Alien in the House

surreptitiously look up and keep an eye out for snipers on roofs, potentially carrying blowguns armed with tiny, killer darts. After I tripped three times, had to stop that.
    The third trip meant that Jeff took me away from Nathalie, under the quite accurate assessment that someone needed to keep me from falling flat on my face, and he was probably the best person to do that.
    Which was fine, because I not only got to walk with my husband, but I got to walk with my husband while he was wearing the trench and fedora. “I love this look.”
    Jeff shook his head with a laugh. “Whatever makes you happy, baby, I’m all for.”
    Jeff taking me away from Nathalie also mixed up who was walking where. So Brewer had gone up with Len, presumably because he knew where we were going, Vance was in the rear, talking with Kyle, and Reader was walking ahead of us with Nathalie. They were chatting up a storm.
    Could understand why the Brewers wanted to walk—the place we were going to wasn’t that far away from where we’d been. There was a little row of cute restaurants near the Capitol South Metro station. Brewer led us into one.
    “The Teetotaler? Really?”
    Nathalie heard me and laughed. “It’s new,” she said as we went in. “The owners started it after they found out that there was a whole new group of people on Earth who couldn’t drink. It’s an alcohol-free restaurant, and it specializes in a wide variety of teas, as well.”
    “Plus the owners like golf,” Brewer added. “So it’s a joke on at least three levels. Oh, and don’t worry, gentlemen—they serve food that can handle male appetites here, not just dainty sandwiches for the girls.”
    “Thank God, because after spending a half an hour upstairs, I’m hungry.” Well, I was hungry from the searching. And I figured everyone would appreciate my not actually sharing that I’d supposedly been throwing up, the other patrons and the restaurant’s owners for certain. “But how did you guys find this?”
    Brewer shrugged. “Despite owning one of the most successful wineries in Northern California, we don’t drink with every meal, and we enjoy finding new restaurants first.”
    This didn’t surprise me all that much. What did surprise me was that Reader sat next to Nathalie and they were still in animated conversation.
    We were early for lunch, which was good, because a table for eight in here filled up a good third of the restaurant. The owners were beside themselves with excitement to be serving their first A-C in the form of Jeff. Apparently no one had told them that the majority of A-Cs ate at their Base commissaries or at home. Then again, they hadn’t asked, either.
    Jeff was good-naturedly embarrassed by all the fuss, but thankfully we liked tea so there was happiness all around. The owners, Rosemarie and Douglas, asked if they could take a picture for their wall. Jeff shot me the “help me” look. I took off his hat and fixed his hair. Hey, I was a good wife that way.
    Picture taken and Jeff thoroughly embarrassed, we ordered. While waiting for our orders and enjoying the tea, I finally had to ask. “James, I didn’t know you and Nathalie knew each other.”
    He grinned. “We do, but from way back.”
    Nathalie nodded. “We modeled together, oh, years ago now. In Milan and Paris.”
    “And other places,” Reader added, which sent the two of them into gales of laughter.
    They were both former international models, so this didn’t surprise me all that much. What did was that Reader had never mentioned it. “Why didn’t you say something? Before today, I mean?”
    Reader shrugged. “We haven’t seen each other in years. And I didn’t make the connection.”
    “I did, the moment I saw James last night,” Nathalie said. “But then he’s still as beautiful today as he was when we were teenagers. Possibly more beautiful. However, last night was not a good time to renew an old acquaintance.”
    This earned her the cover boy grin. “Nathalie still looks as gorgeous as ever, but I knew her by her maiden name.”
    “No, no,” she said with another laugh. “You knew me by my
working
name. Kitty and everyone else here know me by Gagnon-Brewer, but my working name was Nathalie Belle. I don’t share that with many people here.”
    “I knew you were a model.”
    “Yes, but you didn’t need to know more.” She looked down at her tea. “It’s not as if I was going to drag you to my home and make you look at my portfolio,” she