Page 4 of Love & Rockets

“Next wasn’t bad, neither was Voyager, but I couldn’t get into Deep Space Nine.”

“I think it’s underappreciated,” she said, dropping into the chair beside him.

“Space stations are boring,” he asserted.

“You want to split infinitives,” she shot back, a teasing lilt softening the accusation.

Jake barked a laugh, then sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I think you’re flirting with me.”

Her cheeks glowed Mercury red, but her chin tipped up. He had to admire the kid’s confidence. At her age, he would have crawled under the table before attempting to spar with an adult. She wasn’t attempting. He was beginning to think she was winning.

She looked down her snubbed nose and lifted one shoulder in a shrug so dismissive he almost fell out of his chair. “Well, you did ask me to marry you.”

“What’s going on here?”

The question sliced through the middle of their conversation like a lightsaber. Jake jerked upright as Grace scrambled out of her chair. He looked up to find a woman with short dark hair glaring down at him. His brain took a full thirty seconds to compute that the woman breaking up the party was none other than Darla Kennet, one of the regular waitresses at The Pit barbecue joint and a former St. Pat’s Academy student.

“Oh. Hey, Darla.” He came to his feet like the well-brought-up man his mama raised. “I didn’t know you worked here, too.”

“She moonlights for catering companies at night,” Grace supplied helpfully.

But the tiny woman next to him was obviously not in the mood for friendly conversation. She crossed her arms over her chest and sneered at him. “Perhaps I can get a discount for your wedding.” She added a tinkling little laugh to the end of the comment, but her brittle tone made her displeasure painfully clear. She was not the least bit amused.

“We were, uh….” He pressed a finger to the bridge of his glasses. A nervous habit—one he’d tried countless times to break—but something about the fire burning in Darla’s dark eyes disturbed him. “A joke.” Stymied, he waved a hand toward the collected centerpieces. “Grace did a great job with Saturn. Very realistic.”

Grace darted a glance at him before turning her full attention back to her mother. Her voice pitched up an eager octave. “He’s one of the ones who sponsor the It IS Rocket Science program, Mama.”

Darla gave her daughter’s arm an absent pat. “Hey, sweets, I’m almost done. Why don’t you go in the kitchen? Marcel has some leftover mousse cups.”

“But we were talk—” Grace began, but her mother cut her off.

The woman he’d seen at least once a week every week for as long as he could remember didn’t take her eyes off him. “Go on. I’m gonna have a chat with Mr. Dalton here.”

“Dr. Dalton,” Grace corrected too quickly.

Jake wanted to pat the girl on the shoulder and tell her he was taking no offense to her mother’s blatant disapproval, but judging by the tight lines appearing at the sides of Darla’s mouth, he was half afraid he’d lose the hand. He could see she didn’t much care if he were Dr. Seuss himself. She was gonna take a chunk out of him for talking to her kid.

Resigned, Jake drew a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “You’re so lucky. The mousse was awesome.” He inclined his head in a courtly nod. “Nice to meet you, Grace.”

Undeterred by two dismissals, Grace gestured to the table. “Mom, look at the—”

“Grace Mary Kennet.”

Darla ground all three names out from between clenched teeth, and Grace’s instincts for survival finally kicked in. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Dalton,” she said in a rush, then beat a path for the swinging door.

Anger flared deep inside him. He’d done nothing wrong. How dare Darla Kennet look at him as if he were nothing more than primordial ooze? Hell, he and Darla’d been acquainted for most of their lives. He’d never done anything to justify her thinking the kinds of thoughts so clearly running through her head.

He tore his eyes from Darla long enough to meet her daughter’s gaze, then smiled as wide as he could. He’d be damned if he let her suspicious mind drag him down to her level. “The pleasure was all mine, Miss Grace,” he returned with exaggerated courtliness. “You’ll think about my offer? My mother thinks I’m a good catch.”

Darla watched until her daughter disappeared through the swinging door. Then she turned on him, nostrils flaring. “She’s thirteen years old.”

Darla hurled the words at him in a hiss and Jake instantly went on high alert. “Hey, I don’t know what’s going on in that perverted mind of yours—”

“You’re the one out here chatting up little girls,” she shot back.

He sneered at her assessment. “I was not chatting her up.”

“You were flirting with her!”

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