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Mara and Sadie have managed to worm their way into my heart, causing me to amend my previous I did not come here to make friends stance to a slightly altered I did not come here to make friends, but hurt my weird Cheez-It friend or my other weird soccer friend and I will beat you up with a lead pipe till you piss blood for the rest of your life. Truculent? Perhaps. I feel little, but surprisingly deeply.
“I hope I didn’t mess up your day.” He shakes his head—an obvious lie—and I take the opportunity to study him. He seems . . . quiet. The silent type, aloof, a little stiff. Big, more lumberjack than engineer. I briefly wonder if he’s military personnel, but the day-old stubble on his face tells me it’s unlikely.
Ian’s eyes settle on me, as if to size me up. I thought I had his full attention from the moment I sat down, but I realize that I was wrong. For the first time, he’s looking at me like he’s interested in actually seeing me. He studies me, assesses me, and my first impression of him—detached, distant—instantly evaporates. There is something nearly palpable about his presence: a warm, tingling sensation climbing up my spine.
He is fully smiling now. He has a heart-stopping dimple on his left cheek, and . . . Okay, fine: he’s aggressively hot.
He is, very simply, a never-before-experienced mix of cute and overwhelmingly masculine. With a complex, layered air about him. It spells simultaneously Do not piss me off because I don’t fuck around and Ma’am, let me carry those groceries for you.
Wow. A male engineer who’s not an asshole. The bar is pretty low, but I’m nevertheless impressed.
“Beautiful. You are very, very beautiful. Probably the most . . . And you’re obviously smart and funny, so . . .” He gives me a helpless look, suddenly looking less like a genius NASA team leader built like a cedar tree and more . . . boyish. Young. “Is this some kind of joke?”
I stay right there, caging this bear-size man who could flick me away with his little finger but doesn’t. Instead he looks up at me like I’m wondrous and beautiful and awe-inspiring, like I’m a gift, like he’s a bit dumbstruck.
“I like you.” I laugh. “I noticed.” “It’s . . . uncommon. For me. To like someone this much.”
“Hannah.” The shock of hearing my name—in Ian’s voice, cocooned by the whistle of the wind, and through the metallic line of my satphone, no less—has me instantly shutting up. Until he continues. “Just relax and think of Mars, okay? I’ll be there soon.”
He’s still staring at me. Like he’s found his long-missing house keys and is afraid he’ll lose them again if he looks away. “Yeah.” I cannot help making my smile just a tad suggestive. An experiment. I seem to do lots of those when he’s around. “Lots of fun.”
I sit and listen to his clear, calm voice as he talks about the many projects he’s overseeing, heart tight and heavy in my chest for reasons I cannot figure out.
He smiles, and the thought that I could have died—I could have died—without being smiled at like this, by this man, has my lips trembling. “I don’t mind carrying you.” A dimple appears. “Do try to contain your love for crevasses, please.”
He almost slipped twice. Both times, I felt the steel of his muscles as they tensed to avoid the fall, his large body solid and reliable as it balanced and reoriented before picking up the pace again. Both times, I felt bizarrely, incomprehensibly safe.
“I’m a fan of peanut butter.” “I know.” He does? “You do?” “Wasn’t your graduation cake just a giant Reese’s cup?”
When I lie down next to him, he blinks, groggy and mildly startled. And yet his first reaction is not to throw me in the sea but to push toward the bulkhead to make room for me. He’s a way better person than I’ll ever be.
“I can’t get warm.” He doesn’t hesitate. Or maybe he does, but just a fraction of a second. He opens his arms and pulls me to his chest, and . . . I fit inside them so perfectly, it’s as though there was a spot ready for me all along. A five-year-old spot, familiar and cozy.
“AMASE didn’t send you,” I say. It’s not a question. Ian won’t admit it to me, but in this bunk, next to him, it’s so obvious what happened. He came to Norway to keep me safe. Every step of the way, all he did was to keep me safe. “How did you know that I was going to need you?”
“I was just afraid that something might happen to you. And I don’t trust Merel. Not with you.” He says it—you—like I am a remarkable and important thing. The most precious data point; his favorite town; the loveliest, starkest Martian landscape. Even though I pushed him away, over and over, he still came in a rocking boat in the middle of the coldest ocean on planet Earth, just to get me warm.
“You really should rest.” He’s right. We both should. So I push a leg between his, and he lets me. Like his body is a thing of mine. “I am sorry. About what I said to you back in Houston.”
He is broad and solid, his legs cramped and too long for the little space he has, and once we’re both buckled in, it feels like he’s blocking away the rest of the world. A wall, keeping me safe from the noise and the action.
I’ve been restless ever since the boat and haven’t managed more than very brief naps, but a few minutes after we take off, I feel myself starting to doze, exhausted. The last thing I do before falling asleep is lean my head against Ian’s shoulder. The last thing I remember him doing is shifting a little lower, to make sure that I’m as comfortable as I can be.
“Is that why you came to rescue me?” I tease. “Because you were thinking about it? Because you have been secretly pining for years?” He meets my eyes squarely. “I don’t know that there was anything secret about that.”
“But things have changed, right?” Sadie asks. “I mean . . . last night he carried you upstairs for seven floors because the elevator was broken. It’s obvious that he has a thing for you.”
“Hey, he’s my cousin-or-something.” Sadie pats her on the shoulder. “It’s the or something that gets me every time. You can really feel the unbreakable family ties.” “We seceded last night. We’re the founders of the Floyds 2.0. And you”—she points at me—“could be one of us.”
“I think I’ll ask. If he wants to.” “Considering that he saved your life, contacted Great-Aunt Delphina, and put up two dudes he’s never seen before so their girlfriends could hang out with you . . . I think maybe he does.”
“You know, when I fell, my expedition leader said that no one was coming to rescue me. But . . . he came. Ian came. Even though he wasn’t even supposed to be there.”
“I hate that I love him,” Mara mutters under her breath. Sadie sighs. “At least yours isn’t running against the wall because he can’t use the controller?” “Guys,” I tell them, shaking my head, “maybe I was wrong in approving of your relationships. Maybe you can do better.”
Mara snorts. “Excuse me? Is that a slice of pepperoni on Ian’s shirt?” Sure is. “Touché.”
“I just . . . can’t believe they actually like each other,” Mara says, befuddled. Sadie nods. “I don’t know how I feel about this. Seems . . . dangerous?” I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter.
It’s scary, how attractive I find him. The depth of this crush of mine. I liked him since the very start, but my feelings for him have been growing steadily, then exponentially, and . . . what do I even do with them? It’s like being handed an instrument I never learned how to play. Being asked to step onstage at a concert hall utterly unprepared.
“I just can’t believe that anyone would do that for me.” “Right.” He sighs and bites into his lower lip. “Hannah, if that changes. If you ever find yourself able to believe that someone could care about you that much. And if you wanted to actually . . . have dinner with that someone.” He lets out a laugh. “Well . . . Please, consider me. You know where to find me.”
He pulls back a few inches, and all I can do is look at him openmouthed. Shocked. Speechless. Absolutely . . . yeah. Did this really happen? Is it really happening? And the worst part is, I’m almost positive that his words have dislodged something in my brain, because the only thing I can think of saying in response to all he said is: “Is that a yes on dinner?”
The room erupts into cheers. Everyone explodes out of their seats, cheering, clapping, laughing, jumping, hugging. And within the delightful, triumphant, radiant chaos of mission control, I turn to Ian, and he turns to me with the widest, most brilliant of smiles. The following day, our kiss is on the front page of the New York Times.
