* * *
The drive from coastal San Diego quickly transformed from lush and tree-filled to rolling brown hills. Rosie didn’t mind the change of scenery. She’d spent so little time outside of San Diego. Just in-state family road trips to places like Yosemite and Tahoe with her dad and sister after her mom died, and one study abroad trip during architecture school to North Africa and the Middle East.
Rosie turned on an upbeat playlist and rehearsed the sales theme her team had discussed. They agreed they should adapt an existing design in order to meet OrbitAll’s aggressive schedule. According to Elle, the target date for the first human spaceflight was only two years out. They’d need all of that time for design, permitting, and construction. Hence the video tours of a few of their best apartment complexes, all of which could easily be adapted into a hotel.
A couple of hours later, she was marveling at a towering rock formation off the highway when she heard a loud popping noise and felt her steering wheel jerk to the right. Rosie’s heart hammered as her brain registered that she’d blown a tire. She moved her foot off the gas and gripped the steering wheel to steady the erratic movement of her small SUV. She pulled to the side of the highway, realizing as she got to the shoulder that she hadn’t even signaled or checked her blind spot. Lord, she was lucky.
She took a few deep breaths as she reminded herself that she was fine. Safe. What ifs could wait. She needed to focus on changing the tire so she didn’t miss the interview. Thank God they hadn’t set a time. She was just supposed to come by “sometime Friday.”
Rosie climbed out of her car into the heat of the desert. She was about fifty miles outside of Victory, the desert town where OrbitAll was located. She started sweating instantly, even with the wind from passing cars. Her hair would be a mess, for sure. And her pretty shoes. The shoulder was littered with rocks and dust and soda bottles full of what had to be urine. Fudgesicles.
Popping the hatch to access the spare and kit, Rosie realized she had no idea how to go about changing a tire. Sure, Elle’s dad had made them practice when they had first learned to drive, but that had been twelve years ago. She hadn’t needed to retain the knowledge.
“Sugar beets,” she muttered.
She pulled out her phone to search for “how to change a tire” videos when a semitruck towing a trailer slowed and then stopped in front of her car. Oh, God. A trucker. No, no, no. A side-of-highway trucker situation was the stuff of horror movies. Or bad porn.
The man who hopped out of the cab looked exactly like she imagined he would. He was small and thin everywhere except his belly. She could see even from yards away that his gray T-shirt, advertising a U-fish business, was covered in stains. The hat matched. He really liked Jim’s Bait and U-Fish. She felt her pulse jump in her neck. She didn’t know this man. She barely trusted the men she knew.
Another semi roared by, billowing her skirt around her legs. She held the fabric down with a squeak. This day was getting worse by the second.
“Hey, sweetheart.” The man’s drawl was distinctly Southern. “You look like you need some assistance.”
Rosie pressed her lips together and prepared to tell him she was fine, no help needed, but he moved right into her bubble and started rummaging around her trunk. He smelled better than expected, like new car air freshener, and he was humming, which calmed her racing heart. Serial killers wouldn’t help and hum while doing it, would they?
She realized she recognized the song. “Is that…Selena Gomez?”
A bright smile lit his face. “No idea. My granddaughter was just singing it to me on the phone. She’s five.”
The tightness in her chest loosened.
He hoisted the spare tire and all accessories out of the trunk and crouched on the ground. Guilt filled her. Regret that she’d judged him so harshly. Not all men are out to get you, she reminded herself.
“Do you have time to help me? I’m sure I can figure out how to do this.”
He looked her up and down. She was still clutching her skirt to her legs. He chuckled, but he didn’t sound unkind. “I’ll be done by the time you finish watching one video.”
“How did you know I was going to look for a video?”
He shrugged, already pumping the jack. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Who ya gonna call?”
She winced, but he didn’t make any menacing moves, unless grabbing the tire iron while humming counted. Fifteen minutes later, he was done. She knew his granddaughter’s name and he knew about her interview.
“Get a new tire as soon as you can. There’s a tire shop in Victory called Tiny’s. They’ll take care of you.” He’d put all the tools away and placed the shredded tire on a towel he’d given her. He shut the hatch and patted the back of the car.
Rosie exhaled. She really needed to work on trusting people until they gave her a reason not to. Sometimes she forgot she’d only been betrayed by one—no, two—people. Her sister still counted, addiction or no.
She stuck her hand out. “David, thanks so much for helping me.”
His smile lit up his tan, sun-wrinkled face. He shook his head. “Don’t wanna get you dirty, sweetheart. Good luck at your interview. You’re gonna get it.”
* * *
An hour and many Selena Gomez songs later, she pulled up at OrbitAll. The hangar was impressively massive. The building had shape and form, not just four rectangular walls like she’d expected. Curving organically like a comma, or an arm of a spiral galaxy, she could see that intention had gone into the facility’s design.
Inside, a smiling receptionist named Luz rose to greet her warmly. “You must be Rosie. I’ll call and see where Mister Tate is. I know he’s not in his office.” She tipped her chin to the space behind reception. A wall of windows showed an office with another bank of windows that looked out onto the action inside the hangar.
“The hangar,” Luz said, echoing her thoughts as she set the phone back in its receiver. “I’ll take you. Do you want water? Coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Nerves had taken over again. Happy ones. Elle was here. So was possibility.
“How was the drive from San Diego?” Luz inquired as they moved through a short hallway adjacent to Tate’s office and into the cavernous hangar.
The flat tire story died on her lips.
There was a spaceship not a hundred yards away. A freaking spaceship. The mothership that carried it aloft wasn’t much farther. The breath whooshed from her lungs.
Luz chuckled. “That’s the standard reaction.”
She followed the receptionist, unable to keep her head from moving in every direction. The hangar stretched upward three stories. Doors and windows along the periphery all faced the open center of the hangar. Offices, most likely, and conference rooms. A building oriented around the action. And there were so many people, more people than she’d seen on the streets of Victory as she drove in.
She brought her eyes back down when she heard a familiar squeal. She registered Elle’s joyous face milliseconds before her friend’s body crashed into hers in a hug. She gasped, but not from the unexpected contact. Time slowed as her senses took over. She didn’t just see the man standing behind Elle; she experienced him.