Page 17 of Love & Rockets

“Mom says your brother is the diver guy from the oceanography show.”

Jake smirked. Her description of the oceanic exploration show Brian once hosted for the Earth Channel spoke volumes about her level of interest. He liked her a little more and more. Ever since his little brother ended up on the cover of a supermarket tabloid standing beside Jennifer Aniston, he’d had a hard time convincing anyone Brian was a water-logged dweeb who couldn’t master the more complex challenges of astronomy. “Yeah, Brian.”

“He and my mom were in the same class. So was Laney.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. Brian, his fiancée Brooke, your mom and Laney were all a couple years behind me and Harley in school.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Mom and Laney don’t like each other much.”

“Not true,” Darla announced as she entered the room carrying a pair of mismatched wine glasses. “We just don’t have very much in common.”

Jake accepted the glass she offered him with more than a little trepidation. Darla Kennet could never be accused of being stingy on the pour. He watched the deep purple liquid sway close to the rim of her glass as she settled herself on the opposite end of the couch. Clearly unworried about possible stains, she took a generous gulp of wine.

He stared, unable to draw or expel air until she pronounced his offering acceptable or spit it back into her glass. He exhaled as she chose the former, nodding her approval as she went in for another taste. Heartened, Jake attempted a sip of his own. When he came away without dumping the contents of the glass down the front of his shirt, he sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

Figuring there was no sense in tempting fate, he placed the glass on the coffee table. “We were talking about the data the new Horizons vehicle collected in its visit to Pluto.”

“Don’t bother,” Grace said with a dismissive wave. “Mom’s only interested in space exploration if Han Solo is driving.”

“Grace.”

There was no sharp edge to Darla’s voice, but the reprimand rang through clear as day. He knew her tone well. He thought only his mother had perfected it, but here, five minutes into his visit with the Kennet women, he discovered the Mom Tone was universal. Standard-issue mom equipment? And having been on the receiving end of far too many of those gently bludgeoning admonishments, he knew the best thing he could do was pretend he hadn’t seen or heard a thing.

“As I was saying, it will actually take years to collate and study all the data collected. A very exciting time.”

Darla met his gaze but mustered only a half-hearted smile. “I’m sure it is. The photographs were amazing to see.”

“Yeah, I love looking at them.” Their eyes held for a beat, then he broke the contact, all too aware of their audience. “So, uh, Grace, do you have a telescope?”

“A small one.” She shrugged. “It’s okay for looking at the moon and picking out stars, but that’s about all.”

“Where do you set up?”

She shrugged. “Most of the time out in the parking lot, but Mom and I like to take it when we go to the beach.” The two shared a smile and any ragged feelings between them seemed to disappear. “It’s great there. Isn’t it, Mom?”

Darla nodded and took a much smaller sip of her wine, her expression suddenly pensive. “Yeah, great.”

“My brother—” He turned to Grace and made a face worthy of middle name usage if his own mother had caught him. “—the guppy, has a place on Dauphin Island. I have a scope out there.”

“Where do you live?” Grace asked.

“Gracie, don’t be nosy.” Darla softened her words with a smile, then set her wine glass on the end table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better check on things.”

He nodded and shifted his attention back to the inquisitive teen across from him. “I bought a loft-condo thing down on the waterfront. One of the warehouses Cade Construction rehabbed.” Eager to turn the tables before she could have another go at him, he asked, “Where do you guys like to go to the beach?”

“We only really go to Orange Beach. Harley and CiCi have a condo there they let us use when I’m on school break.”

“CiCi?”

“Harley’s mom,” she explained. “She’s not really my grandma, but kind of like a grandma. I’ve always called her CiCi.”

“She’s a nice lady.”

“You know her, too?”

“She used to work at our school.”

“Oh, right. You guys were so lucky.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “CiCi’s a much better cook than Mom.”

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