Rocket Man

by Melanie Greene

  Even when he was playing at being confused his voice was sexy, so Serena added that to the damn unfair column of life. “I didn’t read the copy, because the copy is supposed to be under three hundred words, and it’s not. I don’t care if it’s good, Dillon, that’s not the point. I mean, it has to be good, of course it has to be good, but it also has to be three hundred words. Until it is, it’s useless, no matter how good it may or may not be.”

  “So you didn’t read it?”

  “It’s too long. I don’t need to read it if it’s too long, I need you to make it the right length.”

  “How long is it, Serena?” Dillon had the nerve to sound amused, and her body had the nerve to heat up when he said her name.

  And all this talk of length wasn’t in the least amusing. She looked back at the file he’d sent her. “Six hundred and ninety-two words.”

  “About ninety-two of those words are about half-way through, and they’re to explain that I’d written two versions, and asking your opinion about which—of the two, three hundred word versions—you prefer.”

  Serena sighed. Loudly.

  “Sorry, Serena,” Dillon said. Not very contritely. “I probably should have asked the question in the email and sent them in two files instead of one. I’ll make it clear next time.”

  “That would be best.”

  “Do you want me to resend it as two now?” And the damn man felt the need to smile while he asked, Serena could just tell. She straightened the files on her desk again, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting he might not have screwed up. Teach him to tease her nipples with his suppressed laughter.

  She sighed more gently, and said, “No, just pay attention to my needs next time.”

  And then she hung up and refused to imagine his interpreting that in anything other than work-related ways.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Dillon said, leaning in to give Shannon a big hug.

  “That’s pathetic,” Justin called from his seat in the living room, where he was cradling baby Toby. Both were in their pajamas. Or, Justin was for sure. It was a little hard to tell with the baby.

  “You’re pathetic.”

  “Hey, until two minutes ago I was curled up on the couch with my sexy wife and beautiful son, and no one was being a pain in my ass.” Justin handed over the baby, though, in exchange for the white deli bag Dillon was holding.

  “I brought you strawberry milkshakes and Cuban sandwiches,” Dillon explained, even though Justin had already ripped open the bag.

  “Fine, I apologize for saying it’s pathetic that you’re spending Valentine’s Day with your big sister.”

  “Oh, I’m not here for her. I came by to see my guy Toby here.” And what a guy. Dillon buried his nose in Toby’s sweet blond curls. He thought the baby would be too young for so much hair, but apparently not. “Do you two want to go out or anything? I can stay with him a while.”

  Shannon groaned. Glancing up, Dillon saw her staring fixedly at the fries Justin had dumped onto a napkin on the coffee table. “Dig in, it’s all for you.”

  “I can’t. I can’t even have the sandwich. He doesn’t like it when I have fried food.” Shannon’s voice was full of regret. Presumably not about having the baby, who was a miracle after the miscarriages they’d gone through earlier in their marriage.

  “Aw, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  “No, it’s okay. I can have the milkshake. And since it’s Valentine’s Day, I’ll even let Justin eat all the rest of it in front of me.”

  “You’re my angel,” Justin said, wrapping his arm around Shannon.

  “Damn straight,” she nodded. “Oops.”

  Justin laughed, which startled the baby some. Dillon bounced him back into sleep while Justin held Shannon back from standing. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you get a free pass on the swear jar.”

  “You have a swear jar?”

  “Well,” Justin said, “we weren’t having much luck stopping with just will power. Turns out you can’t have both will power and a newborn at the same time.”

  Shannon nodded. And nodded, dropping her head against Justin’s shoulder. The hand holding her milkshake went slack, but Justin grabbed the drink before it spilled, handing it off to Dillon before cradling the now-snoozing Shannon more deeply into his hold.

  Dillon’s brother-in-law grinned ruefully. “Maybe not so much on the going out, but thanks for the offer.”

  “You tired, too?”

  Justin snorted.

  “Okay, okay, dumb question. Listen, Tobias and I will go hang out in his room a while. You guys chill. For the next two hours, you can stare at the TV and eat fries and nap and not worry about the baby.” Dillon handed over the remote so Justin wouldn’t have to move. “Want your phone or anything?”

  “Nah. Hand me that blanket, though.”

  Toby kindly stayed asleep long enough to let Dillon get the new parents settled into their stupor before carting the baby off to the nursery.

  And then he had two hours alone with his thoughts, only sometimes broken by the fun of figuring out how to change diapers and attempting to get the baby to focus on his funny faces. It wasn’t exactly the distraction he’d been hoping for when he’d decided to drop by Shannon’s house. It gave him way too many opportunities to replay Serena’s inviting him to pay attention to her needs.

  If she’d just stop running away every time he got near her, he would be more than happy to oblige.

  “Well?” Serena asked Natalie, who’d rearranged her Sunday clients to show Serena houses in the afternoon. Not that she really needed to ask. If there’d been a ring on Nat’s finger, Serena would have seen it.

  Her friend shrugged. “He gave me a dozen thornless red roses.”

  “Ick.”

  “I know. At least there was no teddy bear holding them.”

  “How about ‘I love you’ balloons?”

  “Not a one.”

  Serena grinned. “Maybe he’s a keeper after all.”

  “Well,” Natalie shrugged. “I love him anyway. Even if he didn’t propose. How was your Valentine’s Day?”

  “Ha. Very funny. The highlight might have been when I ran into Joey on my way back from the market, and he was all kinds of snarky about my roach baits.”

  “Roach baits make Joey snarky?”

  Serena rolled her eyes. “Not the baits themselves. Just the fact that I use them, because he likes to make fun of me using organic cleaners otherwise. He wouldn’t kill the bugs for me when he had the chance, either. And somehow the pest control people have never managed to show up, even though it’s in our rental agreement that they’ll treat the building a couple of times a year.”

  “One more reason to get you out of there. You ready to house-hunt?”

  “So ready.”

  “Where’s you mom?”

  Stifling a groan, Serena checked her phone for messages. “She’s running late. I’ll text her where we are in a half-hour.”

  “Right, then,” Nat said, clapping her hands together and putting on her Efficient Realtor face. “Let’s get some house viewings under our belts before then.”

  But when the half-hour was up, they were still at the first place. The one from Natalie’s email. The one with the claw-foot tub, and the magnolia, and the out-of-her-range price tag. Nat was trying to persuade her to offer on it anyway. Or maybe Serena was letting Nat try to convince her. It was Serena, after all, who’d asked to see this place, and to see it first of all. And it was Serena who’d gone from yelling pointlessly at Dillon, after the disappointment of losing her Ex-House, to staring at the listing for this one.

  She knew it was too much. Knew it. Although, all it would need was some cosmetic stuff to be perfect. The owners even had the inspection report from when they’d bought it two years prior, with the receipts on the items they’d fixed, so Serena could be confident that the electrical and foundation would be in good shape. But it was twenty percent over her budget.

  “What does it
hurt to put in a lowball offer?” Natalie asked. “You never know what they’ll take.”

  “And Zane and I will be happy to loan you a few thousand to help with the down payment,” Becky added. She’d been talking about the bungalow’s happy energy and positive flow since walking in a couple of minutes before. Not that Serena was disputing it; just walking through the rooms felt settled and uplifting.

  “No, Mom, but thanks.” A loan from her current stepfather—because that’s what it would be, Becky not actually having money of her own—would maybe be an easy out for Serena, but it didn’t at all fit into her plans. She refused to get a place she couldn’t afford on her own; it was contrary to everything she’d been working towards all her adult life. And no matter that Mom and Zane had been married nine years. It could end any day, and Serena would be pressured to repay the loan early. Not worth it, even for the pressed tin ceiling and the subway tile in the second bath.

  But, oh, she did love the pressed tin ceiling. And the sconces on the front porch, and the bay window in the dining room, and the red brick fireplace.

  They did leave, finally, and looked for the rest of the afternoon (another bad duplex, a house on a terrible street with broken streetlights and sagging fences, a ‘sold for lot value’ whose pictures had been misleadingly full of potential, and not one but two remodeled bungalows that might actually work, if Serena could just get the Dream House out of her head). Becky rejected them all, except for the lot value home, and Serena was inclined to agree. But Natalie talked her into offering for the Dream House, and also making a low offer on one of the other remodels.

  Becky took off after handing over a jar of bee pollen (“So good for your allergies! Just put a spoonful in your morning smoothie.”) Natalie watched her go, then talked Serena into meeting the gals for dinner at Rachel's place. Rachel was single parenting her one-year-old, so her house was the default meeting place for the four college friends, and take-out from the Dutch restaurant at the end of Rachel's block was their default meal.

  It was all very comfortable, and comforting in its routine, with Natalie’s bossy advice and Gillian's snide jokes and snatching baby Hannah up at every opportunity and Rachel griping about her ex but with a lot less vehemence than in the days when Hannah was an infant and the divorce was new.

  In the middle of it all, Serena caught herself imagining having them over to her house. Putting some toys for Hannah out on the patio while the friends sat around an outdoor table, drinking iced tea flavored with the herbs from her garden. The Dream House had an entire raised bed along the back fence that had been colonized by peppermint plants. She could put rosemary and thyme pots on the porch, and use the other raised bed for beans and tomatoes and other veggies.

  “You’re daydreaming again,” Gillian pointed out, after kicking at the sole of Serena’s shoe to get her attention.

  “About lettuces.”

  “Wow. Fancy fantasy.”

  “Also about carrots,” Serena said.

  “Somebody stop her before she taunts us with her visions of cucumbers.”

  “Mmm, cucumbers! I could definitely grow some of those. Nice and hefty and firm. So juicy when you bite into them.”

  “You two are depraved,” Rachel said, after glancing over to check that Hannah wasn’t paying attention.

  “What?” Serena said, pretending innocence. “I’m planning my spring garden.”

  “Planning some kind of spring action, anyway,” Gill muttered.

  “Woah, springs? I don’t know what you’re into, Gill, but keep it out of my garden.”

  “As if you’ve never had a little fun in the sun.”

  “That’s it, you two are cut off,” Rachel declared, taking the empty bottle of wine to the kitchen and returning with the water pitcher.

  But it was too late. Already Serena had gone from fantasizing about heirloom tomato seedlings to imagining lounging on the grass in the fenced-in back garden of the Dream House, the sun beating down on her bared skin. And as if by magic, there beside her in her dreamy nudity appeared none other than the delicious Dillon Hamilton. Who was, if her imagination was at all correct, even more delicious when naked.

  Chapter Nine

  It wasn’t the best day, Serena thought as she headed off to the morning meeting. But it wasn’t so terribly bad, either.

  Natalie had called before she’d finished her morning rituals in her scummy-butt apartment—wiping down bathroom mirror, making the bed, straightening the throw rug in the entry that always liked to drift off-square when she wasn’t looking. She’d talked to Natalie the evening before, responding to the counteroffer on the nice but not perfect house. The owners had countered at full price, but agreed to a quick closing. It could be worse, but it wasn’t exactly good.

  “Hon, far be it from me to jeopardize my commission,” Natalie said, “but remember this: you’ll be living in this house for years. Decades, maybe. Make sure you’re happy, and not just rushing into it to get away from your lease. I’ll find you a short-term rental, if it comes to that.”

  “And then I have to move again?”

  “Serena.”

  “I know, I know. But have I mentioned that I never want to move again, after this next time?”

  “Maybe just the once.”

  “Funny. Okay, I’ll think about it. Let me know when you hear about the other.”

  And then, between pouring her to-go cup of tea and straightening the entry rug, Natalie had called again. She’d heard from the agent about the Dream House—Serena was calling it ‘Hakeem’ for short, after Hakeem ‘The Dream’ Olajuwon, former star player for the Houston Rockets and top of Serena’s ‘if you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?’ list.

  Hakeem’s owners hadn’t taken her offer. But they’d countered. They needed a quick sale, and liked that Serena was pre-approved and willing to move fast. But they also wanted closer to asking price, and had come up with a compromise offer. Serena could lease-to-own, her rent going towards her down payment, and if—when—she could afford the negotiated price she would get the house for keeps.

  It wasn’t the best.

  But all things considered, she’d take it.

  When he stepped into Conference B that morning, Dillon sucked in his breath a little. Serena was wearing that sleeveless shiny orange shirt and her hair was swept back then fell loose down the curve of her neck. He hardly knew which part of her to avoid staring at first. Was she trying to kill him? Or at least his concentration? But then she flashed him the old ‘hey buddy, what's up?’ smile that just said friends. But did her eyes linger on him some? They did! They lingered! So, yes, damnit, she was trying to kill him, and just when—after a morning chat with Maisy he'd deny to his grave—he’d given in to his impulse to say the hell with it and go for something a little more with her, coworker or not. They were both fully mature adults. Her thirtieth birthday had been recent enough that Eddie was still wisecracking about her age. Dillon would be twenty-seven in a few weeks, and was already wondering if he could keep his birthday quiet and bypass whatever Eddie would think hilarious to mark the occasion.

  It was amazing he didn't make an ass of himself during the meeting. He had to get out of there and regroup, figure out a strategy to get through the day. Maybe on Friday at Eddie’s barbecue—Eddie and his wife hosted a monthly barbecue for coworkers—he could get her alone.

  But now Anica was holding Serena back, and beckoning him over.

  “Hey, tonight I need you two....”

  “Can’t,” Serena said as the same time as Dillon.

  Anica shook her head. “Such devoted employees, how did I get lucky enough to have you two on my team?”

  Dillon grinned. “Sorry, An. It’s just tonight....”

  “Detroit game.” Serena finished for him. Their eyes met, the glint in hers merry, conspiratorial. Dillon's answering smile faded as what had to be a stupidly inappropriate lustful look crossed his face. Not in front of the boss, dumbass! Or at all, rea
lly. He tore his eyes away, back to Anica.

  “As I was saying,” she continued, “Edgar Mooney sent over two tickets to the Rockets game for tonight, and I need you two to be discreet about the fact that I’m giving them to you. Thank Edgar, of course, but try not to let Eddie hear about it. He can be so grasping about this stuff.”

  Dillon met Serena’s eyes again, sure she was fighting a twin grin to the one he couldn’t really suppress. They were third place in the Western Conference and consistently winning at home. He’d been eagerly anticipating the game. He let out the smile, satisfied. Maybe he didn't have to wait until the end of the week to sound out Serena after all.

  “Which one of these things is your place?” Serena asked Dillon as she circled another row of semi-identical townhouses, trying to read the dimly lit numbers.

  “Twenty-six. Look, I'll flash my porch light,” he said into his cell.

  “Got it. You ready?”

  “Be outside in two seconds.” He disconnected, checked he had the tickets, double-checked Maisy had food, and headed down to Serena's car. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  She shrugged. “No problem. You're on the way. How long have you lived here?”

  “About a year. It was my sister’s place, but they moved out of the Heights when they were going to start a family and wanted more room.” Near downtown, the Heights was a popular neighborhood of Victorian-era homes, neo-Victorian townhouses, independent retailers, and enough run-down residences and shady characters to bring the market values down a little.

  “I love the Saturday market over by Onion Creek,” she said. “I know it's on the small side, but there are a couple of farmers there who always have brilliant greens.”

  “Never been.”

  “It's, like, half a mile from here!”

  “Okay. Granted. If it makes you feel better, I've never been to a farmers market anywhere else.”