Parts 1-3

Clare stretched out an arm and banged the alarm, hard. Yawning, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Thursday. Good. Clare liked Thursdays. Nothing mindblowing ever happened on Thursdays, and they were followed by Fridays.

She pulled on her running gear, followed by her lightest cycling clothing – she was meeting Steph, Rina, and Fiona at the training facility for a good solid run. She had her work clothes (jeans, sneakers, and polo) and shower supplies stashed in her locker already, so after gulping down a quick cup of coffee while standing at the kitchen sink, she banged out the door, fired up the bike, and zipped out of the neighborhood..

Clare had gotten the bike the previous spring. It was as much of a whim for her as anything ever was, meaning not much. But it had become her favorite means of commuting to and from work, and she rode it rather than drive whenever she had the opportunity.

Now she steered it into the parking lot of the Johnson Space Center Athletic Complex and came to a halt next to Fiona, who was sitting on the hood of her truck. Clare killed the engine and dropped the kickstand, greeting her colleague as she climbed off.

“You do realize,” Fiona remarked, sliding to the ground, “that every guy here just drools when you come roaring up on that thing?”

Clare pulled off her helmet and set it carefully on the seat. “It’s the bike,” she replied. “They’re all married, and their wives won’t let them have one, so they romanticize mine. She’s the ultimate can’t-have bitch.”

Fiona laughed. “Right. You keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better.”

She continued stripping off the light armored motorcycle pants and vest. “How far does anyone feel like going today?” she asked.

“Well, I’ll match you as far as you want to go,” was Fiona’s response. “I can’t speak for Rina, but I can almost guarantee you that Steph won’t be good for shit. I saw her leave last night with Jay, dressed to the nines. Dollars to doughnuts she hasn’t had any sleep.”

Clare rolled her eyes. “Jesus. Doesn’t she know better? I mean, she at least shouldn’t be parading around like that with him here. She’s the one who gets in trouble – technically, she’s his superior in the Navy.”

“It was late; I was only here because I’d been swimming and had to go back to my office to get something,” Fiona clarified. “I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who saw, and I sure as hell am not telling. That’s their problem, as far as I’m concerned.”

The object of their discussion pulled into the parking lot at that moment. Indeed, Stephanie did have some dark circles under her eyes, but she also had an ear-to-ear grin. “Morning, everybody. Did we all sleep well?”

“Obviously you didn’t,” Fiona took the opportunity to aim a friendly barb in Stephanie’s direction.

“On the contrary,” Stephanie retorted. “There’s nothing like sleep after a good night of hot sex, sorry, Clare.” Clare’s response was to give her office mate the finger. “I didn’t sleep MUCH, true, but I feel wonderful. You should try it sometime.” She began stretching her calves. “God, but he’s amazing. Goes all night, no Viagra needed.”

“Is this what I have to look forward to when I get old?” Clare couldn’t resist returning the jab. “Endless horniness and one-night stands?”

Steph winked at her. “Who says it’s one night? You’re wasting your youth, my dear. You could have anyone you wanted here. Except, of course, Jay. For now anyway, he’s mine.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about, Steph, “ Clare replied as she spotted Rina’s Volkswagen driving in to the lot. “Not my sort, I’m not his, and besides, he’s a colleague. A great friend, yes, but you know my policy.” None of the assembled women was aware of Clare’s brief affair with the subject of their conversation. It had been very short - a couple of months at most – and Clare though of it as a “recovery affair” after her last relationship, which had ended violently and had left Clare somewhat shaken. She and Jay burned out quickly with no hard feelings on either side; on the contrary, it had been something of a bonding experience as far as Clare was concerned. They were close friends now. The affair wasn’t something she felt compelled to share with anyone, though she suspected Jay had let it slip amongst the men.

The chatter and gossip ceased and the four of them set off on their run. Amazingly, no one dropped off. Stephanie, contrary to Fiona’s prediction, stayed with them for what they later determined to be a solid nine miles.

Stephanie brought the conversation back round to Clare’s dating life as the three remaining runners strolled around the track to cool off. “Seriously, Clare, I can understand you not wanting to date people you see every day. But I just don’t get it. If I had your looks and your age going for me. . .”

“That’s because you’re a complete horndog, Steph,” Clare kidded. “Just kidding. You know it isn’t as if I NEVER date. It’s just not a high priority right now.”

“Yeah, and I don’t get it. I don’t mean that it should be your TOP priority, but really. You have a lot going for you.”

“Well, Stephanie,” Rina interjected, “perhaps Clare feels life is just fine regardless of whether or not she is involved in a relationship. That is not meant as a slam, please understand. Only that Clare is not you, perhaps she is not so horny all of the time.” Slang pronounced in Rina’s careful, Indian-accented English always amused everyone, and the group snickered. Rina merely rolled her eyes – she knew she’d made her point.

Clare shot Rina a grateful look. “Thank you. That’s exactly how I feel. Sure, it would be nice to not have to dig up a date every time there’s some function or other. But I’m not unhappy. Not at all,” The quartet turned left towards the athletic building now and Clare jumped in to change the subject.

“Hey, I heard a rumor that they’re looking at delaying launch again for Mike C’s crew. Something to do with the cooling systems? “ When in doubt, talk about work. Mission delays were always a safe topic, since they affected everyone to some degree.

After showering and dressing Clare hopped back on the bike – the only time she would dare ride sans gear, though she did wear the helmet – and rode across the Johnson campus to the building that housed her office. Currently she was assigned to a subsection of the NASA team who were working on the next phase of manned spaceflight, called Constellation. It was why she had been chosen, despite her age. The idea was that she would work actively on the design while accruing mission time, applying what she learned from her experience in space to the design process. Clare took the goal one step further – she intended to fly in what she was helping to design.

At 30, she was among the youngest in the astronaut corps, certainly the youngest to have actual mission experience. That alone was enough that she’d been a bit of a curiosity for a while. Add that to her single status and staunch refusals to date anyone whose paychecks also bore a NASA signature and the result was that she had some sort of inexplicable (to her, anyway) air of mystery to many of her colleagues. But she also had a reputation as a hard worker, quick thinking and a top-notch team player. With few exceptions, she got along well with everyone.

Her degrees were in Fluid Dynamics and Aerospace Engineering, and her earlier work experience with Boeing. Among her other technical duties, she was working with the team responsible for designing the orbital maneuvering systems for the crew capsule, which wouldn’t see any kind of testing for at least another three years; an actual mission for the Constellation program was at least five years out. But she enjoyed that part of her responsibility almost as much as her work as a mission specialist.

She especially liked the team she worked with currently. They were all men and initially hadn’t known what to make of her assignation. There was one other astronaut on the design team, a veteran named Steve Reddick, who had openly challenged her for a few weeks. But she’d earned his respect, not only by the quality of her work, but also by her ability to take a joke, laugh at it. . .and then give as good as she got. Everyone got along, for the most part; there was the occasional turf squabble but it was a well-matched group of individuals.

She greeted them in the kitchen – it was the standard morning routine to have a cup of coffee together and just banter. Then she grabbed a few spec sheets from her workstation and turned to go back to her office for a while; much of what she needed to address could be accomplished from there just as easily.

Stephanie was already seated at her desk in the small office the two of them shared, talking on the phone. She waved to Clare, and kept talking as Clare dumped briefcase and bike gear in a heap behind her desk.

Clare had an odd relationship with her office mate. As coworkers, they got on quite well professionally. Stephanie was a good twelve years older, married, with two kids. She had one mission under her belt, as did Clare, which was fairly standard for astonauts with their respective experience. Clare had already been named to another crew, however, for a mission scheduled five months upcoming, and Stephanie was jealous. She tried to hide it, but her attitude had cooled noticeably.

Clare was also just a little uncomfortable with being privy to all details of Steph’s vigorous extra-curricular love life. It didn’t have so much to do with any particular moral standpoint – that issue belonged to those involved, was her opinion – but Stephanie’s husband worked at Launch Control. She didn’t like the idea of possibly getting stuck in the midst of something ugly, by virtue of proximity. And too, Jay Olmsted, the naval commander she was currently fooling with, was a very good friend of Clare’s. She worried that there could be professional repercussions for him, should things take a bad turn. It wasn’t out of the question, as both Steph and Jay were still considered active Navy, and Steph was breaking fraternization rules by sleeping with someone of lower rank. Add to that the fact that adultery was considered a big no by the military. . .Clare at least had the comfort of being a civilian and thus not obligated to report anything.

She logged on to her computer and spent the next two hours sending and answering e-mails. She ate lunch early at her desk, and then spent most of the rest of the afternoon in SCUBA training, required for all spacewalkers. Clare was scheduled, at the moment, to be part of two spacewalk teams to install new solar panels on the international space station.

Like all astronauts, Clare had played it cool when she’d been selected for the mission and then again for spacewalks – these were considered “prime” assignations. Inwardly, however, she’d been thrilled beyond belief and had celebrated that night by getting good and drunk, a rarity for her, with her best friend Elliott. Mission training was gearing up to go full blast. She had already taken steps to hand off parts of her Constellation project to the other engineers to continue development. Within a few weeks, every waking moment would be devoted to preparation.

She showered again after SCUBA, and returned to her office. Stephanie was packing up and preparing to leave, and Clare decided she’d just make a quick run through her e-mails and do the same. She had learned, early on, to take advantage of slower, quieter times around the office.

None of the e-mails was urgent, but she had one from Steve in the hydraulics lab asking for some old information she knew she’d stowed away months earlier two floors down in one of the reference rooms. She checked her files to see if she’d uploaded it before stashing it-she hadn’t. No problem – she decided to go ahead and retrieve it from reference file storage in order to save everyone time the following day. She’d lock it in the office, then leave.

Removing information from the reference room – really just one of a series of big storage closets fitted with modular shelving – was done more or less on the honor system. No one guarded the room. Clare signed in and perused the index cards on the shelving ends, looking for what she needed. Since materials were stored here on such a loose system, finding what you were looking for could be a crapshoot. One person’s Fluid Dynamics was another’s Hydraulics, and so on. Fortunately she remembered dropping off this particular binder and found it with little trouble. She noted on the log that she was removing it on that date, flipped off the light and retraced her steps back to the elevator. Halfway down the hall she changed her mind and reversed direction, deciding to take the stairs rather than wait on the building’s one notoriously slow elevator.

About ten paces from the stairwell door Clare paused- there was a distinctive pounding coming from the stairwell area. Not that it frightened her; it was just odd to have any kind of activity on this particular floor at the end of a day. She listened. There it was again. A banging noise, followed by indecipherable shouting. Clare tucked the binder under her armpit and followed the sounds, which grew louder and more impatient as she approached their source. Possibly, she thought, someone was trapped on the other side of the stairwell door. It had happened.

The noisemaker was in the men’s room nearly opposite the stairs, though. And he was clearly not happy to be there.

WHAM! “Goddammit, is anyone out there? Hello? I’m stuck, the door’s locked, hello?” WHAM! The occupant wasn’t pounding, he was kicking, and the second kick shook the whole frame.

“Jebus, chill out, would you? I’ll see what I can do, if we can’t get the door unlocked then I’ll call someone. Who’s there?”
Clare grasped the door handle and gave it a sharp twist. It wouldn’t budge. She rattled it a few times, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.

“No good. The door’s locked tight.” The man on the other side lowered his voice now that he knew he’d gotten a response. “I don’t know why it did this from the inside, but I have GOT to get out of here. I have somewhere to be.”
He gave the door another solid kick, this time dislodging some dust from the top of the frame.

Annoyed, Clare rapped sharply on the wood. “Knock it off, goddammit! We’ll get you out of here. How’d you get stuck in here anyway? No one’s ever on this floor – it’s mostly storage. Are you even supposed to be over here? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

Exasperated sigh from the trapped man. “Look, I got lost, okay? And I needed a bathroom. I didn’t know the goddam door would lock me in. Are you going to help me get out of here or just interrogate me?”

The guy’s attitude was too much. Clare went from intrigued to mildly annoyed to officially pissed off in a matter of seconds; she suspected the trapped man wasn’t even supposed to be where he was. “If you don’t” – she lowered her voice – “calm down, act civilly, and stop behaving as if I personally locked you in there, then yes, I will just fuck off home and pretend I never saw you. I might, around nine or ten tonight, remember that there was someone stuck in a bathroom and call security”-

“No!” Now the man’s voice became a plea. “Look, I’m sorry, just very, very, anxious. My name is Neil, I was on a group tour, I got lost, and I really, really do have to be somewhere soon. Please, help me get out of here. I’m sorry I snapped at you. This is just stressing me some. I’m sorry. Don’t leave me in here, please.”

Clare calmed a bit. She could see his point; getting locked in a bathroom would frustrate just about anyone. “Okay, Neil. Apology accepted. Now. I am going to go upstairs to my office and get some tools. Sit tight. We’re either going to remove the lock, or take the door off the hinges. I’ll be up and back as fast as I can, it’s two floors. I’ll over look the fact that you are, apparently , one of those nosy tourists. Can you manage a few without taking the building apart?”

“I think I can do that.” There was still a trace of irritation in Neil’s tone, but he did sound contrite. “Thanks for helping.”

She bolted up the steps to her office and rummaged around on the floor for her tool bag. Shit. It had to be here – or had she left it in her locker in the training facility? Just as she was considering tempting fate by borrowing Stephanie’s tools, Clare unearthed hers beneath a discarded dry-erase board. She sorted through them, grabbed what she knew she’d need and what she thought she might possibly need, and ran back downstairs.

“Hey,” she called out, letting him know she’d returned. “All right. I have tools. One way or another, we’ll free you.”

“You’re back.” Neil actually sounded surprised.

“You thought I really was going to leave you here?” Clare fitted a short Phillips head tip on the end of her cordless screwdriver and gave it a spin.

“I didn’t know. You sounded mad.” He was still stressed, she could tell, but he also sounded contrite. “I’m sorry, again.”

“Well, okay. I’m dying to know how you got separated from a tourist group two floors and about a half-block away, though,” she told him, her voice dry but devoid of accusation. “Now, I’m going to start peeling the screws out of the hinges, starting at the bottom. When I get near the top I’ll need you to hold the door so it stays level. I don’t want it falling on either of us or tearing the jamb apart.”

“Am I going to be in trouble for messing with government property.?” Poor guy. He actually sounded worried.

“You could be, I guess. If I chose to hand you over. Right now the worst you can expect is maybe a parking ticket because you are here past regular hours without a parking sticker. Keep being nice, and it stays that way. Now hush, and let me start here.”

Neil said nothing as Clare began backing the screws out of the hinges. It was easier said than done, however, as the door probably hadn’t been touched since the building was erected in the 1960’s. Still, her screwdriver had been developed for use in space and with a little pressure Clare managed to work them free.

“Okay,” she told Neil ,who had remained silent through the entire operation. “One hinge left. The top one. I need you to lean hard against the door, and push up so that it stays level. Tell me when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” he said presently. “Ready when you are.” Clare removed the last four screws, and came face to face with the man she’d just freed from a men’s room.

Or rather, she came face-to-chest. He was tall, over six feet, and looked to be somewhere in his late thirties, with short dark hair and startlingly green eyes. As Clare raised her head and took a step back so she could see him, he blushed furiously.

“Thanks,” he stammered, looking nervous. “I’m really, really sorry. Thank you.”

Clare folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “You’re welcome. Relax. I’m not going to turn you in. I will, however, walk you out. How on earth did you get in here?”

Neil turned an even darker shade of red. “I really was with a tour group. I uh, wandered off. Being nosy. I admit it.” He swallowed hard, then peered at Clare’s shirt, which had the NASA gold astronaut wings embroidered on it. “Hey. You’re one of the astronauts.” Now he looked impressed.

“I am.” She realized she hadn’t introduced herself, and put her hand out. “Well, Mr. Neil Canada, I’m Clare. Shall we go?”

He took her hand lightly, seeming a bit less flustered now. “I um, guess so. Wow. You’re really an astronaut? And how did you know I’m Canadian?”

“Oh please.” Clare retrieved her hand, but not before noticing that his long fingers bore a few callouses. “That accent’s a dead giveaway. I worked with some CSA crew for a bit, and we have them rotating in here all the time. Let’s go; I thought you said you had somewhere to be?”

“I do, yes.” But the man hesitated before following her. “Is there perhaps a phone I can use? I have a cell,” he added, apologetically, “ but it doesn’t appear to work very well here. I need to let my band- my colleagues know I’m running late.”

Clare laughed. “Yeh, welcome to Johnson Space Center. Home of the most advanced technology around, but just TRY to get a clean cell transmission. I don’t even carry mine on me. If I’m not in my office, I’m not reachable. You can use my office phone. I need to put these tools away anyhow and I might as well just leave with you.” She looked up at him again. “What brings you to Houston in August anyway, Mr. Canadian Neil-guy?” Jesus, Clare, what on earth has you so gabby? she wondered to herself. It was true. The man from the bathroom seemed to have prompted an urge to chatter endlessly. Well, he seemed so uncomfortable and awkward, she told herself. It just seemed to be the nice thing to try to put him at ease.

Neil cleared his throat. “Work, actually. I’m here until Saturday night. I’ve been to Houston before, but never to Johnson. How long have you been an astronaut?” In an effort to avoid anything with a door that might lock, Clare had taken the lead back to the elevator, and now they waited, and waited.

“Five years,” Clare answered. “One mission, but” –

Neil interrupted. “You’re scheduled for the upcoming December mission, as the lead Mission Specialist. With two spacewalks scheduled to make some repairs to the ISS solar arrays,” he finished, and grinned at her.

“Oh God,” Clare exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “Shit! I should have known.” “You’re a contractor. Or a salesman, sneaking around. Christ, you guys stop at nothing, do you? You know you’re supposed to have an appointment and check in over at procurement, and have an escort.” She stared fiercely at Neil, who looked, if anything, completely bewildered at her accusations. “In fact, you look sort of familiar, I’ve seen you around here somewhere before. . “ The elevator finally reached them and she shoved her way past him.

“No, Clare, no, I’m sorry, it’s nothing like that.” Neil protested. He looked for all the world as though he wished he could redo the entire afternoon. “No. Please listen. I know this whole thing is rather odd. . .”

“ ‘Rather’ odd? I’d say completely fucking odd, pal, sneaking into the Admin building.” Clare punched the button for her floor with several more foot-pounds of force than necessary. “Didn’t you know astronauts don’t make any decisions anyway?”

“No, yes, what I’m trying to tell, you, Clare” – now Neil sounded mildly exasperated – “is that I am not a salesman. Or affiliated in any way with astronauts, or space shuttles, or space in general, other than that I occupy some of it. I just find the program fascinating, and I looked up the website last night since I knew I would be coming here, is all.” He stopped. Sighed.

“If you must know I’m a musician. I’m here for concerts at MinuteMaid park tomorrow and Saturday nights. Where I am supposed to be half an hour ago is at the park, for a soundcheck and short rehearsal. That’s why I need to use your phone, because at this moment I am undoubtedly being cursed up, down, and sideways by my bandmates and the rest of the crew for being late.”

The elevator stopped, doors opened, and Clare, chastened, put her hand on the door to keep it from closing again and tried to apologize. “Shit, I’m sorry. Really, I am. Forgive me. We’ve always and forever got salespeople trying to sneak around and bug everyone. Or find out what their competition is up to. Seriously. I wasn’t expecting you to know who I am. It’s just been a weird experience, is all.” She looked him in the eyes, noticing again how intensely green they were. There was something oddly familiar about him, she was certain of that.

Neil touched her shoulder very, very lightly as he followed her off the elevator and down the hallway. “No. I screwed up royally. Don’t apologize. You’ve been great. “ He lifted his hand as they came to a stop at the office doorway, and she could still feel his touch.

“Phone’s there.” Clare pointed to her desk. “Sorry about the mess.” She didn’t know why she felt compelled to apologize for her sloppiness.

“Nice.” Neil made no move for the phone, just looked around.

“Yeah.” Clare couldn’t help smiling. “We like to call this style of décor, “Modern Institutional.” And he laughed then, a low, warm, sound that prompted a laugh from herself. To cover her sudden awkwardness, Clare moved around behind him and gathered her cycling gear off of the floor. “Don’t mind me. I’m just going to dress for the ride home while you make your call.”

Neil stll held the receiver in one hand. “Ride? As in motorcycle?” He looked fascinated.

Clare grinned at him. “Yep. I do. Not long, but I promised myself when I got the bike six months ago that I’d never go without all the gear. Houston drivers are assholes. Do you ride?”

“No.” Neil shook his head. “I’d kind of like to, but I’m not sure if I could learn.”

“You can.” Clare zipped her leathers up her left leg. “Your body learns. Seriously, take a course.”

“I might do that,” Neil replied. There was a moment of uncomfortable, charged silence between them, and then Neil seemed to remember why he was up here. He dialled the phone. “Michael, yeah, it’s me. No, I’m fine, don’t sound the alarm. Traffic issue” – he colored slightly at the lie, and Clare raised one eyebrow and gave him a look of mock admonishment. To her surprise, he smiled, and in fact almost laughed – “no, it’s going to be a little while. Yes, look, can you get me Larry? I really do apologize” He waited, then apparently the Larry person he wanted came on the line. Another long apology, with a fake explanation. “No, no. I don’t expect anyone to hang around late on my account. Yeah, I screwed up. Sorry. Yes, I’ll see everyone later. Yes, I know how to get back and where to go.” He hung up then. “Well, shit. I’ve blown it. They finished already. . .”

“Rush!” Clare blurted out, then clenched her jaw in embarrassment as she watched the color drain from Neil’s face, to be replaced with a look of resignation. She remembered why he looked familiar. “Er, you’re in them. In it. A band member. Something like that. There’s, there’s posters in some of the offices. Lots of guys are fans. Popular around these parts. That’s where I recognize you.”

Now Neil definitely looked uncomfortable. “Only fair, I suppose, since I “made” you. Yes. You are correct. I am in Rush. Drums, to be precise.” Then he gave her a mildly sardonic smile, which reached his eyes. “I gather,” he said a little drily, “you aren’t a fan?”

“Oh no, it isn’t that.” Clare didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “I like the music, they play it quite a bit. I don’t follow the band or anything, but I don’t follow anything much. That’s why I didn’t recognize you.” She stopped then as a realization dawned suddenly on her. “You like that I didn’t recognize you, don’t you?”

Neil shrugged a little, but the corners of his mouth were upturned just a bit. “Well, on the one hand, the plus would have been that you probably wouldn’t have cussed me out for being where I wasn’t supposed to be. The downside is that maybe everyone would have found out that I was locked in a men’s bathroom. There’s more than a degree of ignominy in that, don’t you think? But to give a succinct answer to your question, yes, it’s nice to not be recognized and be treated. . .differently. Even though you swore at me and threatened to leave me there.” He tipped his head slightly, still smiling. There was a spark in his eye that made her legs feel a little funny.

“I understand what you’re saying. But better that than a women’s bathroom,” she pointed out.

“Quite so, now that you mention it,” Neil agreed, and laughed.

Clare was fully geared up now for the ride home; she picked up her helmet. “So. Uhm, do you know how to get back? Do you need me to lead you where you’re going?” Funny, she thought, but she realized she really was not ready to say goodbye and send him on his way. As strange and awkward as the afternoon had been, she felt a keen urge to just stand here and keep talking.

“Well, actually, if I could follow, that’d be ideal. But,” Neil hesitated for a moment, then blushed faintly and said, “would it be asking too much for you to let me call you later? Maybe get together? I have free time over the next couple of days. That sounds so lame,” he added, “but would that be okay?”

Now it was Clare who felt awkward. “Sure,” she said, not a little startled. She rummaged around for some scrap paper, on which she scribbled her two contact numbers. “Office and home,” she indicated. “No cell – I just don’t use it much. For reasons stated earlier.”

Neil took the piece of paper and folded it carefully into his wallet, not bothering to conceal his pleasure at Clare’s response. “Wow,” he said, nearly beaming, “thanks. Yeah, I dunno, there’s something. . . Thanks. Now I don’t want to hold you up. . .”

They walked out of the building together, but Neil was unable to remember where in relation to the Administration building he’d left his rental car. “Shit,” he said aloud, “I have, apparently, no sense of direction. Pardon my French,” he apologized, glancing at her.

She grinned. “Sounded like good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon to me,” she replied, wiping sweat off of her brow. “Look, we could be searching all night. And it’s hot. Let’s you hop on the bike behind me and we’ll drive around. “ Neil agreed without hesitation and climbed on the Ninja behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Despite the heat, Clare shivered a little, feeling that same frisson she’d had earlier when he’d touched her shoulder. She masked it with a shouted warning to “hang on” , throttled the bike, and took off across the Johnson parking maze. Neil gave a stifled shout of surprise and delight, then she heard – and felt, since his chest was pressed against her back - him laugh. He had a nice laugh, she thought. Deep and resonant and spontaneous.

She kept the speed down, aware that her passenger didn’t have a helmet. After a couple of false identifications, they found the rental car parked in front of the main building, in one of the reserved visitor spaces. It had a ticket on the windshield. Clare pulled up next to it, feeling again that weird mixture of relief – on Neil’s behalf – and disappointment – hers.

Neil dismounted. “Wow, too bad we found the car so quickly,” he said. “That was fun.”

Clare, too, gott off the bike, leaving it idling. She flipped her visor up and reached around Neil to retrieve the ticket. “I’ll get rid of this,” she told him. “No big deal, just overstaying parking. You still want to follow me? ‘Cause I need to know where we’re going.”

Neil gave a slight sigh coupled with a look of . . .resignation? Reluctance to leave? “It’s the Westin. The one right next to the stadium. You’re sure you don’t mind this?”

“No, I really don’t. It’s fine, “ Clare reassured him. “I’ll get you to the exit, at least; it’s easy-peasy from there.” She paused, then added, “Look. It’s been a really,um, interesting afternoon, to say the least. But I can’t say it was awful. Most of it. So. . .drive safe. . .”

Neil finished the sentence by putting his arms around her in a gentle hug, which was slightly clumsy thanks to the helmet. Clare froze, startled, for a moment, then returned the gesture. He felt good, she thought, wondering why this surprised her.

“I don’t regret it at all,” Neil was saying. “Except for the embarrassment aspect. I’m sorry I was such a jerk. Thank you. And I will call.” He let his arms drop. Their eyes met, and Clare dropped her visor quickly, hoping he hadn’t seen her blush.

She waited for him to get the car started before giving the bike some throttle. He stayed behind her, but not following too closely, and she kept an eye on him in her mirror. At the exit to the stadium, she lifted a hand from the grips and waved and saw Neil do the same with an arm out the window. Well, that’s that, she thought, then gunned the bike and took a longer route than usual back home. He wouldn’t call, she knew. Not that he wasn’t genuinely grateful to her, or that he hadn’t been maybe flirting a little. It was just that the timing and circumstances were far too strange. The hug had been nice, though.

It was entirely unlike any Thursday she could remember.


The voice of Leroy Cain, the Flight Operations Director, buzzed in her ear like a fly outside a window – distant and droning. Clare and the rest of the STS-124 astronauts and support crew had been stuck in the auditorium for most of the morning, getting various briefings on changes and status of variables affecting their flight. These meetings weren’t unusual, and they were necessary. Mark Kozersky, the Commander, was still developing the flight plan, and everything had to be taken into account. But it was almost lunch time, and everyone was getting restless.

Except Clare. She’d been in a half-fog since waving goodbye to Neil the Canadian drummer for Rush (she had realized she’d never gotten his last name and made a mental note to look it up. No way was she asking anyone she worked with. They’d have the answer, but they would want to know why she was asking. Clare was good at keeping secrets but terrible at telling lies).

Manny Ceriso, another MS from her class assigned to her crew, poked her in the ribs with his pen, and Clare jumped. “Crew announcements today. Outpost after work?” he whispered. Clare nodded absently. The now-storied Outpost was the traditional gathering spot for celebrations whenever new crew assignments were made.

Manny gave her a strange look. He’d expected more of a reaction from her, obviously, but Clare was definitely preoccupied. No, Neil hadn’t called her, but she hadn’t expected him to. And she wasn’t exactly obsessing over him, but the encounter had definitely sparked something in her. She felt oddly detached from things, but still somehow alert and hyper-aware.

Which was a good thing, because Mark had just turned in his seat to ask her a question. Clare removed her pen from her mouth and gave a detailed but concise explanation of her opinion regarding the procedure under discussion. So she wasn’t utterly useless. Just. . .pre-occupied.

Finally, the meeting broke up after another hour and the participants charged out of the auditorium in search of food. Clare had brought her own – some protein powder and a few bars to choose from – but she wasn’t hungry. No surprise there, given her current frame of mind. Still, she was scheduled to finish the day on SCUBA so eating really wasn’t optional – the exercise took a lot out of a person. With that in mind she headed for the small kitchen near her office.

“Whoa, shit!” Arms flailed and Clare teetered off balance, having narrowly missed a collision with Fiona. “Sorry ‘bout that,” she apologized.

Fiona let go of the door jamb, which she’d grabbed in order to remain on her feet. “No problem, it’s okay. Just slow down.” She peered at Clare a little more closely. “Lefty, are you okay? You’ve seemed, I don’t know, out of it all morning.”

“I’m fine,” Clare reassured her friend. “Just a few things on my mind, is all.”

“Lemme guess,” Fiona said. “Guy trouble.” She was kidding, but Clare’s expression must have given something away, because her mouth opened wide in amazement. “Oh my God, it IS man-related! Shit, I was just kidding.”

“No, really, it’s not anything like that,” Clare protested. “Well, okay, yes, I did meet someone interesting, but that’s all there is to it. Promise. And that’s all there WILL be to it. It was just. . .interesting.” She shrugged.

Fiona leaned against the wall, all ears. “Sorry, Lefty, can’t help it. The look on your face says more. No worries, I’m not going to be like Stephanie and pester you about it, but I can’t help but be curious. So there’s no date or anything? Obviously he made some kind of impression on you. Feel free to tell me to shut my trap or mind my own business.”

“There’s no business to mind,” Clare said plainly. “Yeah, he got my number, no, I don’t expect he’ll call. He doesn’t live here. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“What happened, exactly? Doesn’t live here?”

“Really, nothing,” Clare said, a little reluctantly. “I just happened to help him out with something, and he was nice, is all. Nothing earth-shattering.”

Fiona got the hint. “Right. I won’t bother you about it. But you might want to try to snap out of this fuzz around your office-mate. I love her, you know that, but Steph will hammer it to death. She’s like a bloodhound when it comes to relationship and dating stuff. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

Clare gave a laugh. “No, you don’t. Although I think she’s so busy getting screwed silly right now that she might not notice anyone else.”

“Don’t count on it. Hey, you hittin’ Outpost later?”

“I’ll be there,” Clare promised. “Do you know anything about the crew announcements?”

“Not a thing,” Fiona replied. “Guess we’ll find out later. See you there. You in SCUBA for the rest of the day?”

“Aye, Captain,” Clare confirmed. “I’m nearly done with all of this prelim stuff; I’ve been trying to time it so I’m fresh, but not too inexperienced, for the main phase.” Most of Clare’s training for the mission, along with Manny and Scott, would take place in the Neutral Buoyancy Lab, where they would be simulating the work to be done on their EVAs. Scott was a veteran spacewalker, with over 100 hours of EVA time. This was Manny’s first mission.

She gulped down her protein shake and munched a handful of crackers for the extra energy boost, and glanced at her watch. Good, she had a half hour or so to drop by her office.

The light was off and Stephanie was nowhere to be seen. As Clare was logging on to her computer, she noticed the “message” light on her phone flashing. Curious, she lifted the receiver, punched in her code, and waited while the electronic voice informed her that she had nine messages. Seven of them turned out to be hang-ups. Exasperated, she considered dropping the receiver back on its cradle prior to the eighth. Instead, she pressed the pound key and was greeted by another few seconds of silence. Just as she was about to dump the non- message and hang up, a male voice filled her ear.

“Hi, um, Clare, it’s Neil.” He sounded very nervous, and Clare realized he’d probably been the one who had hung up the previous seven times. Her heart skipped a beat as he continued. “Anyway, I was wondering, I mean, if you’re free tonight, kinda late, maybe, after the show. I’d like you to actually see the show, but I don’t know if you want to, and maybe tomorrow night would be better.”

Clare felt a smile creep, unbidden, across her face as Neil cleared his throat and continued leaving his message. “So anyway, if you want to call me back, you can, I don’t know what your schedule is so I’m not sure you’ll get this message in time. We have sound check at four-thirty, then the show is at seven-thirty, and I’ll be done around ten-thirty. So it would be late, but I’d like to see you.”

God, he really is nervous as hell, Clare thought, shaking her head in wonder. It was, she also thought, rather endearing.

“Anyway, call me if you want to get a late meal or coffee or just get together, I’m sure Houston has some kind of nightlife. Sorry this message was so long.” Click.

“Shit,” Clare said out loud. “Neil, you didn’t leave a number!” But then the electronic voice was prompting her again, and sure enough, the ninth and final message was Neil leaving his cell number. If he’d been nervous before, now he sounded positively mortified. Clare wrote the number – his cell – on a sticky and slapped it on her monitor.

Okay, she thought. So what now? After ten-thirty was fine as far as she was concerned. She would have liked to go to the concert, but not necessarily by herself. Maybe tomorrow. . .

So what now?

Call him back, she decided. She dialed the number he’d left. Two rings, and then, “Hello?”

“Neil, hi, it’s Clare, I got your message.” Her own heart was hammering away madly now, and she found she was having to be careful to keep her voice calm. “Good timing, because I’m between things right this second. On my way to SCUBA training at two.”

“Good, I’m glad - I didn’t know how much time you spend in your office.” Neil sounded surprised to hear from her, she thought. Partly relieved, in fact. “So I’m kind of sorry about the late hour, but would it work?”

“Absolutely,” Clare told him. “I’m sort of a vampire as far as the hours I like to stay up – bed never before two if I have my way – so yes, that’s fine.”

“Oh, wow, great,” Neil responded. “So, okay, how do you want to do this? Do you want to come to the venue, or meet somewhere? I would love to have you here for the show, but I’m not subjecting you to that if you don’t want to go, plus having to meet everyone. If you want,” he slowed and took a breath – “we’ll see about tomorrow. It’ll be up to you. I’m getting ahead of myself, though. . .”

Clare gave what she hoped was something approximating a reassuring chuckle. “Okay, well, I have a sort of an informal, um, thingy, with a bunch of the guys from work after. It’s no big deal, we’re just going for a few beers and stuff at the local dive. We had some crews announced today for upcoming missions, and it’s sort of a tradition. I won’t be out late; I have the bike for one thing and I’m not comfortable riding in the dark on a weekend. So why don’t you call me at home when you’re done. You can come meet me there, and I’ll drive. Yes, Houston has some nightlife, but it’s a little lower-key out where I live. Better late-night food, for one thing.”

“That works. Well, all right,” he told her. “I’ll call you when we’re on intermission then, give you a little advance notice. Very good. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Clare agreed. She meant it. She was still surprised he’d called her at all. “Yes, please give me a little warning. It’ll give me a chance to take the locks off of all my bathroom doors. . .”

Neil laughed for real now, sounding much more relaxed since Clare had actually called him back. “Oh no. I can already tell I won’t live that down. Does anyone there know? I didn’t have it in me to admit to anyone here why I ran late.”

“Nope,” she reassured Neil. “Not a soul. Secret’s safe with me. Listen, I need to scamper, but I’ll talk to you later?”

“Definitely. I’ll call, probably around nine-ish. Take care and all, and have fun this evening. See you tonight.”

“Bye.” Clare hung up the phone. Now she felt close to bursting with excitement. She was dying to find Fiona and tell her, but a glance at her watch confirmed that there was no time. She needed to be suited and poolside in fifteen minutes which was just barely doable at a dead run. She broke one of her cardinal rules and for the first time ever rode the motorcycle sans gear over to the training facility. On the way to the locker rooms she saw Stephanie and Jay leaving the NBL together –odd, because Stephanie had no upcoming mission – but merely threw them a wave. No time to stop and chat. She made it to the pool with three minutes to spare. Not the ten that the instructor – a retired Marine – preferred, but it would have to do.

Three and a half hours later, she stepped out of the shower and towelled off, then quickly twisted her hair back into its usual braid. The SCUBA had gone well; in fact, Aaron, the instructor, had told her she was ready for the NBL and wouldn’t be needing to schedule any further training. Amazing, she thought, since she’d worried the entire time that she was too excited and distracted over her pending date.

Dressed, but once again gearless except for the helmet, Clare biked back over to Administration to make a last-minute e-mail check and to grab the things she’d be taking home. No more phone messages awaited her, and, thank god, no urgent e-mails. She fired off a quick one to her crew about passing SCUBA training; hopefully she’d be working in the NBL soon.

As she was zipping in to her motorcycle leathers for the one-mile ride to The Outpost, Elliott knocked on her door. “Hello? I’m looking for Dr. Lefebvre, used to work here? She never calls or writes me anymore, so. . .”

“Ells, hi! I know, I suck, I’m sorry,” she apologized to her best friend. She had known Elliott literally since she’d been in utero, and loved him like a brother. They’d been inseparable growing up, even gone to college together, and everyone assumed they’d marry eventually. Except that Elliott was gay. NASA knew, overlooked it, and after getting to know the quiet, thoughtful Elliott, most of the astronauts never gave it another thought. Even the military guys were, for the most part, at least cordial to him. He had yet to be assigned to a crew, though, and Clare suspected there was an ugly truth behind this. If Elliott thought the same, though, he never let on.

“Forgiven, if you’re going to The Outpost now.”

“I am, in fact. For a little while. So what’s doing? Come on.” Clare picked up her briefcase in one hand, helmet in the other. “Walk out with me.”

“I have news,” Elliott informed her as she locked the office door and they strolled off down the hall. His face was beaming. “Care to guess what it is?”

Clare had a pretty good idea, just judging from Elliott’s expression, but she kidded around a little anyway. “You found the perfect shoes to go with that Prada evening gown you got on sale?”

“Hag,” Elliott said. It was a game they played.

“Bitch.” Clare countered.

“Whore.”

“Ass bandit.”

“Gutter slut.” It was a new one.

“You win. Okay, spill it, what’s the news?”

“Well, of course I wanted my best friend in the world, even though she’s apparently been too busy for me, to know first. . .That. I. Elliott Gatewood. Am. “ He turned to face her, walking backwards. “Assigned to a fucking crew!” He gave an exultant yell, and Clare joined him.

“Oh my God, Els, it’s about goddam time! When? Which mission? Who else?” she demanded. “Shit, I wish we could work a mission together!”

“130,” Elliott answered, still beaming. “In eighteen months. The longest year and a half of my life. Fergie’s CDR, and he specifically requested me as MS. He came to tell me personally too.”

Clare hugged her friend, overcome with happiness for him. “Elliott, I am so happy for you!’’ She dropped her belongings and gave her friend an enormous hug.

“Thanks. I knew you would be,” Elliott returned the hug. “So how’s about you and I go grab a movie, hit the town after The Outpost? It’s been forever since we just hung out. Shit, I’d even be fine with just getting stinking drunk and hanging around the pool at your place.”

Clare felt her heart sink – Elliott was right. “Aw shit, Elliott, I would love to. And we will, but”-

He interrupted her with an exaggerated sigh. “But you have some kind of five-hundred mile run scheduled early tomorrow. Or you’re cleaning the pool tiles individually. C’mon, Clare”-

“Elliott, no, it isn’t that,” Clare protested. “Look, we will, but tonight I” –

“Oh sweet Mother of God. You have a date, don’t you?” Elliott knew her well, no doubt about it. He stepped back and peered into her face, and Clare knew any pretense was useless. “You do. Oh my god, two miracles in one day! I get assigned to a crew and Clare has a date!”

“Ells, chill,” Clare said. “Okay, look, yes, I have a date, okay? “

“No, it isn’t okay,” her friend insisted. “Not until I get all of the details. I have to pre-approve, you know.” He winked at her. “Dirt, baby girl,” Elliott demanded. “Now.”

Clare sighed. There would be no putting Elliott off. On the plus side, she could trust him absolutely to keep it under his hat. And it would be nice to share her excitement with someone. “All right. Keep walking, I’ll tell you. I know, of course, that you’ll keep it quiet.”

She skipped over the part about how exactly she had met Neil, and decided also to leave out the particulars of his occupation. That he was the well-known drummer of a band revered by seemingly everyone at NASA could possibly be information that even Elliott might not be able to keep to himself. Which reminded her – she’d forgotten to look up Neil’s last name.

“So basically you’re just hooking up with some tourist?” Elliott was puzzled. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it, I guess. It just seems odd for you, Miss Finicky”-

“No, it’s hard to explain,” Clare tried. “Look, I don’t know what to say, exactly, but there’s more to it than that. I can tell you more later, if anything comes of it. Even if anything doesn’t, I’ll give you the whole story. Promise.”

Elliott was persistent. “It’s someone famous, isn’t it.”

“Elliott, please. Just let it go, maybe help me pick out what to wear tonight, and I WILL tell you everything.” Thank god, they had reached the parking lot and Clare stood, hand on bike. “I’ll see you there?” She was hot in her leathers and wanted to get moving.

Elliott kissed her cheek. “Fair enough. We’ll talk later. See you in a few.”

The Outpost Bar and Grill, located a little over a mile from the Johnson complex, was busy, but surprisingly not packed. Usually crew announcements were a big gathering point – it was a time-honored tradition for most of the astronaut corps to gather at a bar and congratulate the lucky astronauts who had been assigned to upcoming missions. There were a number of missing faces on this occasion, however.

“Everyone’s gone to that damn concert,” Elliott announced dejectedly as soon as he spotted Clare. “You’d think it was the event of the year, or something.”

“What concert?” Clare asked, innocently, and then nearly bit her tongue as she put two and two together a half-second late.

“Rush, of course,” Fiona had seen Clare come in, and she brought her beer over and joined Elliott and Clare. “I’m going tomorrow night, but there’s a huge contingent there now. They skipped out early to catch soundcheck and everything. Some people are going to both shows.”

“So it’s that big a deal, huh. I didn’t know you were a fan as well.” Clare replied, casually. Elliott was still standing beside her,

“Clare, I can’t believe you’re employed here and you AREN”T a fan,” Fiona countered as she spotted an empty table by the window and claimed it by setting her purse in one of the chairs. “Hell, they’re an institution here. Next time you’re at Kennedy, check the pictures hanging in the Launch Control building. There’s a signed one of the band, all three, they were at the inaugural Columbia launch.” She took a swallow of her drink. “You should go. Even if you aren’t familiar with the music, it’s an amazing show. All three are among the best on their respective instruments. Their drummer is generally considered the best rock drummer ever. He’s incredible to watch.”

Clare felt her heart flutter oddly, and she looked quickly to her left as she sat down, worried that she might be giving herself away. Instead she locked eyes with a rather exuberant-looking Jay Olmsted. It was an opportunity to change the subject. “Hey, Jay, how many crews got named?”

“Three! And I’m CDR on one of them!” He had an ear-to-ear grin as he dropped into the seat next to Clare’s. “Elliott, congratulations. If Ferg hadn’t chosen you I would have. You’ve been kept waiting for too fucking long for the wrong fucking reason. I’m happier for you than for myself.”

“Thanks,” Elliott said, and Clare knew he meant it. Jay was one of the astronauts whose military background had given him cause to object, initially, to Elliott’s being gay. But he had also been open-minded enough to change his opinion after working with and getting to know the guy, and he had been big enough to admit it and apologized for his “ignorant attitude”, as he’d put it. That particular action had in turn helped with a few attitude shifts among the rest of the corps, and for this, and other reasons, Clare counted him among her closest friends.

“Lefty, I’m buying,” he informed her. “What can I get you?”

Clare grinned. “Thanks, Jay, but I can’t stick around too late. And I’m on the bike, so I can’t really drink. But I’m really, really happy for you.” She clicked her water glass against the top of Jay’s beer bottle. “Congratulations.”

“Ohh, mysteries abound.” Rina had arrived, still dressed in her blue flight suit; evidently she’d been to Ellington Field. “Clare, I hear there is a man in your life somewhere.” She accepted a beer from the waiter – Jay had apparently instructed the bar staff to make sure everyone had a drink in hand – and sat.

“Jesus, Ree, where’d you hear that?” Clare turned an accusing stare in Fiona’s direction. “Talk of making a big deal out of nothing.”

Fiona had the good grace to look guilty, at least. “Sorry,” she offered. “But you have no idea how many people were remarking on your, um, strange attitude today. Admit it, you were distracted.”

“I am admitting nothing. God, you people act like I’m some kind of ascetic or misandrist or some sexless cultist or something.” She stared round at her friends. “Okay,” she lowered her voice. “Yes, I do have a date tonight. Yes, it is a first date. No, it is no one any of you know. Yes, if anything works out then you will get to meet him. No, I have no big expectations. He doesn’t even live in this state. Are you all satisfied?”

“Are ya gonna, you know,” Jay made an obscene, grade-school gesture with his hands, “do him?” He cackled wickedly.

“Jay, I,” Clare wanted to reprimand Jay, say something sharp in response, but broke down in a fit of giggles instead and started to choke. That was Jay. She absolutely could not get mad at him. No one could. He pounded her helpfully on the back.

“Oh, come on Clare,” Fiona spoke up. “Yeah, you are catching an unfair amount of shit, I’ll grant you that, but in a way you have to see the point. Someone who looks like you do, who everyone likes, who writes kick-ass personal ads for every single guy here. . .it’s just” –

“Uh-oh. Speaking of doing people.” Rina had been gazing round the bar while listening to the conversation, and now she snapped her head back in their direction. “ Jay, you might wish to make like a fetus and leave.” Before anyone could correct her mixup of the idioms, she pointed discreetly in the direction of the door.

Stephanie was there, and she was angry and talking heatedly to someone. The someone turned out to be her husband, and he had grasped her firmly by the arm. As the small group watched, Mike Miller steered his wife outside, where further shouts were exchanged. Then Stephanie wrenched her arm free and re-entered The Outpost, stopping for a moment to compose herself. Her husband stood outside for a moment, staring in, then turned abruptly on his heel and disappeared across the parking lot.

“It would appear,” Clare said, breakingthe silence at their table, “that Mr. Miller is at least semi-aware of what’s going on. Jay, honestly, you need to rethink this one.”

The Navy test pilot sighed. “You’re right, I know. But there’s a lot more there than you know. She’s lonely, she really is, guys. Cut her a little slack. Yes, she can be a little prickly, I know, but she’s also a lot of fun. Her husband doesn’t do a lot around the home and leaves most of the child-raising to Steph. So really, it’s hard to blame her for wanting to get out and cut loose once in a while. ”

Clare snorted. “Lonely,” she repeated. “Yeah, and you’re her white knight. She has a husband and two kids, J. I don’t guess she got named to a crew?” Clare hoped the opposite was true. It would certainly improve Stephanie’s recent moody attitude.

But Jay shook his head even as he was getting to his feet. “No, and she’s really hurt. I would have picked her, but geez, you know how that would look with all of the rumors and stuff. Plus Emerson’s MS One on this crew – I didn’t have a choice there. They’ve had TA’s together and he says he can’t stand working with her.” He drained his beer. “I need to spend a little time with her. Talk with you guys later.” He leaned over and clapped Elliott on the back – “congrats, man” – and leered jokingly at Clare. “You, I want details tomorrow. Have a good time, though,” he told her, suddenly serious and kind, “and be yourself. He’ll fall head over heels for you. If he doesn’t he’s not worth it.”

“Well thanks, Jay.” Clare was genuinely touched. “I promise, I’ll tell all of you what didn’t happen, Monday at the latest.”

She stood up herself. “And now, I’m gonna go hit the ladies’, and do the rounds on the new crews. . .” She did have to pee, and it was a good excuse to avoid anymore date talk.

It was a fun evening, and Clare was glad she’d attended. The rookies on their first assignments were beaming the entire time – they’d be smiling from now until liftoff. She remembered that feeling; it was one of the best in the world.

At eight o’clock, she returned to her table and began zipping back into her gear. This would give her plenty of time to get home, hopefully take Neil’s call at nine-ish, shower and change, and do a quick pickup of the house. Not that it was terribly messy, but if he were coming to meet her there, she wanted to be sure any and all stray clothing was picked up and that her reeking running shoes were somewhere well out of olfactory range. Before leaving, she scanned the bar for Elliott – she hadn’t been kidding about getting his fashion advice.

Thankfully he was still there. She got his attention and motioned to him. “Hey, I really do need an idea on what to wear. . .”

“Yes, you do.” Elliott, while not in the least bit flamboyant, did possess a few stereotypical gay traits, one of which was clothing sense. He maintained that Clare never made the most of her looks. “You bum around in those t-shirts and denim shorts and sneakers all the time, hair in that damn braid. At least we have you wearing makeup finally” was one of the litanies she’d heard him spout frequently over the years. Her usual response was that it was comfortable, required no thought to assemble, and “Houston is hot, in case you hadn’t noticed. Six pounds of hair hanging down my back isn’t real practical. I dress for the climate, not to impress.”

To which Elliott usually replied, “Well, yes, that’s obvious.”

Now he stood back and scrutinized her, as if he were studying a malfunctioning SSME. “Well, it depends on a lot, missy. Where were the two of you thinking of going?”

“I thought Dailey’s. We aren’t headed out until late, around eleven-ish. And he probably won’t have eaten dinner.” Dailey’s was a 24-hour dim-sum bar in Clare’s coastal neighborhood. It had excellent food, good prices, and was far enough off the beaten path that the two of them would be able to hopefully relax and talk easily.

“Oohhh –kaayyyy,” Elliott mused. “Well, I know better than to think you might have a miniskirt. So. Dailey’s is definitely casual. . .why so late?”

Clare was caught off guard by the question. “Because he has work-related stuff until then, is why. And because I’m here.” Nicely recovered, she thought to herself.

Elliott accepted the answer with a look that clearly said he knew she was withholding information from him, but apparently decided to let it pass. “Well, for starters, no black. It’s too somber on you, and this is supposed to be a casual date. And not white, either, because I know you’ll spill. So wear something colorful. I assume you have some shorts that don’t look like you washed the car with them? Or better, some capris?”

“I have some white capris.”

“Perfect,” Elliott affirmed. “Now, shoes. How tall is this guy?”

“Pretty tall, “ Clare replied. “Over six feet, I’m guessing around six-three, six-four.” Clare herself only made 5’1”, stretching.

“Well, then, you need to wear some heels. Not slut-high. . .”

Clare vetoed him. “No heels. I don’t have any casual ones, for starters. And I wouldn’t be used to walking in them, either. I’m not going to make an ass out of myself staggering around.”

Elliott sighed. “Honestly, Clare, we really need to take you shopping. Okay, some sandals will do. How do your feet look? Pedicure lately?”

“Oh, yeah,” Clare gave a sarcastic laugh. “You know me. Mani-pedi, every weekend without fail. No, Ells, my feet look like. . . feet. Sorry. I have my white Keds, and they’re clean.”

A shake of the head from Elliott. “Keds it is, then. I don’t want to insult you, but I do assume you know that no socks is the rule there?”

She hadn’t, but faked it, grateful for the information, then glanced at her watch. “Shit, I have to go! He’s supposed to call me around nine!” The impromptu consultation had held her up another fifteen minutes. “Last question – hair up or down?”

“Up!” Elliott’s answer surprised her. “Some things you don’t give up right away, missy. When you let that hair fall, it’s going to be a sign of something big happening. So up, up, up. French braid, if you have time, though.”

“Thanks Ells, I love you.” She hugged Elliott again. “Congratulations, and I’ll call you tomorrow!” With that she grabbed her helmet and darted out the door.



For approximately the twentieth time in the past fifteen minutes, Clare put her eye to the burglar peephole, checking the drive for signs of life. There were none, so she stepped into the powder room to evaluate her appearance again.

She’d barely caught Neil’s intermission phone call, thanks to a flipped tractor-trailer that turned her usual twenty minute commute into almost an hour. But she’d made it, and they had solidified the plan for Neil to meet her at the house before they went in search of food. Chinese dim-sum sounded good, he’d told her, then got her address. Rather than risk navigating Houston at night in the rental car, he was having one of the band’s security detail drop him off. How and when he would return to his hotel was something they hadn’t discussed.

Clare studied herself in the full-length mirror on the door. She was wearing a pink-and-white-striped shirt, white cotton capris (she would have preferred jeans, but it was just too warm), and the much-discussed Keds. As per Elliott’s suggestion she had traded in her everyday utilitarian single pigtail for a French braid, and she had to admit it had been worth the extra effort; her face looked softer. As she was debating the merits of applying lipstick, which she hated wearing, there was a tentative knock on the door.

Deep breath. It’s a date, stupid, not a public flogging, she told herself firmly, then quelled the butterflies as best she could. “Hang on,” she called as she undid the series of locks and deadbolts on the front door and tugged it open. “Hey there.” And smiled, her heart suddenly doing gymnastics.

“Hey yourself,” Neil said shyly, then turned and waved off the driver of the car on the street in front of the house. “Sorry I ran a little late.” He was still standing on the porch, and Clare opened the door a little wider to usher him in. He stepped over the threshold into the foyer and gave a quick look round the expanse of her living room, which was lit only by the pool deck lights, before turning his attention back to Clare. “It’s um, really good to see you.” He paused, then bent and gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you agreed to this, I know it’s somewhat unorthodox.”

Clare smiled up at him – god, but he really was tall. “I like unorthodox. And don’t worry about being late. I guess you’re hungry, then? We can get moving if you’re ready; we’re only going about ten minutes from here.”

Neil agreed, and Clare led the way to the garage through the mud room, silently thanking whatever had prompted her, the previous evening, to tackle the enormous mound of laundry residing in the basket atop the washer. She flipped on the garage light and pressed the auto opener, then unlocked the car doors with her key fob.

Neil gave a low, appreciative whistle. “Sweet.”

Clare grinned at him. “Like it?” she asked, popping open the Jaguar coupe’s passenger side door for him. The car did look good; since getting the motorcycle she rarely drove it, so it was clean and there was a minimum of junk on the backseats. She slid into the driver’s seat and pushed the ignition. “I’d always wanted either a 911 or a Jag, and being the sensible engineering sort I am, I naturally picked the car that has a reputation for being a colossal pain in the ass to maintain. It is fun to drive, though,” she admitted.

Neil folded his long frame into the seat next to her. “Love it. I’ve always liked Jaguars, though I never have had one. For some reason,” he added, “I had this picture of us on the bike. Not that I’m disappointed, but it’s just the image I had going. That short jaunt across the parking lot yesterday must have made an impression. It was fun, if brief.” He located his seatbelt and snapped it closed, and Clare backed smoothly out of the drive.

“On the bike? Tonight?” Clare glanced at him and shook her head slightly as she shifted gears. “I don’t really ride much after dark; I’ve only been riding six months, anyway. Plus I’d need an extra helmet for you. I may have one, come to think of it, but I’m not sure it would fit. Were you serious yesterday when you said you were thinking about learning to ride?”

“I was. I just think it’d be fun to have that sort of freedom on the road, with as little machinery as possible between myself and my surroundings. But what’s stopped me is uncertainty regarding my own ability to learn to handle one. I’m not exactly athletically inclined, and there’s definitely a lot to coordinate.”

They were still talking motorcycles when Clare backed the car into a spot along the curb near the restaurant. “Plus I get about seventy miles to the gallon on it, as opposed to the British Behemoth here” – she patted the Jag’s dash – “I swear I only fill the tank about every three weeks. At some point I want to join a group to ride, instead of just tooling back and forth to work, but there’s just no time at the moment. We’re here.” That was quick, she thought. Well, so far, so good on the conversation front.

They started across the street. “This is one of my favorite places in Houston to eat, “ she explained. “It’s twenty-four hour, and I’ve been known to come down here late at night with a book and just snack and read. They stay busy, but never over crowd- SHIT!“ Her left foot buckled as she stepped into the unseen pothole at the sidewalk’s edge, and suddenly the concrete was rushing to meet her.

But Neil was quick; he managed to grab her arm and haul her back upright a split second before her head hit the pavement. “Lass, are you okay?” There was genuine alarm in his voice and, she noted, in his eyes. For some reason this touched her, and she waited a beat before answering. “Um, fine, “ she finally managed. “Dang. I don’t know how I missed that. Thanks for the catch.”

Neil still held her arm, though his grip had loosened. “I’m glad I could. Your foot okay? You didn’t sprain anything?” He really was concerned.

No, I didn’t, she thought, but you can hang onto me, regardless. “Nope, all good,” Clare determined. Then she laughed.

Neil’s expression of concern turned to one of confusion. “What’s funny?”

“See?” Clare pointed out. “You’re worried you’re not coordinated enough to learn to ride a motorcycle. There’s the proof you’re wrong. I learned, and I’m the one who just nearly busted her ass crossing the street. You’re the one who was quick enough to catch me.” She gave him a triumphant grin. “You’re out of arguments.”

“Ah, I see, perhaps you’re right.” Neil’s features relaxed and he gave another one of his warm, deep-voiced laughs. “Or maybe you shouldn’t be riding. . .” His green eyes flickered with amusement. “Or maybe I should shut up before I get myself in trouble. Glad you’re okay. Let’s go in.” And he took her arm again, this time clasping it lightly just above her elbow.

They were seated in a booth near the back and ordered drinks – Clare got diet tonic water, plain for Neil – and she explained how Dailey’s worked. “They’ll roll the cart by and you just kind of wave at them to get them to come over. It seems rude, but that’s how they do it. They’ll answer any questions about any dish. I have no idea how they keep track of the tab, but somehow they manage.” Neil got right into the swing, flagging down the nearest cart-pusher.

Clare took a bite of her spring roll. She was ravenous, she discovered, and no wonder. She hadn’t eaten since before leaving The Outpost, and then she’d only had a few handfulls of pretzels and some fries she’d snagged from Manny. She swallowed, then set the spring roll down. It wouldn’t do to come off right away as a bottomless pit – Neil could find that out later, thank you, she thought. “So, how long have you been touring?”

Neil finished the last bite of his spring roll and gulped the rest of his water, then signalled the waiter for another glass. “Sorry,” he explained. “I’m desperately thirsty after a show; I do drink water when I can during, but it was so hot tonight. To answer your question, this time round it’s been four months almost. We go another two weeks, then a one-week break, then another two months. We have a European leg scheduled, but not until February of next year.” The waiter brought his refill, and Clare asked for a pitcher. “Thanks,” he told her, “good idea.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “I’m ready for a break.”

“I’ll bet,” Clare concurred. “And how often do you do this sort of thing?”

“Tour? Every couple of years, more or less. It just sort of depends on album releases. Fortunately we don’t get held to a strict kind of a timeline on that aspect, so that does remove some of the pressure. Still, it’s what pays the salary, and Rush have it better than most bands. We’ve got great fans, very loyal, and for the most part, they’re pretty respectful. We have security, yes, but we don’t get swarmed, as a rule, by screaming mobs. I haven’t decided, ” he added with a wry smile, “if that’s a sign of respect or an insult.”

“Do you, you know, enjoy it, for lack of a better word?” Clare really was interested; the spring roll lay forgotten, for the moment, on her plate. “And if you don’t want to talk about this, please let me know. I imagine you do enough interviews and such that it gets kind of old.”

Neil flagged down another cart, this one with several varieties of noodle dishes. He chose three, then asked Clare what she wanted. She made her selection as Neil reassured her, “No, really, it’s fine. You’re different.” He took a bite. “This one’s really good, you should have some.” He twirled some onto a fork and offered it to her.

Clare obligingly accepted the offer – it was good. “You’re right. Remind me to grab that guy when he comes by again. How am I different?”

“Because you aren’t asking questions you already know the answers to. Because you seem genuinely interested; you’re not just trying to fill column inches or airtime. Don’t get me wrong. I really, really love what I do. But it’s a job, same as any other job. Touring is fun, at first. It’s fun to try new stuff on the audiences, the travel can be interesting, and yes, there is an ego shot when things go well and you can tell the audience appreciates it. But after a little while, you do start to miss being able to be in charge of your own schedule, sleeping in your own bed instead of on a bus or in a hotel room. Those kinds of things. The so-called glamorous part fades in a hurry.” He drained another glass of water and refilled it. “But lest I seem ungrateful, there is nothing else I’d rather do. I don’t want to focus on the downside. But I think people don’t like for me to even mention that there is a downside; that’s unrealistic.”

“You know,” Clare mused, “I can kind of relate. Not that I’m, you know, famous or anything. But people tend to think astronauts don’t do anything when they aren’t up in space. That we go on a mission, work our asses off for a couple of weeks, and then go home and do nothing for another year or whatever, until the next mission. Maybe make a few public appearances. But yeah, those not in the know think it’s all fun and games.”

“You mean it’s not?” Neil said, pretending to be shocked. “You mean you actually have to work?” He winked at her, and she felt her insides do a dizzy little flip. Don’t do that again, or I’m going to spontaneously combust, she thought.

“Imagine that,” Clare said drily. “The TA’s – that’s “technical assignments”, NASA is all about acronyms – get no press, really, or if they do, it’s the work itself that gets attention, not the people doing it. Which is fine, that doesn’t bother anyone. And unless you spend much time on the NASA website, or are somehow connected with the politicians who decide what gets funded, you don’t hear anything about it. But all of us have TA’s. Most of us have more than one due to budgetary reasons. That’s easily ninety percent of what I get paid to do, and that’s pretty standard for most.”

“And you like that side of it, I guess? For the most part?” Neil had his head cocked to one side, and his expression indicated that he truly was interested. Damn, but he was good-looking. His dark brown hair curled just a little, with a widow’s peak at the front. He was slightly tanned, and the blue shirt he had on contrasted nicely with those green eyes.

“Oh, ah, yes, for the most part.” Clare shook herself from her reverie. “I do. I love the people I work with, and the work is usually challenging and interesting. I’ve managed to get to a point where I’m trusted to make decisions and not be second-and third-guessed at every turn. And of course, there’s space flight. Nothing, but nothing, could compare as far as I’m concerned.

“But yeah, it’s a job. With downsides, as you put it. There are some days that, no matter how much I love it, I would far rather be somewhere else, doing something else.” She shrugged. “But those days are comparatively few, which does tell me I’m in the right career.”

“You get it, then,” Neil looked at her with something almost like wonder. “Wow. That’s precisely how I would describe it. I suppose there are some similarities in what we do. Of course drumming doesn’t carry the risk that spaceflight does.”

“No,” Clare agreed, “but don’t you have all those onstage explosions and stuff. . .”

Hours later, Clare untucked her legs from beneath her and stretched them under the table. There was a sizable pile of serving-sized dishes on the table between herself and Neil, and that wasn’t counting the ones the waitstaff had already carried off. Neil had tried almost everything that had rolled past, and Clare had nearly matched him, drawing the line only at any dish featuring eggs, and, in one instance, some rubbery little objects that they identified as baby squid. “Nope,” she’d said, poking at the fetus-y looking things with a chopstick. “Look, there’s the eyes. You’re made of stronger stuff than I if you can eat that.” But he had, although he confessed afterwards that he’d pass on any further helpings.

He looked relaxed and happy now, sitting across from her and idly twirling a fork between the fingers of his right hand. They’d been talking seemingly nonstop, about their work, travel, other people in the restaurant; they’d even ventured cautiously into the shaky area of politics, though that discussion was confined primarily to a shared disdain for politicians as a species.

One of the waiters stopped by to inquire if they needed anything else or if they wanted the check.

Neil looked questioningly at Clare, leaving the decision to her. “Me, I’m good,” she assured him. “But we can stick around here, or go get coffee or dessert someplace, whatever you want.”

“Coffee? This late?” Neil was incredulous.

Clare looked down at her watch. It was after three in the morning. She laughed. “Guess we need to move on, then? I had no idea,” she added as Neil indicated to the waiter that they were ready for the check. Was it her imagination or did he seem a touch reluctant to do so?

Neil smiled. “Me either. That’s a good thing, by the way.” The check arrived and both of them reached for it. Neil swatted Clare’s hand gently away. “Not a chance, lass. I still owe you for yesterday’s debacle.” He extracted a credit card from his wallet and tucked it inside the folder, then handed it back to the waiter.

“Ah, so that’s what this is,” Clare joked. “Getting even. I see. You’re bribing me to keep the embarrassing truth from surfacing.”

“Not at all, and I am hoping that isn’t your impression,” Neil replied, seriously. “You have no idea” – he stopped, seemingly at a loss for words. Clare was about to prod him to continue, but the waiter returned with the card receipt for him to sign. She craned her head, attempting as discreetly as possible to make out the last name, either on the card itself or the receipt, while Neil figured a tip. But the embossed letters on the card were difficult to determine, and she got no more than a glimpse of the signature on the receipt.

He finished and handed the check back to the waiter, who thanked Neil and left. “Ready, then?” Neil asked, sliding across the vinyl and getting to his feet.

“I am,” Clare scooted out of the booth and they headed for the exit, where Neil held the door for her; he was so tall she was able to walk under his arm without ducking. The night had cooled considerably. In fact, it was almost pleasant, with a slight breeze coming from the bay. “Pothole, watch your step,” Neil announced cheerfully as they stepped off the sidewalk. He’d slowed and shortened his stride to accommodate hers, she noticed.

“Ai, that was almost a wreck, wasn’t it?” she agreed with a laugh. “I’d say we’re even. I freed you from the mens’ room, you rescued me from splitting my skull open. So there.”

“Well, I’d have kept you from that fall even if you hadn’t got me out,” Neil said.”Just so you know.” They reached the other side of the street and Neil stopped suddenly, looking a little uncertain. “Listen, Clare.” He hesitated.

She looked up at him. “Yes?”

“I just want to say that, ah,-“ he was suddenly shy again – “this is the best time I’ve had in ages, since this tour started, really, and I, um, want to thank you for that. I’m glad, really happy, you agreed to come out with me tonight. I just want you to know that.” They were almost directly under a streetlight and Clare saw he was blushing faintly. Again she felt her stomach do that funny little flip.

“Um,” Clare was at a loss for words. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m glad you had a good time, and I did too. So yeah, ah. . .” She winced inwardly, trying to think of how to finish the sentence. But she didn’t need to. Neil put a tentative arm around her shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. It was reassuring and she put her arm round his waist; they resumed the path back to the car, walking much more slowly now.

She freed her arm to search for her keys and wished for once that she didn’t have the remote lock feature. The act of manually unlocking the doors would have presented certain. . .opportunities. Oh yeah, she thought. I want him to kiss me. Nooo question there.

Silently cursing the design team at Jaguar for implementing such a convenient feature, she reached for the handle of her now-unlocked door. So did Neil. Their hands touched, and reflexively Clare looked up to apologize for the clumsiness. Her eyes met his, she opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Neil said nothing either. Instead he put his arms around her and pulled her into a gentle hug. Clare hugged him back, this time without the awkwardness that had been present earlier that night. They stood silently for several long moments, arms wound tightly around each other. And then Neil reached down and cupped her chin lightly in his hand, tilting her head up so she was looking directly into his face.

“Clare,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, “can I kiss you?”

Incapable now of speech, she merely nodded, unable to take her eyes off of him as he leaned towards her. Then his lips touched hers, and the sweet shock almost made her knees buckle. His mouth was warm and soft and sweet, and he lingered just a little before breaking contact. Clare slowly opened her eyes; his expression was so tender and full of awe as he lifted a hand and gently stroked her cheek. “Ach,” he said softly, then kissed her again. This time the kiss was a little longer, a little surer; he brushed her lips lightly with the tip of his tongue before slipping it briefly into her mouth to touch hers. She responded, tasting him, feeling the warmth. She was dimly aware that she was barely breathing, and she felt very slightly dizzy.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for hours now,” Neil told her after the kiss ended. He held her close, and she rested her cheek against his chest, feeling the firm, taut muscle beneath. “It hardly seemed appropriate to just tackle you in the restaurant, though, “ he added with a shaky laugh. Clare could feel his heart pounding; his racing pulse matched hers. She gave a nervous giggle of her own.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you did,” she told him, snuggling a little closer. “You smell good,” she added. It was true. He smelled warm and clean, not of any strong cologne, but slightly spicy. Nice. Feeling a bit bolder now, she stood on her toes and etched a line of kisses up the side of his neck. Neil shivered. “Careful there, lass,” he warned lightly.

“Careful what?” Teasingly.

“Careful this,” Neil murmured, and then his mouth was on hers again. She opened her mouth a bit this time, inviting his tongue, playing lightly, teasing, darting. She finished by tracing his lips with her tongue and heard Neil sigh softly.

“Okay, you,” she said presently, and looked up at him. “I just have to ask.”

Neil kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead. “Ask away.” He was stroking her arm now, soft light strokes from her shoulder to her wrist. It felt nice.

“What exactly were you looking for yesterday when you wandered off from your tour group and snuck into the Admin building?” She stood on her toes again and kissed his chin. “Don’t get me wrong, in light of the current situation I’m glad you did, but really?”

Neil laughed now – she was starting to get just a little hooked on that laugh. “I guess I do owe you a bit of an explanation, yes? Okay, it was my third trip to Johnson. I’ve had the tour twice before. No, don’t worry, I wasn’t stalking astronauts” – Clare giggled again, imagining Neil creeping about the Johnson campus in a mask and cape – “but I was hoping to see something like a simulator, training facilities, stuff like that. You know, the cool stuff,” he finished lamely.

“Ah –haaah! The guy stuff, the gadgets. Makes sense. Well, you were way off course, as you know by now. Wrong building entirely, in fact. But I’m glad you got lost, even though you never got to see the really ‘cool stuff’ ” she assured him.

“Me too,” Neil agreed. “I think I found something better.” He laid his cheek against her hair, still stroking her arm. “Pretty girl, “ he murmured. “So smart, sweet. . .” And his mouth found hers again, exploring, seeking, his lips on hers, tongue playing lightly against her own. Clare responded, flicking her tongue against his teeth, running her hands up his arms to his shoulders, stroking her fingers against the definition of the muscles there. She shuddered.

“Well,” he sighed eventually, “I suppose we need to get going, as it’s now probably something after four. Not that I have any urge whatsoever to tell you goodnight.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Ach, lass,” he sighed again. “You are something else. Can I see you again tomorrow?”

YES! Clare’s heart leapt, but she managed to maintain what was left of her composure. “I think we can do that, yes,” she told him. “Late night again?”

Neil sugared a few soft kisses randomly over her face. “Actually, I was thinking maybe something along the lines of getting together in the afternoon. Since it’s a second show, I don’t need to go to a soundcheck, so I won’t have to be at the stadium till five or six. And honestly. . .” He stopped, looking a little embarrassed. “I’d love for you to see tomorrow night’s show. I think you might like it, unless you absolutely can’t stand loud music, or rock, or well, if you just don’t want to. . .” He looked hopefully at her.

“Neil, I’d love to go. Really. I would. I’m not COMPLETELY unfamiliar with your music, as I told you yesterday. So yes.” She kissed him firmly on the mouth. “Call me tomorrow – not too early, I might add. And now, much as I don’t want to, we should probably get you back to the Westin.”

“I don’t want to go either, but as long as there’s tomorrow.” He gave her one more kiss before moving round to the passenger side of the car and getting in.

Clare started up the car, and the clock confirmed that it was just after four-thirty. “Michael – my security - is going to be not happy, “ Neil remarked. He held up his cell phone. “Sorry, but I have to get a security escort back up to my room, so I need to wake the poor guy up and let him know I’m on the way. Of course, he’s probably awake anyway, and stabbing hatpins into a voodoo version of me for being out so late. You’ll meet Michael tomorrow. He’s a good guy, a friend, and I really do try to not be a pain in the ass.”

“Does he know you were out on a date?” Clare was curious to know how much Neil had told anyone about her.

“Michael does, and he knows it’s with someone from NASA, but no, none of the particulars. I can be a little picky, to put it mildly, about my privacy, and I tend to assume others are the same.”

They merged onto the freeway and Clare shifted smoothly into fourth gear. “I understand. I haven’t told anyone at work, by the way. A few of them knew I had a date, but no details.” She signalled her lane change. “Truthfully, I think it might create something of a stir there if anyone there knew. You guys are pretty popular round those parts. I think half the corps was at tonight’s show, and the other half is going tomorrow. So no, I kept it quiet.”

“I appreciate that,” Neil said, and dialled his phone. Judging from Neil’s side of the short conversation, the man on the other end was both relieved and irritated to hear that his charge was returning in the wee hours of the morning. “I’m sorry,” Neil kept apologizing. “I just lost track of time. No, she’s dropping me off, you don’t have to drive anywhere. Same entrance, yes, I’m sorry. Yes, I owe you a case. In a bit, then.” He clicked his phone shut. “Well, yes, he’s aggravated. I owe him a case of beer,” he told Clare.

Clare snickered. “Sorry, but you sounded like a kid who blew curfew. So I take it I’m not leaving you at the main entrance?”

Neil chuckled. “Curfew, you’re so right. No, there’s a concierge entrance we use. I’ll show you where it is.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re a good sport about this,” he observed.

“Ah, it’s no trouble, none,” she assured him. “I do need my hand back, though, because that’s the exit, and I have to downshift so we don’t stall. . .” Neil released her fingers, but not before planting a lingering kiss on the back of her hand.

She drove around to a secluded area behind the hotel at Neil’s direction, where she saw a male figure standing near the door, obviously waiting for Neil. “Wait,” Neil said suddenly. “Pull around behind that concrete pillar there.” She must have looked confused, because he added, “I want to be able to give you a decent goodnight.”

She did as instructed and put the car in neutral. Neil had already unfastened his seat belt when she turned to face him, and he took her into his arms as best he could, given that the Jag’s console was in the way. She let herself bury her face in his neck for a moment, once again breathing in his warm, sweet scent. And then he was kissing her again, slow, soft, perhaps without the urgent intensity from earlier, but still it was wonderful.

“Well, pretty lass, here we are. Thank you again for a wonderful, wonderful night.” He stroked his fingers gently across her brow. “Goodnight, I will talk to you tomorrow – not too early. Please be careful, hey?”

“I will, promise,” she told him, catching his fingers in hers and kissing them. “Sleep well. And yes, it was a fantastic night. Thanks.” They kissed again, just a brief peck on the lips now, and Neil got out. He gave her a little wave and started for the door. Clare watched for a second, preparing to pull away, and suddenly a thought occurred to her. She rolled her window down and called his name as quietly as she could manage.

Neil stopped and turned, a half-smile on his face, and she motioned him back towards the car. “What, lass?”

Clare looked up into his eyes. Hesitated for just a split second.

“What’s your last name?”