“Hi there.”
I twist around to find a petite blonde woman standing behind me. She smiles, tilting her head. Her hair is long and in two pigtails, the way young girls wear it, and she’s also wearing a dress that looks like something kids wear too, complete with pink knee-high socks and those black shoes with a strap. She’s clearly an adult though.
“Hi.”
“Are you lost? You’ve been standing there a while.”
“Oh, uh, no. I’m waiting for Jeremy to come back.”
“Jeremy?” She raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean Jeremiah?”
“Yes. Dang. That’s it.”
“Okay. Does he know you’re here?”
“Yep.” Seems super excited about it too. “I work here. Now. I guess.”
The woman gives me a look. “Oh. I’m Penelope.” She extends her hand. “I manage the gift shop.”
“Nice to meet you. Gabriel.” I shake her hand. “I’m, um, I don’t know my position. Director, maybe?”
Penelope’s eyes shoot wide. “Director?”
“Uh, yeah. My Uncle Rick, um, Richard, said—”
“Richard is your uncle?” she interrupts.
“Yeah.”
“Crapola.” She glances around. “Where did Jeremiah go?”
“Upstairs.”
Exhaling slowly, she nods. “Okay, stay here.”
“I will.”
She stomps off the same way Jeremiah did. Now there are two people not happy I’m here. Great. Why did my father tell me Richard was desperate for help, and that I’d be perfect for it?
A few minutes pass, and some people join me, talking about the planet sculpture above us.
“When I was a kid, Pluto was a full-blown planet,” a man says next to me, talking to some smaller kids. “It was quite an uproar when NASA announced it was demoted.”
“Demoted to what?” one of the kids asks.
“A dwarf planet,” the man says. “It’ll always be a planet to me though.”
“How do you know that stuff?” I ask the man.
“What stuff?”
“Like, how it’s a dwarf planet?”
“It was a big deal back in 2006-ish when it was announced. People from my generation grew up believing we had nine planets in our solar system. Turns out we only have eight, according to NASA.”
One of the kids tugs my T-shirt. “What’s your favorite planet?”
“Uh.” I glance up at the sculpture, stuck on a question I’ve never been asked before. I bite back a joke about Uranus, since it’s probably not an appropriate thing to say in front of a kid. “Saturn. The rings are cool. What’s yours?”
The kid smiles. “I like Saturn too. It has fifty-three moons. We only have one.”
“Super cool.”
The kid beams. “Yeah. Space is cool.”
Is it? The group moves on while I continue staring at Saturn until I hear a throat clear behind me. I twist around to find Jeremiah, his face set in a scowl, as Penelope skitters off in the other direction. He avoids my eyes.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“For what?”
“Training.”
“Yeah, I’m ready. Did I, um, piss you off or something?”
“How could you piss me off? I just met you.”
“Right. Just wondering. Are you always so happy?”
His eyes shift hard to me, and the contact feels like getting slapped across the face. Behind black frames, his eyes are hazel, with flecks of gold and brown dotting the green irises, but he’s glaring at me like he wishes I were on Saturn instead of standing right in front of him. I’m used to people falling all over themselves to get to me, but Jeremiah is not impressed.
“My mood isn’t any concern of yours. I have work to do, and, apparently, I need to train you, so let’s get started, shall we?”
“Yep.”
I follow Jeremiah as he does that stomp-walk thing again. He doesn’t smile or acknowledge a single person we pass, while I at least offer a smile or a head nod. We see Penelope, who is watching from the gift shop with a worried look on her face. I have a feeling I’m not going to have the best first day ever.
My eyes switch to the clearly hostile man in front of me. He’s cute. Like, really, really cute. One hundred percent my type. He also clearly doesn’t think the same of me. Probably for the best anyway. I need to work and get a career going. Well, a second career, since I managed to burn the first one to the ground. The last thing I need is distraction.
Jeremiah leads me upstairs and across a metal corridor, almost like a fire escape. You can still see into the planetarium. We enter an office, and as I pass through the entrance, Jeremiah lingers behind me and closes the door.
I glance at him, suddenly feeling like I’m at the principal's office, even though this guy can’t possibly be much older than me. Jeremiah paces slowly in front of me, like he’s about to launch into a lecture about me talking in class or staying out past curfew.
“First of all,” Jeremiah begins, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You’re training for the director role, it’s not a given. You’ll be presented to the board, they’ll review credentials, and, ultimately, select the best candidate.”
“Uncle Rick told you that?”
“Richard did, yes.”
He takes a step toward me, and even though I’ve got a couple of inches, and I’m guessing several pounds of muscle, it’s intimidating enough that I end up taking a step back. Eh, I’m a lover, not a fighter.
“I’ll be presented to the board as well.”
My eyes widen. Shit. Now I get the source of his hostility. “I didn’t know. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” He clears his throat. “You got this opportunity by being related to the owner. I got it through busting my ass the last two years, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not exactly jubilant to train you.”
I nod, searching his eyes. His really pretty eyes.
“Why doesn’t Rick train me?”
“Because he can’t. I created all the procedures and policies. I run this place. He’s hardly ever here.”
“Really? He told my father—” I stop myself. Jeremiah doesn’t need to know my family shit. I’m starting to question the story I was told that landed me in this position. “Okay, well, I’m sorry. I guess this is an uncomfortable situation. For both of us. I was looking forward to just settling somewhere.”
“What work experience do you have?”
“Uh…” My hand moves up to the back of my neck as I rub it. “Soccer.”
Jeremiah’s face screws up like he smells something foul. “Soccer?”
“Yeah. I’ve been in a soccer league for the past eight years.”
“I don’t understand. Full time?”
“Yes. I'm an athlete. Former athlete. I was recruited in high school and played abroad. I suffered an…injury.” The lie tastes just as bitter as it always does. “Ended my career. I was cut from the team and sent home.”
Jeremiah’s face softens. “Oh. What kind of injury?”
“Torn ACL.”