Chapter Eleven

Maddie's receptionist had done herself proud…the restaurant was perfect. On the thirty-fifth floor of a chic downtown hotel, it boasted a stunning view of the Los Angeles Valley. Millions of tiny lights twinkled out to the mountains on the horizon; it was going to be like eating on a carpet of stars.

Having made his arrangements with the maître d', Sam surveyed his temporary domain with satisfaction. Their table was so close to the window as to be almost a part of the view itself, which made it feel private, yet would ensure that their fellow diners would be looking on (with indulgent sighs, no doubt) as the handsome man in the tuxedo got engaged to the Blue Moon Shampoo Girl.

After which, he and Maddie would go down to the suite he had booked on the thirty-fourth floor. A little extravagant, but it had the advantage of not harboring any awkward associations with masked men. His luggage was already there, and he had packed a bag for Maddie, too…just a few things he thought she would need.

There was a certain old-fashioned charm to the fact that they hadn't (re)consummated their relationship yet. Sam wasn't worried—that area had never been a problem before—but he was glad that they would spend their (second) first night together beyond the reach of anyone at Blue Moon.

He settled into his chair. Seven-thirty-two: perfect. Maddie would, no doubt, be a bit late; women always liked to make a dramatic entrance. That was fine...the interval would give him a few minutes to calmly prepare for the evening ahead, not to mention the rosy future beyond.

Once they were married—in six months or so; Maddie and her mother could easily put together an elegant, yet understated event in that much time—he would probably start the process of retiring from active duty at NASA. He might fly one more mission; they could keep his place in Florida, stay there while he did his run-up to flight. Then back to Chicago: Evanston was still very nice, though perhaps Winnetka fit better… In any case, Northwestern would, he was fairly sure, welcome their homegrown astronaut as an impressive addition to their faculty.

As for Maddie? Well, his mother could sponsor her for the Junior League, of course, and then there'd be kids, hopefully soon. Maddie would be a wonderful mother, loving, patient…but she wouldn't let them run all over her, either. She had a good solid backbone, his Maddie.

He checked his watch—eight o'clock! She was pushing fashionably late a little far, he thought, almost irritated. But then a beautiful woman materialized at his side.

"Dr. Crawford?"

It wasn't Maddie, obviously. It took him a minute to place her: the brunette with the O-ring drawings! She'd shed her quiet, serious demeanor for…well. She'd let her hair down, literally, and a curtain of shiny brown flowed down her back. The red dress she wore emphasized the curves that must've been hidden under her conference clothes.

He rose, trying to wipe the astonishment off his face.

"Kate James." She held out her hand.

He shook it. "Dr. James—"

"Kate, please."

"OK," he pointed to himself, "Sam. Are you here with…" He looked around, but didn't see an empty table.

"It's one of the conference get-togethers." She gestured to a private room, just visible through a side door, where a group was milling around sipping drinks and choosing seats. "Would you like to join us?"

"Thanks—I'm meeting someone. But here—sit down—care for champagne?" Lifting the bottle from its cooling bucket, he poured them each a glass; there would be plenty left for the celebration later.

He raised his flute. "To new discoveries."

"To new discoveries," she repeated, a pretty flush staining her cheeks.

They were chatting companionably about booster circumference, field joints, and pressure differentials when a trio of violinists made its way to the table, playing "All the Way." In their wake trailed the maître d' and a liveried waiter with a covered platter.

Horrified, Sam tried to signal the maître d', but it was too late. The waiter set the platter carefully in front of Kate, and pulled off the silver dome with a flourish.

There, atop a mound of red, ripe strawberries, rested the two-carat, princess-cut diamond ring Sam had picked out before he came to L.A. Around the perimeter of the white china plate was written, in curly chocolate script, "Will you marry me?"

"Oh Dr. Crawford—Sam—" Kate gasped.

The violins halted, and the maître d' and waiter took a few respectful steps back. Around them, heads turned in their direction, anxious to share in such a special moment. Sam struggled to keep his composure.

He forced a laugh. "Well, there's a conversation-stopper."

Kate looked mortified. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I've spoiled your surprise—"

"It's not your fault," he replied, his face grim as he gestured to the maître d'. In quietly menacing tones, he made his displeasure known to the confused man, who bowed and removed the platter amidst a cascade of apologies. Sam had the presence of mind to pluck the ring from the pile of strawberries, stowing it safely back in its velvet box.

Kate stood. "I should be getting back—I—well, good luck," she smiled tentatively at him.

"Thanks…enjoy your dinner," he said tightly as she headed back to the private room. Kate didn't seem the kind of girl to tell tales, but he really hoped he was not about to become the butt of a hundred bad jokes and snide comments.

Sam put the ring box in his pocket and headed for the pay phone. A short, harried-looking man hung up and scurried away as he approached. The man seemed familiar, but Sam wasn't going to waste the mental energy required to place him, though he did pause to wonder why the guy had one palm leaf stuck in his bushy hair.

He called Blue Moon, and then her house; no answer at either place.

Where the hell was Maddie?