Page 18 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
Rose steps around me, bumping me forward with her suitcase. “Well, this sounds super interesting and all, and I’m sure another set of hands would be helpful, but I gots to go.”
“You’re leaving me with her?” I know I sound like a wuss, wanting my sister to run interference for me, but with Jules, I’ll take all the help I can get.
“Yeah, I am.” She winks at me. “You’re welcome.”
Jules shakes off her last boot, leaving her in tube socks.
“Oh look.” Rose points with her free hand. “You two are sock twins.”
“And your suitcase is the color of shit,” Jules deadpans.
Rose pauses to scowl at Jules. “You twosodeserve each other.” And with that, she lugs the suitcase out of the house and slams the door. I can hear the damn thing banging down the porch steps to the drive, probably cracking the decking with each thump.
When the sound of Rose’s departure finally fades, it’s quiet for a minute or two more while I look Jules over again, and she looks everywherebutat me.
“So,” she says, craning her neck to see into the family room. “This is where 1975 came to die, huh?”
My eyes close briefly, then, without a word, I turn and stride through the family room and into the kitchen. More coffee is required if I’m going to be able to endure whatever it is that Jules has come here for.
“Sweet. I’ll have a cup too, while you’re at it,” she says, following me.
Ground coffee container in hand, I stare her down. “So I’m supposed to welcome you into my home with open arms and a cup of coffee, while you basically shoved me out the door of yours?”
“I did offer you coffee,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s joking or serious.
I put down the container and continue to stare at her.
Whatever look I’m giving her, which is probably one laced with incredulity and disappointment, makes her shuffle her feet and pull at the shoulder straps of her backpack. It’s an unusual look for Jules, who’s usually so self-assured.
I heave a sigh, annoyed that I can’t be a jerk to her, even if she kind of deserves it, and continue making coffee. “Fine. Take a seat.”
My back is to her while I scoop out the coffee, but I hear her bag drop to the floor, then her hopping onto one of the bar stools.
“Did you get one of these?” she asks.
I glance up between filling the carafe at the faucet and pouring the water into the coffee maker to see her waving a thumb drive in the air.
“Uh, no. Was I supposed to?” I press brew and turn to her once again.
“Who knows?” She rests her elbows on to the counter. “The two lovebirds left us a bunch of non-specifics and then high-tailed it to some love nest.” Her nose scrunches and her lips purse in a pout like a two-year-old having a temper tantrum.
Jules in a snit is kind of adorable. I find myself smiling despite being annoyed. “Non-specifics?”
She spins the thumb drive on the counter with her free hand. “A bunch of pictures and a list of ideas.” A look of disgust crosses her face, making me laugh. “It’s not funny!” She sits up and smacks the counter. “Jackie is better than this. We need procedures, timelines, references.” She places her palms on the counter and leans toward me, eyes wide. “What the fuck was she thinking making me the flight controller of this matrimonial mission?”
It takes me a second, but I realize Jules is being serious. It’s like she doesn’t get how much Jackie loves her, like she doesn’t understand that, for Jackie, there was no other choice. Since I first saw Jules floating around the International Space Station from that TV at Boondoggles a few months ago, I’ve known her to be nothing but a confident, badass woman. A woman who enjoys taking charge of the room and issuing orders, whether in space or on land. My brain falters for the right thing to say to the now vulnerable woman sitting in front of me.
“Never mind.” She leans back and the doubt I could’ve sworn I saw a moment ago has vanished from her face. “I’ve got this. Not a problem.”
I open my mouth, not sure of what I’m going to say, but thinking I should say something, when the coffee maker beeps.
“Nice. Caffeine time.” Jules hops off the stool, snags one of the mugs I keep on the counter, and pours herself some coffee. She takes a sip and doesn’t flinch. Which is saying something. Flynn and Rose have both described my brew as sludge.
She nods in my direction. “Good coffee, rancher-man.”
She gives me a light hip check on her way out of the kitchen, bending down to snag her backpack. Without looking back at me, she saunters away in her tube socks and tight jeans saying, “I’ll just go find myself an outdated guest room in this ridiculously large house then, shall I?”
The mug stills on its way to my lips. “Wait. You’re staying?” I put the mug down. “Here?”
