He raised his eyebrows. “Well, happy birthday. I’m not even going to ask your age because I know better.”
“Smart man.” They both laughed. The tension in her shoulders lessened. “So . . . astrophysicist? I don’t meet one every day. How did that happen?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes, I really do.”
“I’ll give you the short version. My mother bought a telescope for my tenth birthday, and ever since then I’ve been fascinated by astronomy. I became obsessed. At night, I would get up after I should have been asleep, pull aside the curtains, and watch the stars. I was in awe of the universe and amazed by its beauty. As I got older, I wanted to know more.
“I studied ancient civilizations, their take on astronomy and its relevance in guiding their everyday lives. I read every book I could get my hands on about Galileo. Imagine, we now see him as the father of astronomy and physics, but in the early part of the seventeenth century, they placed him under house arrest because he dared to contradict the geocentric view at the time that the earth was the center of the universe. He argued that it was the sun, and scientists back then—” He stopped, then grinned ruefully. “I got carried away. Boring, right?”
“No, not at all.” Boring was the last thing she thought of him. He spoke so passionately about the subject, she practically felt his excitement. She could imagine him behaving the same way as a child. She’d never thought much about astrophysics, but she definitely wanted to know more now. “I think it’s kind of . . . interesting.”
He groaned and, making air quotes with his hands, repeated, “Interesting?”
Celeste nodded. “In a good way.”
“Years ago it wasn’t in a ‘good way.’ I wasn’t the most popular kid in school, and I wore the Coke-bottle-lens glasses to match.”
“You wear glasses?”
“No. Thank God for laser eye surgery. And puberty.” They both chuckled.
Especially puberty.
“You guys kind of screwed up the whole Pluto thing, didn’t you?” Celeste teased. “In elementary school I learned Pluto was a planet, now it’s not. I’m so disillusioned.”
Roarke hung his head. “No one cares about the 999,999 things we get correct,” he said in a sorrowful voice. “Only the one thing we get wrong. Scientists are human, too.”
Xander returned to the table. “Where is everybody?”
“Lucas took my friends onto the dance floor.”
Xander glanced from one to the other. “You know, I think I’ll go help him out.” He winked.
“He’s real subtle, isn’t he?” Roarke shook his head. “Okay, so what’s your story?”
Celeste shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I recently graduated from Georgia Tech with a degree in public policy.”
“My younger brother and sister graduated from there. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Now I need to find a job.” She took a deep breath. “And I have a six-year-old daughter. My world revolves around her.” She liked to mention her daughter up front, which caused some men to run in the opposite direction. She watched his reaction, but he didn’t flinch.
“I understand.”
The vehemence with which he said the words prompted Celeste to ask, “Do you have kids?”
“No, but I raised my younger brother and sister from the time I was eighteen. I tell them all the time they’re my kids.”
“What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind my asking?”
The immediate transformation in his disposition made her regret the question. The smile on his lips evaporated, and his face became shuttered. Even though she’d tried to tread carefully, her question had obviously been too personal and made him uncomfortable.
“They’re both dead.”
“I’m sorry. I—”