Page 58 of Love & Rockets

He waved an arm toward the door, frustration firing like a Bunsen burner deep in his gut. “I was coming back in to make things right with Zelda Jo!”

But Darla didn’t back down. She never backed down. Her backbone was one of the things he loved about her. Thrusting her chin up, she fixed him with a laser-sharp glare. “Damn straight you’re gonna make things right.” She held out a hand, palm-up. “But you’re not coming back in. Give me five dollars.”

“Five dollars?”

“Tip plus pain and suffering.”

A grin threatened as he reached for his wallet, but he held back. He didn’t dwell too long on the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled or that he was getting the shakedown from a woman who barely reached his shoulder. “I miss you. I came in here today because I couldn’t take not seeing you any longer. I wasn’t showing anyone off. I wanted to see you.”

She made a skeptical humming noise in the back of her throat, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “So you brought a date?”

“Not a date, a meeting.” Opening his wallet, he ran a thumb across the bills, looking for the five she’d requested. “I want to be with you. For real,” he added in case she was thinking he’d be willing to settle for less again.

“Stop.”

He sucked in a sharp breath when her hand landed on top of his. Every muscle in his body tensed. But he couldn’t stop now. He needed to get everything he had to say out there, whether she wanted to hear it or not. Bending his knees, he ducked down until she could no longer avoid looking at him. “I love you.”

Darla bit her lip. He watched, his heart pounding in his ears as he waited for her to respond. Perfect white teeth sank into the plump flesh and her eyes turned bright and glassy with tears. Then she dropped her gaze to his open wallet and his stomach flipped over.

“I love you, Darla,” he repeated, some of the desperation he’d felt earlier edging its way back into his voice.

But instead of answering him, she brushed his hand away, reached into his wallet herself, and extracted a crisp ten dollar bill. “Well, now, that’s gonna cost extra,” she said, flashing a pale facsimile of her sassy smile.

Before he could recover, she turned and fled for the door, leaving him and his foolish heart gutted on the sidewalk.

Numb, he turned back to the parking lot and set his sights on his car. He had to get out of there, but he hadn’t the faintest idea of where he should go. Certainly not back to work. He couldn’t deal with thinking about stars or space or thrust to weight ratios. Not when the world was crashing down around him.

And not to the condo. The place still smelled like her, even though he’d done everything short of repainting.

He blinked twice as the notion of a fresh coat of paint took hold. Starting toward his car, he pulled the key fob from his pocket. Nothing pale or neutral, he decided, recalling the endless cans of eggshell-white Brian had hauled home when they were finishing his house. Nor did he want the slate-gray and concrete-colored accents Harley’d used when he’d finished the condo. He wanted something warmer. A color that made him feel as if he’d finally come home.

The door to the tiny smokehouse flew open as he reached for the driver’s door. He looked up to see Zelda Jo standing there, her hand still on the handle, his ten dollar bill clutched in her other hand. He stood frozen as she crossed the lot, occasionally darting a furtive glance over her shoulder.

“Don’t give up on her yet,” she called out to him. “She needs time to come around to things herself, and she’s almost there.”

His eyebrows rose, but he had no idea exactly what he was supposed to say. So he nodded instead.

Message delivered, Zelda Jo smiled wide and waved the money as she backed away. “My tip for you.”

By the time she reached the smokehouse door, he managed to peel his tongue off the roof of his mouth. “Thank you,” he called after her.

The older woman simply waved and rushed through the door.

Jake gripped the steering wheel as he climbed into the driver’s seat. No matter what Zelda Jo said, the look on Darla’s face spoke volumes. Blue, he decided as he closed himself into the cabin. Picturing the skylights above his bed, he imagined the whole room painted blue. Not any blue, but the color of the night sky just before full dark. The magical time when the moon and the stars defied the odds and showed themselves off to the light.

****

The stylish slate-colored walls of his bedroom whitewashed with a coat of primer, Jake stuck the edge of his screwdriver under the lid of the gallon can of Nautical Twilight paint and loosened the seal a bit. The name was a complete misnomer. Paint manufacturers felt compelled to give almost all shades of blue aquatic names, and it galled him.

He harrumphed as he worked his way around the edge of the can, loosening the lid, but being careful not to bend the lip. Brian always did that—pulled too hard at the top, leaving it misshapen. The can would never seal properly again, and it made Jake crazy. If his younger brother hadn’t been so obsessed with painting his entire house not-quite-white, he probably would have been thrilled to discover the array of oceanic options out there. But Brian only saw what Brian wanted, and the only thing Brian ever wanted was Brooke Hastings.

Jake smiled as he peered down into the can. The gray-blue shade he’d chosen was much deeper than the sky at nautical dusk. Deeper even than astronomical twilight. Too dark to be classified as any kind of twilight, in fact. But the morons who assigned color names didn’t care.

Tipping his head back, he squinted up at the skylights above the bed. For a few magical moments each night, his room would reflect the night sky. Briefly, he considered adding stars to the ceiling. Not the cheesy glow-in-the-dark ones kids bought at museum shops, but tiny hand-painted pinpoints of silver-white light.

Grace would love them.

Darla would probably mock him mercilessly.

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