Page 4 of Rooting for Kiran (The Mate-Cute #1)

THEA

I don’t understand. It’s only been five days since we visited the greenhouse and created our Galentine’s bouquets, and every single one of those cut-up flowers is doing way better than the Talahecksiya I purchased. The poor thing is literally dying before my very eyes.

Reviewing the tag’s information again, I tick through the list of daily care requirements:

Give one tablespoon of water

Sprinkle a dash of pepper across the soil

Stroke the branch

That last one is the one I struggle with most. I mean, honestly…if I didn’t live alone, I could just imagine what it’d look like for a roommate to come into my room and catch me giving my new plant a handy. What is this even supposed to do?

The greenhouse wouldn’t have printed this as a joke, right? Is it really possible for alien plants to require such… intimate care?

My hand pulls down on the green penis branch, rubbing across the soft bumps covering its skin. It’s soft, yet textured in a way I can’t quite put my finger on.

Well, my finger is on it, but that’s not the point.

I pull my phone from the pocket of my jeans and dial Wren. She answers on the first ring.

“Hey, girl! What’s up?”

I glance over at the plant again. “Do you think alien plants can get sick?”

A beat of silence passes on the line before Wren finally answers. “What do you mean?”

“This plant,” I start. “It’s going pale along the edges. I think it’s dying.”

“Well, you did mention that Kiran told you the plant might not do as well because you broke off its willy.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Its willy ?”

She chuckles. “Yeah. That’s what you get for castrating the poor thing. Are you going to call the greenhouse?”

“Actually, I might just take it there. Hopefully, they can doctor it up.”

Wren whistles. “Oooooo! I think you just wanna see that hot alien again. Oh, Kiran, fix my penis plant! And while you’re at it, show me your p —”

Click .

Nope. No way. Not happening.

Wren is out of her damn mind if she thinks I would ever say something like that to the hot greenhouse owner from another planet.

And yes, I’ll admit Kiran’s hot, sure. But between working way past closing hours most nights, taking care of a house on my own, and just barely making time for my own family and friends, I have way too much going on in my life to think about a man, let alone an alien one. I can barely handle a plant.

Besides not currently being on the hunt for companionship, I refuse to rely on a man to support me. I’m completely capable of taking the trash out on my own, replacing the air filter when needed, and tending to the yard… So what would I even need one around for?

Cēd is bustling for a Thursday morning. Thankfully, I have time to stop by on my way to work since it’s my later morning and the sales meeting I have has been pushed back to ten.

Squeezing through some of the customers, I all but fight my way to the counter, taking my place in line to wait my turn.

“Thea?” someone calls from behind me.

I spin around, puffing out a breath at the sight that greets me.

It’s Kiran. All probably seven feet of him, clad in form-fitting khakis and a black henley that really accentuates the sagey hue of his skin while it sticks to every inch of his fit torso.

Even the longer section of hair atop his head is smoothed over with something that makes it stick down as much as his shirt.

Wait. Is that? No. It couldn’t be water, could it?

My eyes dart to the floor quickly and back up, and it takes everything in me not to sigh, because I’ll be damned…

The man is wet. Like, he got soaked somehow, judging by the puddle of water gathering at his feet. And when I say it looks like he just walked out of a magazine shoot, I fucking mean it. There’s a big chance the world’s Sexiest Man Alive is right here in Michigan. Hurry! Someone call the press!

“Oh, hi,” I sputter, waving my pinky, because I fear if I remove one whole hand, I’ll send Willy—who I so aptly named after my conversation with Wren this morning—tumbling to the ground.

I move to take a step toward him, but he holds up a finger, silently asking me to wait, so I do. And boy, am I glad I did.

Kiran shakes his head with just enough force that droplets of water soar and fall from the damp strands of hair. And once that part is done, it only gets better.

Next, he whips off the long-sleeved shirt, revealing a white tank that barely contains his filled-out chest, and puts his large, veiny arms on display. One of them has a full sleeve of what seems to be lines of vines covered in thorns. Very fitting for a greenhouse owner.

Rolling the shirt in his hands, he wrings out as much of the water as he can before pulling it back on. I inwardly sigh.

Who said the show had to end?