Page 34 of The Kiss Countdown

Vincent didn’t warn me to steer clear of his office, so now is the perfect opportunity to snoop in there.

That is, now is the perfect opportunity to see if he has any tape I can use.

My footsteps are light against the carpeted steps as I walk up to the landing. Vincent’s office takes up the whole second floor, with no other rooms or doors attached. In another house, a space like this would probably be converted into a home theater or kids’ play area. However, Vincent makes it work for his needs, and I realize two things.

First, Vincent must have spent all his energy decorating here rather than the rest of the house. It’s the one place I’m finally getting a glimpse of the man who’s made space exploration his life. The walls are still that generic eggshell but on one wall, like a tiny gallery, are large framed photos of the moon, a shot of what I can only assume is the Milky Way galaxy, and distant views of Earth. A telescope, a smaller version of the one sitting in the backyard, is stationed by awindow, with a black cover draped over it. An astronaut’s helmet rests on top of a black bookshelf. If I didn’t know Vincent was an astronaut before, this room is a dead giveaway.

The next thing I realize is that Vincent is a plant dad. Next to the telescope, the largest monstera plant I’ve ever seen shoots up from a black pot. It’s taller than me, with leaves spanning the length of my forearm. On Vincent’s mahogany desk, a trio of small succulents perch on the edge, and other potted plants litter the floor, with various leaves and vines stretching toward the window. It could be my imagination, but the air in here feels crisper.

Remembering what I came for, I walk to the desk and scan the area for tape. I don’t see any, but there is a lineup of Lego spaceman figures under the computer monitor. I reach for the pink one, inspecting the yellow face with a tiny smile. I wonder if Vincent uses them to reenact moon landings and space walks or if they’re strictly for aesthetics.

When my phone pings with a message, I set the space person down and pull it from my pocket. Mom has sent a picture of a chocolate cookie baked in a personal pan with a scoop of ice cream on top. They must still be in Vegas and are obviously enjoying the food. My mouth waters as I reply.

Me: That looks positively sinnnnnful.

I smile once the message is sent. See? Gina isn’t the only one who can do fun wordplay. Mom appreciates my humor and sends back a laughing emoji. Next, she sends me a picture of Dad’s colossal steak that looks like it could have tipped over Fred Flintstone’s car. Trust Dad to get an extra heaping of protein while Mom goes straight for dessert. After I send off a series of surprised emojis and a gif of Fred Flintstone wiping his mouth with a napkin, I make my wayto the leather couch and continue sifting through the other pictures they’ve sent me.

Browsing pictures turns into checking my social media and e-mail, and soon enough, I’m kicking off my house shoes and curling against the armrest. I’ll say this about Vincent, he knows how to pick comfortable furniture. I’d only meant to find some tape, but since the cushions envelop me, practically begging me to stay awhile, I settle in even more and pull up my Kindle app.

I pick one of the many books from my TBR list, but my eyes get droopy by the second chapter. It won’t hurt to spare a little more time away from work, so I close my eyes and set an internal alarm for ten minutes.

On Vincent’s couch, I’m surrounded by his scent, so it’s no surprise that my dreams drift to him.

He comes upstairs, surprised to find me here of all places. I’ve overtaken not only his bedroom but now his office. He debates what to do about me as he loosens his navy tie, unfastens his shiny cuff links, and folds up his sleeves. After glancing at me a few more moments, he shakes his head and goes to his chair. Immediately, his eyes fall on the pink space person. He gently pushes it back in line with its comrades, then starts up his computer, even though I’m sure he must have put in countless hours working already. It all feels natural, me being in his space as he goes about his regular routine.

My mind is nothing if not efficient. After ten minutes, I open my eyes. They almost pop out of their sockets when I see Vincent really is sitting at his desk. Unlike Dream Vincent, his navy blazer is on, though his tie has been completely removed.

Should I just lie here until he leaves? What if he never leaves? I guess I’ll become part of the couch.

After a few more moments of mentally kicking myself for falling asleep and cursing Vincent for coming back early, I ease my feet back to the floor and sit up.

Vincent notices my movements and looks away from his screen to me. The heat on my neck turns up a thousand degrees as we stare at each other for what feels like eons.

Finally, I roll my eyes and huff out a sigh. If he’s going to have something to say, he needs to hurry up so I can get back to work.

“I was looking for some tape,” I offer as an explanation for why I’m here. What I don’t have is an explanation for why I decided his couch made the perfect napping spot, but if he’s upset, he doesn’t show it.

His eyes light up with laughter as he opens a desk drawer and flaunts a packet of clear tape. Gritting my teeth, I stand up and cross the room.

“You snore,” he says when I’m in front of him.

I gasp. “I have never.”

“You have and you do. I could hardly concentrate with all the racket.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re a plant daddy,” I counter. I’d meant that to come out as an insult, but by the confused yet pleased smirk Vincent sports, it didn’t give nearly what it was supposed to.

Not giving him the chance to harp on me basically calling him Daddy, I snatch the tape from his grip and head to the stairs, but stop before I make it to the landing. I won’t call it curiosity about the man I just discovered more about in the seconds it took my eyes to sweep across his office than a whole tour of the downstairs portion did, but... okay, I am intrigued. And it’s not like the flower arrangement is going anywhere.

“I take it these will need to be watered while you’re away?” I gesture at the plants by the window.

“Yes. Want me to tell you about them now?”

At my nod, Vincent rises from his chair. In a very Dream Vincent–like move, he takes off his jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair, and folds up his sleeves before moving to the front of his desk, where the succulents are. “All of my plants are pretty easy. These only need water about every other week, once the soil is dry.”

I walk farther into the room as he points at the different pots until finally we’re standing in front of the monstera together.

“This is another one that only needs water once the soil is dry. You should be able to tell by a glance, but you can also feel the top.”

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