1001 Dark Nights Short Story Anthology 2020

by Fiona Archer

  By Chance Series

  Wrapped in Red

  Dipped in Gold

  Sweet Valentine

  By Chance Collection: Vol. 1

  Standalones

  Holiday Hookup

  Lady Boss Press Books

  Pick Six

  Easy to Lose

  * * * *

  For more book news sign up my mailing list!

  Newsletter

  Twitter: @saclaytonauthor

  Facebook: SAClaytonAuthor

  Instagram: @saclaytonauthor

  www.saclayton.com

  Space Landing

  by

  Sara L. Hudson

  Chapter One

  Space Landing: One Giant Leap for Love

  Emily

  “I wonder if he’s giant all over?”

  “As long as he isn’t green.”

  “Please, if it’s as big as the rest of him, I wouldn’t care what color it is.”

  I grip my pencil tighter with each inane comment from the two wannabe desperate housewives a few feet away from me and fight the urge to shank one of them. Or both.

  Considering I’m a public relations manager for NASA, I’m pretty sure that would be frowned upon. Especially since we’re in Space Center Houston, at a public event I helped set up for charity.

  The two gossiping mongrels are eyeing the stage, where one of the most aggravating men I’ve ever met stands. Luke Bisbee, chief of the astronaut office, and the smiling-est man in the world. I don’t even think smiling-est is a word, but if it is, it would most definitely suit the six-foot-three astronaut who is never without those delightful little crinkles around his eyes that speak of mirth, humor, and all good things.

  Wait, what? No. They are not delightful. They are irksome. Yes, irksome. Another good word for Bisbee.

  It’s not that he isn’t a nice guy. He’s a great guy, really. But he isn’t great for me. I work with him. I’m the one always advising others not to get involved with co-workers. It leads to Human Resource issues, and with high profile astronauts like Bisbee, public relations nightmares. My nightmares.

  “You could always just ask him out.”

  A woman’s voice in my ear makes me jump, my pencil sliding over my clipboard. “Jesus, Starr, how do you move so quietly in those boots?”

  Astronaut Julie Starr looks down at her motorcycle boots. “Hah! You’re just too busy making love-eyes at Bisbee to notice me coming.”

  I avert my gaze, hoping my heated cheeks don’t give me away. “Love-eyes.” Scoff. “Please. I was just making sure he doesn’t blind everyone with his annoying smile.”

  “Uh huh. Sure.” She rolls her eyes. “Aren’t you our PR guru, always after us to smile?”

  “Whatever.” I pretend to write something on my clipboard as more people filter in. We took over Space Center’s Destiny Theater for the auction, as the response to the ticketed event was so great, the stage at Rocket Park I’d initially booked wasn’t large enough.

  “Good turnout.” Jules looks over the nearly all female audience. “Guess everyone wants to see a bunch of astronauts whore themselves out for charity.”

  I groan. “Will you keep your voice down? No one is whoring themselves out. You’re simply giving up a little of your time to people interested in space exploration.”

  Jules thrusts a flyer at me with a grin. “Really?”

  I grab the thing and fold it over, tucking it under the papers on my clipboard. “Why do you have this?” I don’t even need to look at it to know what it is; it’s burned into my brain.

  I created this event with families in mind. For the education and promotion of human exploration in space. What better way to spark the next generation’s interest in NASA than have an astronaut spend time showing them around Johnson Space Center, giving behind-the-scenes insight into all that NASA does, both on land and in space?

  I’d been so excited to work on something other than damage control over said astronauts’ private affairs that I failed to see where this event could go wrong.

  Jules pulls another flyer from her pocket. “Astronaut Auction. Bid for your after-hours ticket with NASA’s finest.”

  “Yes, yes, I know what it says.” I grab this one from her too, my gaze drifting to the photos. Not professional headshots, but candid photos that might as well be Tinder profile pics.

  Sigh. This is what happens when I delegate to an assistant. Instead of the creator of a family-friendly event, I end up looking like the dorkiest madam in Houston.

  I smooth out the flyer and scribble a mustache on Bisbee’s picture.

  Jules snorts.

  Shoving her shoulder, I wave her to the stage. “Just get your butt up on stage and make the charity some money while not causing a national incident, okay?”

  She responds with a smartass salute and a “Yes, ma’am,” before sauntering off to the stage.

  Like something out of a toothpaste ad, Luke smiles when Jules reaches him, the spotlight winking against his teeth.

  He’s just so… so… dazzling.

  I add a beard to his picture.

  Sequins, shine, metallic, I’m like a dumb cat with an affinity for things that sparkle. I know full well I’m probably going to turn into one of those old ladies with curio cabinets full of sparkling chachkies, yet I can’t seem to stop myself.

  So far I’ve limited my weird quirk to usable items. Pretty pencils, stationery, even small, wearable items like my collection of brooches.

  Yes, I’m thirty-one and wear brooches. It’s a problem. I know.

  So if I’m truly honest with myself, which I try not to be because it only leads to unpleasant truths, the reason Luke Bisbee annoys me so much is that I find myself inexplicably attracted to him.

  Which is why, a few nights ago when celebrating Julie Starr’s promotion to commander, after a gin and tonic on an empty stomach, I may have stood on the top rung of a bar stool and kissed the ever-loving bejesus out of him.

  Damn the man and his stupid, sparkling, smiling face.

  A woman in the audience fans herself. “If I win, I may let him go where no man has gone before.”

  Snap. And there goes my pencil.

  Taking a deep breath, I tuck the pencil debris into my dress pocket and follow Jules.

  “Bisbee.” My voice cracks across the stage, but not loud enough to alert the audience.

  The blond giant turns away from his conversation, but instead of being wary of my displeased tone, he actually smiles wider when he sees me.

  So. Annoying.

  In only a few steps he makes his way across the stage, his long legs eating up the distance.

  Luke is the tallest astronaut ever put on NASA’s roster. And he isn’t lean either. His shoulders are broad, his chest wide, and his legs resemble tree trunks. Something I had not thought twice about until I climbed those tree trunks like a squirrel after a nut.

  No, wait. Bad analogy.

  “Good turnout, right?” He gestures toward the crowd.

  A few women actually titter. Idiots.

  I try for cool and aloof. “Bisbee,” I repeat, brushing my hand over the dark green cotton pique of his polo shirt. “Why did you wear this?” Aloof goes out the window when the solid wall of muscles under my fingertips sets off tingles to all my private places.

  Clearing my throat, I step back and pretend to scan the crowd. “I specifically instructed all astronauts to wear the red polo with the NASA patch.” My gaze swings over to the rest of the astronauts on stage, all dressed as instructed, before daring to meet Luke’s brown eyes again.

  I swear the man’s smile widens even more. It’s unnatural, I tell you.

  “I thought you’d like it. Play into my nickname and all that.”

  He’s taunting me. He never mentioned the kiss. Didn’t even chase me when I came to my senses, pulled away and ran like hell for the nearest Uber. But now it’s like every smile, every sparkle in his eyes, every damn green shirt he wears is just to taunt me.


  Rolling my eyes, I point to Dr. Jackie Darling Lee, whose shy demeanor has her shuffling to the back of the group. “NASA’s Darling? Great name to live up to.” I point at Jules standing front and center, hands on hips, grinning like a badass. “NASA’s Starr, even better.” I look the man in front of me up and down, which I enjoy more than I’ll ever admit. “NASA’s Jolly Green Giant? No one should want to play that up.”

  He says nothing, just continues smiling. Taunting. Me.

  “Now, not only are you feeding the Jolly Green Giant moniker, but you look like a freaking Christmas tree.”

  I swear his eyes get darker when he leans down closer to me. “Well, I am known for my hard wood.”

  My mouth opens and closes a few times. “I… that is…” The room goes white around the edges, and I think I’ve finally hit blinding rage status (or turn-on overload) until I realize it’s just the stage lights flickering, signaling the auction is about to start.

  “Sorry, Em.” He draws back, allowing me to breathe again. “Showtime.” His easy grin and delightful eye crinkles in place, he turns and waves to the crowd. Women cheer. “Give the people what they want, eh?” he throws over his shoulder before joining the rest of the astronauts.

  Cursing the fact that I didn’t crack my clipboard over his head, I spin on my shiny patent leather flats and march back down into the crowd.

  Hard wood. Scoffing, I roll my eyes so hard I stumble, bracing my hand against the wall of the auditorium. Pretending it was on purpose, I lean against it and cross my arms, frown mode activated.

  The spotlight brightens on the charity representative. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out to support Sky Is Not the Limit, a children’s charity focusing on developing STEM programs across the country.” After light applause, she continues. “I hope that some one-on-one time with a NASA astronaut will make it worth your while to dig deep in your pockets for this charity that is near and dear to our hearts.”

  Cat-calls abound.

  Giggling, a woman leans to her friend. “Oh, I definitely intend to get some private one-on-one time with the big one.”

  Before I can dig out my broken pencil shiv from my pocket, my assistant Piper waves frantically from the double doors. “The VIPs are here,” she whisper-yells at me. “They need you.”

  With a calming breath and one more glance at the stage and Luke’s blinding smile, I scurry off to do my job.

  * * * *

  “I’m not sure if he’s the best, but I definitely saved the biggest for last.”

  Forty minutes later, I hustle back to the auditorium to hear Jules joking with the crowd. When did Jules take over MC duties? And how is everyone else already auctioned off?

  Leaning against the same wall as earlier, I realize how out of breath I am. The VIPs, a mixture of NASA higher-ups and CEOs from contracted, private companies, had just needed to be greeted upon arrival. But then they talked. It took a tour through Space Center’s moon room before I could get back here.

  “Chief astronaut Luke Bisbee,” Jules continues, “holds the record for the most clocked spacewalk hours as well as being our resident biologist. He’s spearheaded numerous experiments on the ISS, helping the human race take giant leaps in the fields of science.”

  The already-auctioned-off astronauts are lined up along the side of the stage, calm and smiling. They must have somehow avoided the clutches of the desperate housewives in the audience. The charity representative is out-smiling Luke, a difficult feat in itself, signaling the event is a success. And Luke’s grin is somehow proud and humble at the same time, despite the rowdy crowd. I’ve pulled off a public relations miracle.

  So why is my stomach in knots?

  Scanning the room, Jules’ eyes light up when she sees me, and I swear her grin turns evil. “And just between you and me,” she tells the audience, “the suit engineers needed to make extra-large space boots just for him, if you know what I mean.” She stage winks for effect.

  Whistling and hollering that would put even the lewdest construction workers to shame erupts from the audience.

  Luke just rolls his eyes, grin still in place.

  I’m going to strangle him.

  Yes, yes. I know this was my idea. But the man doesn’t need to look so damn happy about spending time with some random woman.

  “Two hundred!” one woman yells, jarring me out of my head.

  “Two fifty!” another shouts.

  The bidding has begun.

  More and more women raise their hands, calling out ever-increasing numbers. The smile never leaves Luke’s face.

  This is good, I tell myself. Think of the good publicity. Think of the children.

  Black dots float around the edges of my vision. I gasp, sucking in air. This time it wasn’t the lights. I’d forgotten to breathe.

  “Six seventy-five!”

  “Dang, Chief, you’re not doing too bad.” Jules pats Luke on the back. “But I bet if you show them what’s under that jolly green polo of yours, we might get even more money.” Jules’ eyes find me again. “What do you say, Bisbee?”

  “Well…” His fingers play at his waistband, tugging lightly at the tucked-in shirt. “It is for charity.”

  The women go crazy.

  Even though I know it’s a joke, that Luke, one of the most experienced astronauts on NASA’s roster, would never strip in public, my heart feels like it’s about to explode. When he untucks one side, my whole body stiffens in panic.

  “One thousand!”

  Almost as one, every head swivels in my direction. Like I’m having an out-of-body experience, I see myself, one arm propped against the wall for support, the other stretched upright, signaling the bid with a wave of my clipboard.

  Grin as wide as ever, Luke leans over the mic in Jules hand, tucking his shirt back in.

  “Sold! To the pretty lady with the sequined clipboard.”

  What have I done?

  Luke

  “I’ve never been stood up before.”

  As expected, Robonaut, the gold-faced feat of engineering NASA built to help on the International Space Station, doesn’t answer.

  I check my watch again, confirming that it’s five past six. Five minutes past the time I told Emily Durham, the cutest woman I’ve ever met, to meet me in Building 9.

  The smile on my face widens as I remember the mutinous expression on Em’s face when I told her, despite her protests, that I would be taking her on her tour.

  So damn cute.

  As a big man, I know it’s odd that I’m drawn to cute, but I gave up on being normal a long time ago. Normal isn’t a six-foot-three astronaut. An astronaut who didn’t serve in the military. Instead, I spent my time in labs, studying organisms on their molecular levels. Apparently, I’m fascinated with small things. Probably because I’ve never been one.

  Normal also isn’t a woman with a collection of sparkly pins who kisses a man, then avoids him like the plague, and who scowls at smiles. Or at least, my smiles.

  After another five minutes, I glance at my robotic counterpart again. “Got any ideas?” I slap Robonaut on the back, nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. She needs a little push.”

  I unlock my phone and text her. If you’re not here in five minutes I’m coming to your office to serenade you Top Gun style.

  I watch three dots appear and disappear a few times before she finally replies.

  You wouldn’t dare.

  I respond with a smiley face emoji.

  Fine. I’ll be there in ten.

  Of course she will. This woman bows to no one. She’s been feisty like that since the day I met her two years ago, during a public relations prep for a mission. One frown in my direction and I was hooked.

  I spent the first year after that media junket trying to get a glimpse of her between training and spaceflights. Last year, when I became chief of astronauts, it meant less time in orbit but more time to study the quirky lady with the sparkly office supplies.

  Every pencil, pen, tape
dispenser and file folder in Em’s office is gilded, glittered, or bedazzled. It’s the oddest thing.

  I love it.

  Maybe I should go get her. Make her sweat a bit.

  But before I can take one step toward the door, my phone beeps again.

  If you come up and sing I’ll personally make you a soprano.

  So cute.

  Emily

  “I win for most original date.”

  Ten minutes ago I walked into Building 9 prepared for battle. A battle I promptly lost when Luke was waiting for me, dressed in his NASA blue jumpsuit and sitting in the MRV.

  A legit, built by NASA engineers, modular robotic vehicle. A.k.a. Mars rover.

  “This is not a date. This is a tour.” I smooth down my silk pleated skirt as it billows around my legs in the breeze. The seats, meant for full-size adults wearing an additional three hundred plus pounds of suit and equipment, are wide and roomy. Luke, even suitless, takes up most of the space.

  Luke’s knee brushes against mine when we turn onto the dirt and rock terrain NASA uses as a rover practice course.

  I draw my legs together more tightly. My multi-colored sequined flats dangle above the floorboard.

  He eyeballs me, his smile now a little crooked. “You’re dressed too pretty for this to be just a tour.”

  “Thank you,” I mutter, fingering the Swarovski crystal rocket ship I have pinned to my blouse. “But this still isn’t a date.”

  Though after normal work hours, there are still a few people at the rover site. One lifts his phone to take a picture.

  I scrunch down in my seat. I don’t know what exactly I’m trying to accomplish, as the rover has no roof or doors. Not even a windshield. It’s like a super expensive, slightly larger go-kart. I’m small, but I’m not small enough that I can hide in this thing.

  Luke salutes for the camera. I wait to roll my eyes until they’re done taking pictures.

  He chuckles, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the waning Texas sun spreads over me. Not good. “Listen, Luke, why don’t we just—"