And some Diana:
Inside the House
“It smells good. What do you think that is? Cinnamon?” James asked, following Diana into the warm air surrounding the house. Heat radiated out from the two-story structure, but it wasn’t uncomfortable at all, or even mildly toasty. Diana felt waves of a pleasant, soothing comfort oozing through her bones. The warmth was almost emotional, more than physical.
She kept a close eye on James, and on her own mind, to see if either of them started to exhibit signs of inebriation.
“It feels nice here. Oh, are you going inside?” James asked, trailing after Diana, who was striding over the grass towards the front door.
A long white oval, like a translucent shield of light, opened up in the air just in front of Diana. She stopped walking before she hit up against it, and James stepped up beside her and examined it without saying anything.
Diana glanced at James and saw, to her consternation, that he recognized the oval, though he looked completely unwilling to comment on it. Diana looked at the white oval of light and letters began to appear.
We are taking votes, the oval read. James drew in a sharp breath and Diana shot him a look. His eyes were glued to the translucent shield, and Diana returned her gaze to the letters growing along the white surface.
We are taking votes. Some say you and first boy held more passion. This one a dud?
Oh, crap, Diana thought, her heart pounding. She’d really thought she was rid of Stuart for good. In an effort to get some facsimile of tension building between herself and James, she reached out her nearest hand and hooked two of her fingers around James’ hand.
“Woah, there,” James exclaimed, jumping away from Diana. The words on the oval vanished, replaced by a single word.
The lighted oval blinked out of existence, and Diana looked at James in time to see that he hadn’t read the new message.
“What are you touching me for? We said brother and sister,” James said, looking wildly suspicious.
“Brothers and sisters can hold hands, James,” Diana said, ignoring the thundering clamor in her heart and going up the steps to the house.
So, she told herself, the aliens want flirting. Darn it, Diana thought, and she hid her irritation as she reached for the handle on the front door.
You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my current novel, the hero found some horticultural supplies and created a floral tribute for his lady friend.