An Alien For Valentine's Day

Chapter 1

Mia

The bass from next door's speakers thumps through my bathroom wall, making the mirror vibrate ever so slightly. I lean closer, dabbing concealer under my eyes.

"You look fine," I mutter to my reflection. "Just go out there and... mingle."

The word tastes wrong in my mouth. I drop the concealer into my makeup bag and grip the edges of the sink. Through the wall, laughter mingles with the music – actual, genuine laughter, not the forced kind I write into my romance scenes when I need a transition.

"Your roots aren't showing that badly." I twist my head, examining my hair. "Though maybe I should touch them up first..."

I trail off, realizing I'm talking to myself again. A bad habit for a writer who spends too much time alone with fictional characters. My hand hovers over my mascara, but I pull back. What if it rains? The forecast didn't mention anything, but summer storms pop up all the time. I'd look like a raccoon. Better skip it.

The bathroom window faces the party. Through the frosted glass, shadows move across my neighbor's backyard. More laughter. Someone calls out about bringing more ice.

I smooth my shirt – the third one I've tried on – and catch my own gaze in the mirror. "You're stalling."

My reflection doesn't argue. It just stares back, wearing the same expression of mild panic I've perfected over years of avoiding social situations.

The music changes again. This time it's slower, more acoustic. Perfect for mingling, for casual conversation, for not making a fool of myself. Yet here I am, still rooted to my bathroom tiles.

"One more minute," I promise myself, reaching for my lip gloss. "Just to make sure everything's perfect."

A knock echoes through my house, but I pretend not to hear it. The thumping grows more insistent, followed by familiar voices.

"Mia Donovan, open this door right now!" Lily's voice carries through the wood. "We know you're in there!"

"Your car's in the driveway!" Hannah adds, her tone gentler but no less determined.

I press my forehead against the cool bathroom mirror. Maybe if I stay quiet long enough, they'll—

"I will use the spare key," Lily threatens. "Don't think I won't."

With a groan, I trudge to the front door and crack it open. Hannah and Lily burst in, a whirlwind of perfume and party clothes.

"You're not even dressed!" Hannah circles me, eyeing my casual outfit with dismay. "The party starts in fifteen minutes!"

"I am dressed," I protest, plucking at my sweater. "And I was thinking maybe I could skip—"

"Skip your own book release party?" Lily plants her hands on her hips. "The one your neighbors are throwing specifically for you?"

"It's not really mine. Mrs. Peterson just likes throwing parties and—"

"And chose your book hitting the bestseller list as the perfect excuse," Hannah finishes. She's already heading toward my bedroom. "Where's that green dress we bought last month?"

"I was saving it for—"

"Tonight," Lily cuts in. "You're saving it for tonight. Your characters wouldn't hide in their bathroom."

"Actually, in chapter twelve, Sophie literally—"

"Real life, Mia." Hannah emerges with the dress. "Real life requires real courage. And real clothes."

"But what if—"

"What if you actually enjoy yourself?" Lily steers me toward the bedroom. "What if certain neighbors who've been stealing glances at you finally strike up a conversation?"

My cheeks heat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." Hannah dangles the dress in front of me. "Now, are you going to change willingly, or do we need to stage an intervention?"

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in Mrs. Peterson's backyard, clutching a glass of white wine like it's a life preserver. The green dress hugs my curves in ways my sweaters never do, making me feel exposed yet somehow powerful.

"See? The world didn't end," Lily says, appearing at my elbow. "And you've managed to avoid hiding behind any potted plants."

"Give me time." I take a sip of wine. "The night's still young."

Hannah materializes on my other side. "Mrs. Peterson's been telling everyone about your book. I think she's your biggest fan."

Sure enough, my elderly neighbor's voice carries across the yard: "—and the scene where Charlotte realizes Richard has been protecting her all along? I cried for hours!"

"Oh god." I duck my head, but can't help smiling. "She's going to scare everyone away."

"Actually..." Lily nudges me. "People seem pretty interested. That guy from the bank hasn't stopped asking questions about your writing process."

The wine's warmth spreads through my veins, or maybe it's the way conversations buzz around me, punctuated by genuine laughter and curiosity. No one's pointing or whispering. No one's judging my dress or my hair or the way I sometimes stumble over words.

"This isn't terrible," I admit.

"High praise indeed." Hannah snags a passing appetizer. "Try these stuffed mushrooms. They're amazing."

I pop one in my mouth, and the flavors dance on my tongue. "Okay, these are definitely going in my next book. My hero's going to cook these for the heroine."

"Already working?" Lily grins. "See what happens when you leave your writing cave? Inspiration everywhere."

The fairy lights strung across the yard cast a gentle glow, and the summer breeze carries the scent of jasmine. Maybe my friends are right. Maybe real life isn't so scary after all.

"Fine," I say, finishing my wine. "You can say 'I told you so.'"

"We would never," Hannah says, but her eyes sparkle. "Now, let's get you another drink. The night's just getting started."

Hannah's elbow digs into my ribs. "Oh my god, look who just showed up."

I follow her gaze across Mrs. Peterson's yard, and my stomach does a backflip.

Ethan stands by the refreshment table, wearing a navy button-down that makes his shoulders look even broader than usual. He's rolling up his sleeves, exposing his forearms, and I have to look away before my imagination runs wild with that image.

"Wave to him!" Lily raises her hand. "Hey, Ethan!"

Hannah joins in, and I want to melt into the grass. He turns, and that crooked smile of his lights up his whole face. He waves back, but his eyes... his eyes lock onto mine, unwavering.

"Did you see that?" Hannah whispers, not really whispering at all.

"See what?" I take a long sip of wine, trying to hide my burning cheeks.

"He's still looking at you," Lily says. "He hasn't even blinked."

"He's probably wondering why I'm wearing this dress instead of my usual writing cave attire."

"Or he's wondering how you'd look out of it," Lily mutters.

I choke on my wine. "Lily!"

"What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking." She plucks my empty glass from my hand. "Time for a refill. And by refill, I mean time for you to go talk to him."

"I can't just—"

"Yes, you can." Hannah gives me a gentle push. "You're a bestselling author now. Channel your inner heroine."

"My heroines are fictional."

"And yet they're braver than you're being right now." Lily blocks my retreat. "Go. Talk. To. Him."

"But what would I even say?"

"How about 'hi'?" Hannah suggests. "That's traditionally how conversations start."

They're both staring at me with that determined look I know too well. There's no escape. I smooth my dress, touch my hair, and take a deep breath.

"Fine. But if this goes horribly wrong, you're both buying me ice cream for a month."

"Deal." They say in unison, already steering me toward the refreshment table.