Page 30 of The Kiss Countdown

I shrug. “My dad works for a bread distributor. When I was younger and he was a factory worker there, he’d bring fresh loaves home and make the best sandwiches. The secret is to add butter.”

“Butter to PB and J?”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“I’ll guess I’ll take your word for it.” He continues reading, and I take a sip of the coffee. “Your favorite color is gold. Classy. You’re allergic to cats and dogs.” He frowns.

“Is that a problem?”

“My youngest sister, Brianna, just got a goldendoodle. I’m sure she’ll bring it to the cabin with her.”

“Oh, aren’t those a hypoallergenic breed?”

When Gina was on the hunt for a pet, she initially set out to get a goldendoodle so I wouldn’t be miserable when I went to her apartment. That was until she saw the price tag from a local breeder. She ended up adopting Mack from the shelter instead after I continuously assured her I wouldn’t take offense and that we could still hang out at my place.

Vincent shakes his head. “No dog is truly hypoallergenic. Yes, some breeds shed less than others, but I don’t want you to be miserable while we’re there. Do you have medicine for your allergies?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Make sure to bring it.”

I bite back a sharp comeback about being able to take care of myself. Not that my parents were neglectful, but I found it hard to complain about runny noses or headaches when it was nothing compared to what my mom went through. But since Vincent’s heart is in the right place, I hold my tongue.

“Noted,” I say. “Now, as you can see, I’m an open book. Why don’t you think of the things that matter most about yourself and send me a list as well. We have, what, two weeks before your mom’s birthday? That’ll give me time to study—”

“Whoa.” He looks up from my list again and cuts me off, then regards me with wide, incredulous eyes. “You’ve lived in Houston almost your whole life, and you’ve never been to the Space Center?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you going to have something to say about everything I’ve written? I’m sure it’s a cardinal sin to you, but it’s not that serious. I lived in San Antonio for a few years, and I’m guessing that’s when themajority of the field trips happened. I came back for high school and wasn’t in any of those sciencey clubs that visited often.”

Vincent obviously can’t wrap his mind around the fact because he doesn’t let up. “And you were never curious about going yourself? And let me guess, when you were in San Antonio, you didn’t visit the Alamo either, did you?” He shakes his head. “I don’t need the answer to that.”

“Good, because you won’t like it.”

“That’s it. I’m taking you there.”

I eye him up and down. “To the Alamo?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “No. To the Space Center. Today.”

“Vincent, you can’t be serious,” I sputter. “For one, it’s the weekend, so I’m sure it’ll be packed. If I recall correctly, you hate crowds. And two, you’re working.”

“You remembered I hate crowds. See, we’re getting to know each other better already. We don’t need these lists. Okay, okay.” He laughs when I cross my arms and glare. “But in all seriousness, do you think my family is going to believe we’ve been together for months and I’ve never taken you there? Consider this part of the getting-to-know-me phase.”

Chapter Eleven

I tilt my head for a better look at a model of an old-school space suit that looks like it was inspired by the Tin Man fromThe Wiz. “So this is where it all began, huh?”

As we walk through the Space Center’s exhibit, the uniforms become more modern until we stop at a blue suit I remember Vincent wearing on his NASA biography page.

I lean into him. “Do I get any special behind-the-scenes access? Can we see Mission Control? Oh, I want to see your spaceship! And I’m not talking about that mock ship we passed through earlier. I want to see the real thing. Where y’all eat. Sleep. The kitchen.”

Vincent massages the bridge of his nose, and I swear he utters “Bruh” under his breath. “Amerie, let’s get one thing straight—this isn’tStar Trek. It’s a space shuttle, or spacecraft. It’s used to efficiently shuttle people to and from Earth.”

“Efficiently,” I mock. “Sounds fun.” It actually sounds horrifying, but who am I to tell people how to live their lives?

I stop in front of a large framed picture of theColumbiashuttle. “How fast do these things go, anyway?”

Vincent shifts beside me, and for the third time today his body brushes up against mine. I ignore the tingles.

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