Rocket Man

by Melanie Greene

  He shrugged. “May as well. Got a pen?” She handed him one and Dillon leaned over her to make the change. He smelled like coffee, and something fruit-based, too, maybe a citrus scent.

  “And while you’re taking over Margaret’s desk and coffee job, you may as well take over her fridge shelf, too,” Serena said, giving herself a little more personal space by moving to open the refrigerator door. “The stuff in here isn’t communal—nothing else is, really, other than coffee. Not to say you can’t borrow some of my milk until you bring in some of your own. Assuming you can handle my fat-free soy, that is. Some guys balk.”

  “I’m not just any guy.”

  Oh, dear. The charm again. She’d turned down his coffee date, so this had to be just harmless. But it would be fine with Serena if Dillon stopped flirting. Not that he wasn’t cute as all get out, but it wasn’t what she was looking for. Too young, too tall and charming, too much in her daily orbit. She’d fallen for all of that with Joey, and then when it had fallen apart she’d been stuck limping along in the relationship while they figured out how to end it and still deal with living two doors apart.

  She put on her professional, neutral smile. “So that’s the lunchroom. Any questions?”

  “These places nearby?”

  “I think Jay at the front desk keeps the take-out binder up to date, and he has a whole alert system set up for the fancy food trucks in the area.”

  “For all my gourmet roach coach needs.”

  “Some of them are pretty great, actually.”

  “Yeah?” He had eye-crinkles.

  “Yep. There’s a fusion burrito one that is freakishly tasty.”

  “Freakishly tasty. I don’t think anyone’s ever given me that recommendation before. Can I persuade you to let me take you there, if Jay can track it down?”

  Serena smoothed down her skirt. “Look, Dillon...It’s not that I don’t appreciate it.”

  “To celebrate my first day and all? You don’t want me to sit all alone with my dry old sandwich, do you?”

  “No, I know. I mean, I’m sure some of the others will be around.”

  “But not you?”

  “Janice and I always go for smoothies on Mondays.” It was true, too. Mostly.

  “Tomorrow then?”

  “Tuesday lunch basketball game down next to the dock.”

  “You play?”

  “As if.” Serena was barely five three. Janice was even shorter. “But we watch.”

  “Maybe I’ll join in. I was a decent power forward in my day.” A lot of his height was in his legs, Serena realized, and those broad shoulders would be an asset on defense.

  “In your day? You’re not exactly over the hill.”

  He shrugged and handed back the pen. “I had an, um, setback after my sophomore year in high school. I kinda quit the team after that. But I still love the game.”

  Serena stuffed the pen back in her bag. “Thanks. Well, I’m sure the guys would love to have you join them. You should ask Miguel about it, or Eddie.”

  “But not you, and no lunch with you, is what you’re saying?”

  He was blunt and persistent and it was possible he had dimples lurking, and Serena just really wanted the resolve to not be charmed.

  “Thanks but no, no lunch. I’ve got to get to work; is there anything else I can show you? Oh, first aid is over there, beside the door. And the microwave overcooks everything, be careful. But if you get burned, there’s aloe cream in there. Come on, I’ll show you the stairs down to the warehouse on the way to HR.”

  Once she’d deposited Dillon for safety training, Serena retreated to the ordered calm of her office, picking up the morning’s proof sheets with a distinctly relieved sigh.

  Tuesday, right as Janice stopped by Serena’s office to walk with her down to the basketball game, Serena’s cell rang. “Hang on.”

  “Only because it’s still cold out,” Janice said. Once it warmed up some, several of the guys would play shirtless.

  “Are you sitting down?” Natalie asked over the phone.

  “Um, sure.”

  “Seriously, Serena sit down. No, never mind. Don’t sit. Get out the door. I’m texting you the address.”

  “What address?” She shrugged at Janice, mouthed Natalie’s name.

  “They barely even posted this house, and Carter’s the one who got the listing, so you know how much I love you that I’m even telling you about it, but get your ass over here now. Can you?”

  “Now?”

  “Now, yes, now. Cancel whatever boring meeting you have and get over here. I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”

  “Nat, you haven’t even sent me the listing.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I know you. Get over here.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m missing the basketball game for this, you know.” Raising her eyebrows, Serena pointed at the phone, then reached for her bag. Janice waved and headed off.

  “It’s a two bedroom bungalow built in the forties and renovated six years ago. Move your damn ass.”

  “Just listed?” Now Serena’s heart was pounding in time to the excitement in Natalie’s voice.

  “Twenty minutes ago, twenty-one now, and Carter is emailing everyone in the universe about it.”

  “I’m in the car.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m in the stairwell, it’s the same thing. The forties?”

  “1944. All of the electrical is updated.”

  “Windows?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll be there in five minutes, but it’s got a trellis over the carport, covered with trumpet vine.”

  “Shit!” Serena would have skidded down three stairs if she hadn’t grabbed the rail. She had no time for a sprained ankle; Natalie was telling her about the furnace and insulation and there was a back patio. A patio!

  “Oh, hell, Serena. Hell and triple damn.”

  She stopped dead in front of her car. “What?”

  Natalie was grim. “Just hurry. Carter’s here already. Bastard. He’s walking some smiling young couple out, and the windows. Oh, Serena, hurry. It has a stained glass dormer window.”

  Chapter Four

  “Jorge, old man, you’re out. Dillon’s my guy now,” Eddie said, slinging his sweaty arm up around Dillon’s sweaty shoulders.

  Eddie was the head of sales. Jorge was a photographer. Johnnie was the other graphic designer. Ida was from accounting. The last player from the office lunchtime basketball team was Philip, another writer. Philip had been benched to make room for Dillon, who was busy figuring everyone out, befriending his coworkers. There’d always been something about the literal teamwork of hoops that made it easier for Dillon to find his place in a crowd.

  It wasn’t a full game, given that they all had just an hour to change, play, clean up, eat, and get back to work, but two fifteen-minute halves were enough to get his blood pumping and to get Eddie into quite the lather. Not that Eddie hadn't been hustling. They'd all been hustling, trying to keep up with their opponents on the makeshift loading dock court.

  Apparently Dillon had helped them not be trounced as badly as normal by Miguel’s warehouse team, and it earned him a gold star in office politics. Even Philip claimed to be glad to have Dillon there, since Philip's knees gave him some sort of problems that Dillon only half-noted as Philip explicated them. Philip had cornered him a few times already, and it wasn’t all that charitable of Dillon, but he was looking to form bonds that he’d honestly enjoy, in this new job, in this relatively new town. And Philip was wearying, with his long stories and longer complaints.

  Dillon reached over to shake Jorge’s hand. The man was a quiet, but efficient, shooting guard, and it was obvious that he and Ida were practically telepathic as they dealt with the backcourt. “Did Ricky—that was Ricky, right?—did he trip you up too bad?”

  “Nah,” Jorge said, though he did reflexively rub his shin. “And Ricky’ll get his own back next week.”

  Dillon nodded. The office team retreated to a small clump of t
rees next to the dock while the warehouse team claimed winner’s rights to first use of the washroom. The day was January-cool, but Dillon was glad to sit in the shade and let his heart rate return to normal. This Tuesday game was an unexpected bonus of Lanigan; it had been a good while since he’d played with any regularity, but there were years when Dillon had spent more time on a court than anywhere else.

  Back then he’d been able to get through a half-hour of play without being quite so winded, but he’d get back in shape. Eddie, the sort-of captain, had welcomed Dillon with open (albeit sweaty) arms; Dillon would do what it took to keep up that goodwill and camaraderie.

  The game gave him a clearer in with his coworkers than the whirlwind of introductions over his first day and a half at Lanigan. Other than cursory hellos to several people, he’d pretty much been stuck at his desk, deciphering the somewhat-clear piles left by the outgoing Margaret. He’d communicated regularly with Anica, but only run into Serena in passing a couple of times. She hadn’t, despite her earlier claims, shown up to watch the basketball game. Her friend Janice was there, perched in the open back of a delivery truck angled so as to give her and other non-players sun-warmed court-side seats.

  He didn’t ask about Serena; he’d already been shot down for coffee and for lunch, and he wasn’t the idiot his sister and brother-in-law liked to suggest.

  But that didn’t mean he’d failed to note how her denim skirt had hugged her ass that morning. Her wardrobe, in the few days he’d known her, was barely on the office-casual side of hippie attire, which suited her colorful nature and flowing light brown hair.

  “Seriously, Jorge, why’re you moving like molasses when I need you to cut out Polk for me?” Eddie asked. One quick fact Dillon had picked up on about Eddie was that a lot of things were about Eddie. He could be funny, though.

  Jorge just shrugged and knocked back the last of his water. He’d ignored or downplayed every one of Eddie’s jibes without once defending himself. Now he stood and, patting Dillon once on the shoulder, headed to the showers. Slowly, almost pointedly slowly.

  Dillon snorted softly, but Johnnie was guffawing, which seemed to be good enough for Eddie.

  Dillon caught up to Jorge. After changing, they make their way back to the third floor offices together, discussing a new project. It wasn’t until he was on his way out for the day that Dillon saw Serena again.

  She stood at the top of the warehouse stairs, clutching Janice’s arm and speaking rapidly. Grinning. Serena was grinning. Her face in profile and her mouth wide and her cheeks glowing and since her hair was pulled back into a loose braid; Dillon noticed for the first time that she had a freckle on the base of her right ear. It was a shade darker than the brown of her hair, and maybe it was technically called a mole or a beauty spot or something, but to Dillon it looked like a freckle.

  It looked like a great place to place his lips.

  Cautioning himself to go past without making a hat trick of three rejections on three consecutive workdays, Dillon strode toward the pair. “Bye, Janice, Serena.”

  “See ya, Toots.”

  And then Serena turned the full force of that grin on him. She’d been biting her full lower lip, listening to Janice’s reply to whatever had her bouncing off the beige office walls, and it gave her just a bit of an impish air. Like a fun kind of faerie creature; like Arwen that one time in Lord of the Rings she smiled instead of being so focused and intense all the time.

  “Hey, Dillon. You’re off?”

  And he stopped walking. Like an idiot. “Yep. Five o’clock and all.”

  “It’s five, that's fantastic. You’ll come have a beer—a sparkling water, whatever—with me while I wait, right?” Serena was asking Janice, not him, and Dillon knew that, yet he was somehow standing there. And so maybe it was just because he was in the way, but maybe she meant it when Serena turned to him and added, “We’re going to Frijoles, do you know it? It’s just down Washington. I’ve got an hour before the other buyers were told to put their bid in so they could compare. Am I talking nonsense? Sorry, I’m all over the place. It’s the house, I saw my house today, and I put in an offer, but Carter’s couple was putting in an offer, too, and the seller is Carter’s client, so he’s advised—advised, strong-armed, I’m sure, Natalie said it wasn’t totally ethical to hold up their response to my offer until they got the other one, even though they have days to respond so I guess it's fine?—anyway, he told them to wait for his couple’s six PM offer so they could see which is better.”

  “Toots.”

  Serena glanced between them, at Dillon’s raised brow and Janice’s rolling eyes, and took a breath. “I’m a nervous wreck. Sorry. I’ll calm down, but you have to keep me company while I wait to hear if the other couple is going to make an offer, okay? Will you?”

  Janice agreed, and the three of them started towards the elevator.

  “Shit, I forgot my stuff!” Serena whirled around and headed towards her office, but turned back and rushed more words in their direction. “Dillon, Janice can tell you where Frijoles is. If you want to come along, that is. Maybe you’ve got other plans, I don’t think I even gave you a chance to say, but if you want to come along they’ve got a good happy hour and that way someone will split nachos with me, since Janice won’t eat them.”

  “Maybe Dillon doesn’t eat nachos either, Toots!” Janice called at Serena’s retreating form, but she’d already rounded the corner, and Dillon was left holding the elevator door open just for Janice.

  Frijoles was bustling. Their two-dollar beers and half-off margaritas had plenty to do with the happy hour crowds, but so did their ambience. Serena was full of giddy nerves, and the modern pop soundtrack, heavily adorned walls, and classic mission-style stained glass windows settled her into an upbeat groove as she worked her way to the booth where Jorge had joined Janice and, yes, Dillon.

  He’d shown up, then. Good. That was good.

  Because of the nachos. And because everyone at Lanigan should know about Frijoles; it had the best nachos of the several Tex-Mex spots within a mile or two of the office. It was just friendly, inviting him along, and she was too busy worrying about the offer on the house to worry about if Dillon thought her inviting him along was some sort of apology for not getting lunch or coffee—tea—with him the times he’d asked her. It wasn’t. She was just friendly.

  Serena worked to put everything back in their necessary boxes. Dillon was her coworker, and she had to stay professional. She needed that promotion, and the raise that came with it; in the few hours since she'd seen the house, she’d brimmed over with ideas for paint and furnishings and other delightful but not-exactly-free ways to decorate the rooms. She paused to snap a photo of the multi-hued cane rush stools in the bar area, making a mental note to ask Frijoles’ manager if he knew where she could buy some; they would be perfect up against the island in her new house.

  If she got her new house.

  Natalie had carefully eyeballed her rival realtor as he left, and predicted that the couple he’d shown it to were interested, but not ready to commit. Serena had been ready. The house was just about everything she’d had on her dream list, except a magnolia tree and a second bathroom, but she could plant the tree—and since she was going to live blessedly alone, she really only needed one bathroom. Sure, sometimes her half-brother might spend the night, but they'd shared a bathroom when he was a toddler, which had to be worse than occasionally letting him use hers now that he was a teenager.

  Janice scooted over so Serena could slide in next to her, across from Dillon and the nachos between them.

  "Got a mix of chicken and fajita, since I didn't know which you liked." Dillon handed her a side plate so she could load it with chips and guac. He was wearing that same dark blue blazer again, the one he always seemed to wear, like somehow he knew it enhanced the hues of both his deep blue eyes and his near-black hair.

  “Combo is great, thanks," she told him. "Fajita, usually, but I'm not picky."

  Janice sn
orted, earning herself an arch look, but the waiter showed up with beer and distracted Serena from her mock-outrage.

  "Here's to your house," Dillon said, lifting his Corona to clink against hers. "Janice told us all about it."

  "Well, I made a valiant attempt, anyway. You were going on like your words got caught up in the rapids and washed ashore in a different order."

  "Ha ha ha. You're hilarious."

  "Call em like I see em, Toots."

  Serena's laugh was genuine then. Dillon’s warm smile flustered her a bit, and she took a moment to check her phone was on, ready to vibrate the moment Natalie called, and for what felt like the first time all day, let out a deep breath. "Okay, fair enough. I'm just nervous."

  "Like a cat on a porch full of rocking chairs," Janice agreed.

  "But, I mean, I've been looking and looking and I haven't seen anything this close to perfect. And I can afford it, just, and the location is nice and did I tell you there's granite counters in the kitchen?"

  "You maybe mentioned it."

  "And my mom didn't even have bad things to say. Well, not many. I should have called her to meet me there so she could have, whatever, judged the psychic vibes and checked for residual spirits or something, but I didn't so she only saw the pictures so I thought she'd be harsher. But she only said it would need a fountain or a bird bath to balance out the front yard, which you know is practically a ringing endorsement from her."

  "What'll you do if you don't get it?" Jorge asked. He was practical to the point of pessimism, though his overwhelming sweetness usually made it tolerable.

  "Aw, Toots, she's antsy enough."

  "It'll work out," Dillon said. Based on what evidence, Serena couldn't imagine, but it was nice of him to attempt to be reassuring. She smiled at him and scooped some more nachos onto her plate.

  They were all deep into debate about whether Mr. Lanigan had started coloring his hair when Serena's phone rang. It was still a quarter to six, and her gut clenched. It couldn't be good for Natalie to be calling early. It could only mean that the other buyers had already put in a competing bid.