Page 62 of The Kiss Countdown

I shake my head no and look at my own overflowing plate. The first thing I pick at is the potato salad. It looks a little different from what my mom makes. The chopped up boiled eggs and dill pickles are missing. Instead, this Brazilian style has small pieces of carrots and flakes of parsley. I take a small taste test, then sit straighter. The flavors are simple, but so smooth and savory I immediately go for another, bigger bite.

After a while, I lean back in my chair, stuffed, while Vincent waves a forkful of Brazilian flan under my nose.

“Just one bite,” he encourages. “It’ll be the best thing you try all night.”

It does smell good. He even swirled the piece around in caramel sauce, so it’s extra coated, and he offers it with a decadent dollop of whipped cream.

“Fine.” I open my mouth and Vincent slides the fork in. I close my eyes, enjoying how the creamy treat melts in my mouth. It was so light and airy I didn’t even have to chew. Once I swallow, I open my eyes, and what a mistake that is. Vincent is laser focused on my mouth. His intensity makes it difficult to breathe, and my nipples tighten.

“What do you think?” he says, not taking his gaze from my lips.

“Not bad.” I try to make my voice sound normal and unaffected, but he’s not making it easy. “I don’t know if I’d say it was the best thing though. That potato salad was pretty b-bomb.” I trip over the last word and swallow. This is ridiculous. He acts like he’s never seen someone eat. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You have some of the cream on you.” Vincent reaches out and uses his thumb to wipe the corner of my lip. His eyes flick to mine as he brings his thumb to his own mouth and licks it.

Hot damn. I almost groan aloud.Iwant to be his thumb. To feel his tongue glide over my skin with the same finesse. I can imagine it now.

“Vincent, are you ready for your mission?”

I almost jump out of my seat. My brain is so muddled by lust, I forgot we’re at a restaurant surrounded by Vincent’s family. Did he just try to seduce me on purpose? I know it’s not my imagination how slowly his tongue moved, and that smolder was definitely turned up to the nth degree.

When Vincent turns in his chair to face his aunt, I want to knock away the hand that’s once again resting on my shoulder. Having any part of him touch me right now is too much. My body is too wound up because of him. I reach for my water instead, hoping it will cool my heated blood.

“I am ready,” Vincent says. “The whole team can’t wait to get there and explore.”

Shelly takes a sip of her red wine. “I can only imagine. You know, every chance I get, I brag to my patients about my amazing nephew and how he’ll probably be one of the first people to colonize Mars.”

Mrs. Rogers’s fork clatters against her plate. “Don’t youdareput that idea into his head.”

Silence engulfs the table, and Shelly grimaces. “Sorry.” She pushes her wine away even though it’s mostly full.

Mrs. Rogers ignores her, instead looking at Vincent with accusation. “And I bet you’d just sign right up for that mission, wouldn’t you? You’d leave us here, knowing it would be years before we saw you again. If we ever saw you again.”

All eyes are on Vincent as we wait for his reaction, mine included. I know NASA has been training astronauts for life on Mars with yearlong simulations in which they’re cut off from the rest of the world. Would Vincent volunteer for the same kind of training and subsequent mission if giventhe opportunity? If so, Mrs. Rogers is right: It would be years before any of us saw Vincent again.

“Momma,” he says, “let’s not do this here. I’m only going to the moon.”

Now I frown. He didn’t shoot down the possibility.

“Cheryl, let’s open the gifts,” Shelly says. “Don’t you want to see what I got you? It’s totally not another one of those luxurious robe-and-slippers sets that you love.” It’s obvious she’s trying to redirect the conversation, but Mrs. Rogers is having none of it.

“I’ll open them at home.” She throws her napkin on the table.

As I watch Mrs. Rogers, I’m a mixed bag of emotions. On one hand, I understand her panic at the thought of Vincent someday blasting off to Mars. It’s a small possibility, but not something we can totally rule out. Vincent certainly doesn’t seem to want to. But on the other hand, it’s his job. His passion. Vincent wants to explore. To boldly go where no one has gone before.

Am I really quotingStar Trek, now of all times?

“I just don’t understand why you have to go to space at all,” Mrs. Rogers says. “What happens if space debris or a meteorite damages the shuttle? You’ll be up there with no help and no way to get home. Vincent, why won’t you reconsider? There are so many things here on Earth to study if you want to make a difference.”

Vincent runs his hand over his face. “Momma, would you give it a rest for one night? I’m doing this.”

“You’re going to leave us, just like Octavius!”

“Then that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Vincent explodes, then closes his eyes. “I loved Tay and wish to God every day he was still here with us. And I love you all. But I can’t live my life basing all my decisions on the fear of whatmight happen. Tay wouldn’t want that for any of us.” He looks at his mom. “I need you to accept that.” I can practically hear his silent plea that his mom accepthim.

I look at Mrs. Rogers. She doesn’t say anything, and tears stream down her face while Mr. Rogers takes her hand. Then I make the mistake of looking at Vincent. His face a blank mask, he sits straight in his chair with his eyes on a fixed point on the wall. My heart breaks for him over and over again.

“Here, Cheryl.” Shelly puts the present on the table again. “Let me see you open it now. I want to watch your reaction.”

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