Page 110 of Pets in Space 10

My transport slides to a halt near the shimmering, retro-futuristic entrance of Stars Above.

Rockets that aren’t real point towards a sky painted with nebulae that don’t exist. Cheerful, synthesized music pipes through hidden speakers, competing with the excited shrieks of kids and the low rumble of simulated spaceship engines.

I have to admit, Myra outdid herself with this place. From the over-the-top galactic gateway to the themed food stalls, her artistic vision is everywhere.

I remember the early planning stages, the sketches spread across the Kimura dining table, the sheer determination in her eyes.

Seeing Stars Above become a reality, a bustling hub of manufactured joy, makes me proud of her.

Her creativity and drive — I’ve always admired those qualities in her, even when I’m teasing her about zero-gravity churros.

I’ve had fun here before, lost in the silly rides and immersive exhibits with Demi or friends, escaping reality for a few hours. Today, though, the forced cheer is jarring, the manufactured wonder unable to penetrate the thick fog of anxiety clinging to me.

It’s supposed to be fun, Rosa. A distraction.

My stomach twists into a knot tighter than any yoga pose I’ve attempted.

Fun feels light-years away, orbiting some distant, carefree planet I can’t reach.

Kenji’s message echoes in my head: Layoff lists finalized.

Announcements could be next week. That’s soon, like two days from now soon.

Which means today is the last day of blissful ignorance, or perhaps the first day of agonizing uncertainty.

And I am spending it at a theme park. With the ghoster. Who I’ve kissed (again). Who I’ve then practically run away from.

Excellent life choices, Rosa. Top tier.

I spot Rhys near the entrance arch, leaning against a faux meteor chunk. He looks relaxed in jeans and a simple grey t-shirt, a contrast to the chaotic energy swirling inside me. He waves when he sees me, a tentative smile on his face.

Okay. Breathe. You agreed to this. For… distraction. Yeah. That.

“Hey,” I say, managing a smile that feels brittle around the edges. My knee gives a small twinge as I step onto the curb. Better than before, but still noticeable.

“Hey yourself.” His eyes do a quick scan, probably assessing my mood after my abrupt departure two nights ago. “Ready for blast off?”

“Something like that.” I gesture to the entrance. “Lead the way, Captain.”

He doesn’t just lead the way. He reaches out as we start walking, his fingers brushing against mine before closing around my hand. The contact sends a jolt straight up my arm, bypassing my brain and landing somewhere deep in my chest.

My breath catches. It’s such a simple gesture, something couples do without thinking, but for us?

After everything? It’s… monumental. Unexpected.

My skin tingles where his palm presses against mine, warm and solid.

Embarrassment wars with a sudden, sharp spike of lust. What if someone sees us together here?

Will they know how he treated me last year? Did he tell anyone?

This is the hand of the man who vanished, who left me questioning everything.

And yet, right now, holding it feels… right.

Grounding. Like an anchor in the swirling chaos of my anxiety.

I glance at our joined hands and look away, a blush heating my cheeks.

Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it.

He falls into step beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. “How’s the knee today?”

“Complaining, but quieter than yesterday.”

“Good.” He steers us to a less crowded path. “We’ll take it easy. Plenty of places to sit. No zero-gravity bungee jumping today.”

“Absolutely not,” I deadpan, and he laughs. A small warmth spreads through my chest, and I chuckle, too. He is trying. Remembering.

Stars Above is… a lot. Gleaming chrome structures mimic space stations, holographic aliens wave from simulated portholes, and the air smells of smoked meats, candy floss, and popcorn.

We find a bench near a ‘Lunar Lander’ game where kids are shrieking with laughter as they try to grab stuffed moon rocks with a giant claw.

Watching their uncomplicated joy, the knot in my stomach loosens, just a fraction.

The constant internal chant of layoffs, layoffs, layoffs fades into the background noise, replaced by the cheerfulness of the park.

Rhys makes a dry comment about the rigged nature of the claw game, and I find myself laughing — a genuine laugh, not the strained version I’ve been using lately. Maybe it’s the sexual tension between us, or maybe it’s being here, away from the I.A. and the stress of the collapsing house.

Sitting beside Rhys, sharing this silly, manufactured moment, is.

.. surprisingly normal. Almost nice. The anxiety hasn’t vanished; it’s more like a storm cloud that’s moved further out to the horizon, allowing a sliver of sunshine through.

I relax against the bench and let the tension ease from my shoulders for the first time all day.

We wander, hand-in-hand. Rhys points out some of the more ridiculous attractions, his easy humor chipping away at my anxiety. He buys us shaved ice that changes colors as we eat it, and we find a bench beneath a giant rotating model of Orihimé.

“So,” he says, after a comfortable silence punctuated only by the light thuds of our spoons, “aside from potential job loss and family drama, how are things?”

I snort, nearly inhaling blue raspberry flavoring. “Peachy. Thinking of taking up competitive napping. Seems less hazardous than soccer or dating. How’s the yoga studio?”

“The studio’s okay,” he replies. “Actually, I’m thinking about bringing someone on. A partner, maybe, to handle the business stuff.”

“A partner? Hmmm. How do you feel about that?” I can’t help the therapist in me.

He bops his head from side to side. “I don’t know. The scheduling, the marketing…” He shrugs. “It’s not my strength. It would be nice to have help.”

“Right.” I nod, recalling our first date. “I remember you saying you just wanted to teach, not wrestle with spreadsheets.”

“Exactly. It would free me up to focus on what I actually love.”

“Dating? Or is that hazardous territory?” I cock a wry smile at him, and he chuckles, a low, warm sound.

“Dating can be hazardous, I’ll give you that.” His gaze meets mine, a flicker of the old awkwardness surfacing. “Especially when communication lines get… tangled.”

“Or severed,” I add, unable to resist.

He winces. “Point taken. Again. But maybe… we can untangle them? Put this behind us?”

His question hangs in the air, simple words carrying the weight of a year’s worth of pain and confusion.

Untangle them? Put this behind us? Is it really that easy?

My inner therapist screams caution. He hurt you.

He disappeared. Protect yourself. Demi’s voice in my head warns of inevitable heartbreak.

Dad’s face appears, frowning about distractions and priorities.

Every logical fiber says run. Build the walls higher.

Stick to the safe plan: PT, work, worry.

But… logic isn’t the only thing speaking right now.

There’s the undeniable warmth of his hand holding mine, the way he recognized my need for a distraction, the genuine remorse in his eyes when he explained about Chloe.

He is trying. He showed up, apologized, listened, and remembered details.

Rhys is not just saying he wants to untangle things; he’s actively pulling at the knots.

He faced my sister-in-law’s disapproval, offered tea, and remembered my knee needed rest. He’s communicating.

Isn’t this what I tell my clients? That vulnerability is strength? That second chances, while risky, are sometimes necessary for growth? Refusing to even try is the coward’s way out. It’s like letting the ghost of the past dictate my future.

It’s a risk. He could disappear again. He could break my heart far worse this time. But staying guarded, letting fear win… that’s a different heartbreak, one I inflict on myself. I came here for a distraction, but… this could be more.

I take a breath, a conscious decision settling in my chest. Okay. Okay, Rosa. Let it go. Give him, give us, a chance.

“Okay. Let’s try.” A small smile touches my lips, tentative but real. “Where do we start untangling?”

His answering smile is slow, relieved, and utterly heart-melting. “How about with a cheesy boat ride?” He gestures at a nearby attraction, its entrance shaped like a giant, glowing moon rock.

We end up on a ride called “Cosmic Currents,” a slow-moving boat journey through bioluminescent caves simulating subterranean rivers on a faraway moon. It is dark, cool, and blessedly quiet after the park’s main thoroughfares. Glowing flora drifts past, casting ethereal light on Rhys’s face.

“This is…” I start.

“Cheesy?” he finishes, grinning.

“Relaxing,” I admit. “Reminds me a little of that weird art installation we walked past downtown… on our first date.”

His smile softens. “Yeah. I remember.” He pauses. “I remember a lot about that night, Rosa.”

The air thickens again, charged with unspoken things. The boat drifts into a section filled with shimmering, fiber-optic constellations.

“Me too,” I whisper.

We don’t talk much for the rest of the ride, but the silence is different. Charged. Aware. When his hand brushes mine on the seat between us, neither of us pulls away.

After the ride, we wander into a quieter section of the park, an enclosed pavilion showcasing stunning astrophotography from distant solar systems we’ve visited.

Giant, luminous images glow on the walls, swirling nebulae and pinprick stars creating a sense of infinite space.

It is almost empty, the low ambient music a soothing hum.

We stop in front of a breathtaking image of the Andromeda Galaxy.

“Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?” Rhys murmurs, his voice quiet.

“Small,” I agree, “but also… I don’t know… connected to something huge.”

He turns to me, the galactic light painting shadows and highlights across his face. His eyes are dark, intense. “Rosa…”

My breath hitches. That spark, the one I keep trying to ignore, flares bright and hot. He takes a step closer, closing the small distance between us. His hand comes up, just like two nights ago, cupping my cheek. His touch sends shivers down my spine despite the warmth of his skin.

This time, I don’t hesitate. I lean into him, my eyes fluttering shut as his lips find mine.

This kiss is deeper, hungrier, a release of pent-up tension and undeniable chemistry.

His other arm circles around my waist, pulling me closer, and I wrap my arms around his neck, forgetting my knee, forgetting the park, forgetting everything but the feel of him, the taste of him.

Heat pools low in my belly, insistent and demanding. This is it. This feeling. This connection I’d thought I’d imagined, the one I’d mourned after he disappeared. It is real. And I am falling. Hard. Again. For the ghoster. Who might be different this time. Who might stick around. Who might…

Layoff lists finalized. Announcements could be next week.

The thought crashes into my brain like an asteroid, cold and brutal. The warmth of the kiss turns to ice water in my veins. My job. My life, already precarious thanks to my knee, could shatter completely.

What am I doing, getting lost in a kiss when my future is hanging by a thread? How can I even think about trusting someone else, letting someone in, when I can’t trust my own career stability?

I pull back and gasp for air, the sudden movement jarring my knee. Pain shoots up my leg, sharp and unforgiving.

Rhys blinks, his expression shifting from passion to confusion. “Rosa? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The word comes out sharp, brittle. “My knee.” I shift my weight, wincing more than necessary, using the physical pain as a shield for the emotional panic surging through me.

Run. I need to run.

Get away from him, from this feeling, from the terrifying uncertainty crashing down. How can I be kissing him like this when my entire career, my life, might evaporate in two days?

Rhys’s brow furrows with concern, his hands hovering near me, unsure whether to touch or retreat. “Are you okay? Did you twist it?”

“I’ll be fine,” I insist, forcing a shaky breath, trying to regain control.

“Just… overdid it. Need a second.” I look away from his searching gaze, focusing on a swirling nebula projection, its vastness mirroring the overwhelming emotion in my chest. This is too much.

The kiss, the job, the past, the future. It’s all colliding.

He doesn’t press, sensing the shift goes deeper than my knee. Instead, he steps back and gives me space.

“Okay,” he says, his voice calm and steady, a small anchor in my internal storm.

“Take your time.” He waits a beat and adds, “You know, Rosa, you handle astronauts prepping for deep space. You handle I.A. politics. You’re strong.

Whatever this is, you can handle it too.

” He offers a slight, supportive smile. “And I’m still here for the distraction part, remember?

Let’s go find something less intense to do. ”

His quiet confidence is reassuring. He’s not demanding answers; he’s offering presence. I take another deep breath and let the panic recede.

Run? Or stay? I came here to try again.

I should stay.

“Okay,” I echo, managing a faint smile. “Lead on.”

He nods, relief flickering in his eyes. He guides me out of the dark pavilion to a different exhibit, the light pressure of his hand on my back a silent promise.

He’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

I hope.