Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Oh no, what happened?” Richelle was loading the dishwasher as Chris pulled me into the kitchen.
“She tripped over Bandit.”
“That damn big goofball. He’s taken me out in the past too. I’m sorry, Hallie.”
“No, it’s okay. It was my fault.” I ducked my head. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Chris released me but only to grab a tea towel and hold it under the ice dispenser in the freezer. He folded the towel around the ice and then handed it to me. “Sit. Ice it for twenty minutes. We’ll see how it is then.”
“I told you I’m fine. Just embarrassed for causing a fuss.”
He lifted my chin with the gentle touch of his fingers until our eyes met. He smiled warmly into mine. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. Bandit, on the other hand, should feel pretty sheepish.”
I chuckled, relaxing a little.
Until I remembered he was half-naked.
My gaze unwillingly dropped to his chest.
The memory of his full nakedness made me hot all over again.
Chris took a step back, and the hoarseness in his voice when he said he’d return after his shower forced me to look at him.
I was pretty sure the heat in his eyes was not my imagination.
Oh.
Oh okay.
Hope unfurled in my chest.
Then he pivoted and strode out of the room, and I tried not to picture his naked ass again and failed.
“Another coffee? Maybe an aspirin for the pain?” Richelle’s voice reminded me I wasn’t alone.
She grinned at me in a way I knew my thoughts were written all over my face.
Crap.
Covering my discomfiture, I turned away, pressing the ice to my wrist. “Sure, thanks.” I squeaked out.
TWENTY
Hallie
The ice helped, but my wrist was still a little sore as we sat outside to enjoy lunch on the backyard patio. It had turned into a warm day, reminding me that summer really was just around the corner. We’d decided to grab some lunch before driving back to Brooklyn.
Culinary master that she was, Richelle served these amazing homemade crab cake sandwiches with bread she’d baked herself. I needed to learn how to cook and bake. Or at least marry someone who could.
“I’ve never asked, but how exactly does one become an astronaut?” I said to Chris after swallowing a bite of my sandwich. “Specifically, how did you become an astronaut from being a pilot in the air force?”
Chris shrugged and wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin before he replied, “I was a test pilot and worked with NASA. It happened from there.”
Richelle snorted. “I think Hallie wants the entire story.” She turned to me. “Everyone expected, with his genius-level grades, he would attend MIT or Harvard or Stanford, but he followed his brother into the Air Force Academy.”
Chris smirked at her before turning those swoony dark brown eyes on me. “I graduated as a systems engineer from the academy. An important qualification in my selection to NASA.”
Fascinated, I asked, “And you made captain in the air force really young, right?”
“In four years, which is the shortest time period you can make captain,” Richelle answered proudly. “He trained as a tactical fighter pilot, was on active duty for four years, and made captain by the age of twenty-seven.”
I grinned at his aunt, who was practically bursting with pride.
Staring out at the water, Chris ate but said nothing. I wondered how he felt about his time on active duty. What he’d seen. Who he’d lost. Then he spoke. “I enjoyed flying, but combat wasn’t for me.” He turned back to me. “So I applied to Pax.”
“Pax?”
“Naval Test Pilot School at Patuxent River in Maryland. I was there for three years, and I got involved in test-piloting for NASA. Miguel was the one who dreamed of being an astronaut. He was fascinated with space since he was a kid, and it rubbed off on me. When he died, having never pursued what he’d really wanted, I decided I’d try to make that dream come true for him. That’s what got me interested in the astronaut-training program, so I applied and was selected when I was thirty-one. Trained for three years and then went on my first mission, as you know.”
Awed and feeling like I’d done very little of significance with my life in comparison, I gaped at him.
Richelle laughed beside me. “Impressive and intimidating, I know.”
He frowned. “How? All I did was work hard. People work hard all the time.”
“Yes, but not all people are bona fide astronauts who live in space for five months.” I shook my head at him. “You’ve packed so much into your life, and you’re only thirty-five.” No wonder he was floundering now. He’d literally reached for the stars and achieved it. What came next? I suddenly remembered his confession. “And now you’re writing a book. I feel the desperate need to go home and reevaluate all my life choices.”