Page 21 of Love & Rockets

Chapter 5

Darla figured it was a darn good thing she’d asked Jake to wait until after supper to show Gracie what he had to offer, because the second he carried the telescope through the door, her daughter fell in love. And Darla could understand why. This model was a thousand times better than the museum store scope Connie gave her two Christmases ago.

Grace and Jake set up near the living room window. Bits and pieces of their conversation bounced off the walls as she cleared the remains of their dinner away. She picked up something about lenses and magnification when she stacked the plates. Caught occasional mentions of alignment and altitude adjustments, but let obvious wise-cracks about the two of them adjusting their attitudes go.

She didn’t want to make jokes now. Jake Dalton almost laid one on her in the middle of her kitchen. She was having a damn hard time moving past the aborted kiss. Somehow, she’d managed to shovel pasta and bread into her mouth and go through the motions of chewing, swallowing, and making conversation, but her brain had stalled. She knew the minute she closed her eyes that night, she’d see him lowering his head. Feel his warm breath on her face. Lord, he’d felt good. All long and lean.

And hard.

Mellow merlot flowed through her, making her blood hum. She lingered as she collected the bread basket. Every time Jake moved, her hyper-sensitive neurons started firing like they’d been equipped with Uzis. Like the sleek black and chrome telescope, the man was a deceptively intricate and stunningly crafted piece of work. For some reason she’d thought he was skinny, but looking at him now, she wondered if it wasn’t time to have her eyes checked. There was nothing scrawny about Dr. Jake Dalton.

No, the second he pulled her up against his chest, she knew she’d been underestimating the man all along. Sure, he was far from the bodybuilder type, but he was deceptively well-honed. She’d run a hand down his back. Yeah, she’d had a large-mouth bass oven mitt on her hand, but still, it was hard to miss the solid ridge of muscle running from his shoulder to his spine. And his chest. Lorraine the Lobster should be thanking her for weeks to come for the gimme.

“Mom, this scope is three times more powerful than the one I have,” Gracie crowed.

Jake chuckled, then nudged her aside to adjust one of the settings. “Actually, a little more than three times, but there are different types of power you want to consider when looking at the sky. Under certain conditions, you can get as good, if not a better view of some things with a decent set of binoculars.”

Grace’s eyes widened. Practically vibrating with excitement, she turned away from Jake and made what they called their ‘super-squeeing’ face for her eyes only. Darla returned the bug-eyed grin, happy her daughter was happy.

She was also more than happy for herself because Jake happened to be bent at a particularly flattering angle as he peered into the eyepiece. When Grace returned to her tutorial, Darla picked up the depleted salad bowl and hugged the cool plastic to her stomach. If those two were going to gaze up at the stars while she cleaned up after the dinner she cooked—well, warmed—then she was going to look her fill while she had the chance.

Darla hadn’t thought much of Zelda’s comparison so the first time she saw the old People Magazine photos of JFK, Jr., but now…she could see the resemblance. The thick, wavy brown hair was a no-brainer. And yes, he had the melted chocolate eyes, strong brow, and chiseled jawline thing going on, too. But all of those things weren’t what made Jake a possible heir to the Sexiest Man Alive title.

Grace.

Grace was what set him apart. Not her daughter, Grace, though his patience with her little girl earned him about fifty thousand bonus points in Darla’s book, but a physical grace. Nothing girly or ballet-like. More like an innate kind of self-assurance. Particularly in moments like these, when he was comfortable with his company and the subject matter. Jake was always friendly and easy to talk to on a superficial level, but he wasn’t always comfortable interacting with others. That much was clear.

Darla grinned as she eyeballed his empty wine glass. The man had looked at her like she was handing him a live grenade. Okay, so maybe she’d been generous with the amount, but she’d never be able to drink the whole thing herself. She figured if they were going to put a dent in the bottle, they’d both have to give their best efforts.

Plus, if she got him a little drunk, he couldn’t leave to go home right away.

The moment the thought formed in her mind, Darla bolted for the kitchen, mentally kicking her own ass the whole way. Practically tossing the bowl into the sink, she braced her hands on the edge of the countertop and let her chin fall to her chest.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. “No, you are not going to be that girl. You are not one of those sad, lonely, sex-starved women who ply men with wine and collect too many stray cats.”

Slumping forward, she caught her forehead on the heel of her palm and closed her eyes. And when she got old, she could pour arsenic-laced elderberry wine down the throats of lonely old men and collect their Social Security benefits to help pay for massive amounts of Meow Mix she’d surely need.

“Oh, my God,” she groaned.

“Are you okay?”

Before she could muster the strength to lift her head, she felt a large hand on the small of her back. A large, gentle hand. And warm. One of the hands she’d stared at all through dinner. Hands with long, elegant fingers marked with an odd assortment of scrapes and scars. She’d been studying them closely. He’d had a blister on his palm that had burst sometime in the recent past. The mom in her fought the urge to ask if he’d treated the spot with antibiotic ointment. The woman in her wanted to make everything all better with a nice, soft kiss.

Instead, she jumped up as if he’d jammed his precious telescope straight up her butt. “I’m fine.”

“She doesn’t have to leave the scope set up in the living room window. I just wanted to show her some of the things—”

She twisted the plug into the sink, started the water running, then added a generous stream of dish soap. “I can’t begin to thank you—”

“No need to,” he said, stepping all over the heaping helping of gratitude she wanted to pour out at his feet.

Thank goodness. If he hadn’t, she might have thanked him for more than the wine and the genuine interest he showed in her kid. She might have thanked him for the near-kiss, and wouldn’t that have been truly pathetic? She wasn’t hard up. She’d dated. A lot. She just hadn’t dated-dated anyone recently. Steeling her resolve, she whirled to face him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat, obviously glad to have the hurdle out of the way. “I think Grace has the hang of things now. We talked a little about what she wants to do for her project.” He laughed quietly. “You have one ambitious girl there.”

“Yes, she is.”

“She must get her determination from you.”

---