.
Quickly he checked himself and let out a sigh of relief. Still good. When he looked up, another customer had entered the booth, striking up a conversation while sniffing the oils and lotions.
She’s fine. She’s happy. She’s well.
He was miserable. He could temporarily alter his appearance, but he couldn’t change what he was: Xeno. Not of her world, not long to remain in her world since they’d gotten a strong lead on fixing the Castaway.
Kevanne and the customer chatted about lavender. This was a good time to leave.
He stepped into the aisle and strode away.
* * * *
Sales had been steady all morning, although they couldn’t compare to the vendor’s across the aisle. His realistic paintings of the Milky Way had been flying off the metal grid wall of his booth. Of all the stalls in the building, why did she have to be located by him? His artwork of outer space reminded her of Cam. She wondered if one of the planets depicted was the one he’d come from. She was appalled at how she’d reacted. He’d never, ever given her reason to fear he would harm her in any way, and yet she’d freaked out and hurt his feelings. Four days had passed since she’d ordered him out of her house without his clothes, without payment for the work he’d done for her.
She had no way to reach him to apologize. He didn’t have a phone—at least he’d never given her a number.
Every time she drove by the billboard, it was like a dagger through her heart. After the spring fling, she intended to look for his ship, certain now the meteorite had been his spacecraft.
A tingling between her shoulder blades gave her the uncomfortable sense she was being watched. Flexing her shoulders, she scanned the crowd, her gaze skipping over the Milky Way booth then darting back to the tall blond man standing next to it. Something about his posture, the way he held his head reminded her of Cam, but he didn’t look at all like the billboard model.
What if it is him? Cam can change his form. What if he came to see me? Her heart raced. I should go over there. Talk to him. Find out.
What if it’s not him?
What if it is? What if he came, but he’s afraid to talk to me after all the horrible things I said?
She was forestalled from making a decision when a customer entered her booth. “Do you make all your own oils and lotions?”
Kevanne forced a friendly smile. “Yes, I do. I grow my own lavender, too. I own Lavender Bliss Farm outside of Argent. Here, try a sample.” She turned her back to the aisle and showed the woman the lotion tester.
The woman applied lotion to her hand and sniffed. “Ooh! This is nice.”
But after sampling everything in the booth, she left without buying anything, and when Kevanne turned around, the blond man had disappeared.
The man wasn’t Cam. He reminded her of him—and he shouldn’t. He looked nothing like him.
Except for the similar height. How many men in Argent were that tall?
None.
However, the spring fling had drawn crowds from Coeur d’Alene and Spokane. There were plenty of tall men around today.
It wasn’t Cam. Couldn’t be. After the way she’d treated him, he’d never want to see her again. If he’d taken the trouble to come to the spring fling, he would have spoken to her.
I should make sure.
I can’t leave my booth unattended. And it’s not him. It would be pointless and embarrassing to accost a stranger.
She grabbed her cash box from under the counter and dove into the throng.
“Excuse me, excuse me! Sorry!” Keeping the blond head in sight, she wove through the people.
She caught up with the man and grabbed his arm. “Cam! Cam, wait!”
“Excuse me?” He turned around. The eyes, the chin, the nose, the mouth were all wrong. Not only was he not Cam, he wasn’t the man who’d been standing across the aisle!
She dropped her hand. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were somebody...I knew. Sorry.” She fled back to her booth.
Two women were sampling lotions. Kevanne sniffed back tears and forced herself to greet the customers. “Hello! Welcome to Lavender Bliss Farm.” I lost him. Again.
