True

By Abigail Strom

Houston, we have a hero.

All Trudy wants is to be good at her job. She's new at NASA, and the last thing she needs is to get involved with an astronaut... no matter how sexy he is.

All Liam wants is to go back into space. The mission will always come first, and he won't let anything hold him back... including NASA's gorgeous new public affairs officer.

The last thing either of them wants is a relationship. But can they hold out against an attraction that's out of this world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abigail Strom
• Release date: Jun 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781943296071

Abigail Strom

Abigail Strom started writing stories at the age of seven and has never been able to stop. She lives in New England with her family, who are incredibly supportive of the hours she spends hunched over her computer.  She loves to hear from readers and can be reached at [e-mail].

Book preview

TRUE

Abigail Strom

Chapter One

Today was going to be different.

Starting today, Trudy Machado was going to be the consummate professional.

She wouldn’t be five minutes late to meetings. She wouldn’t spill things on herself at lunch. She wouldn’t talk a little too loud, or be a little too eager, or have boobs that were a little too big.

Okay, so, maybe she couldn’t do much about the last item. Unless she invested money she didn’t have in breast reduction surgery, she would still be a double D. But she had invested some money in minimizer bras, which meant her new button-down shirts wouldn’t gap at the chest. With that little bit of extra help, she was now, if she did say so herself, sublimely proportioned.

Not to mention sublimely attired.

Charcoal gray pants and an ivory blouse. Black silk jacket with three-quarter sleeves. Plain leather flats, minimal makeup, her dark hair smooth in a low bun. Not too formal, not too casual, not too showy, not too anything.

Perfect.

Now all she had to do was get out of her apartment without any of her neighbors asking her for—

Trudy! Tru!

Damn.

She’d lived at this Houston address for the last three years. It was in a decent neighborhood and pretty cheap, all things considered, and after a nomadic childhood she liked being settled in one place. But somewhere along the line her neighbors had started relying on her for things—babysitting, pet-sitting, errand-running. It had been okay when she was a freelance journalist and could set her own hours, but working in the public affairs department of NASA’s Johnson Space Center was a whole different ballgame. She’d been late to her new job three times because of her neighbors, and that was three times too many.

It might be time to think about moving closer to work. Someplace where the neighbors wouldn’t dream of asking her for favors.

Trudy!

But right now, that was still a fantasy. Chantelle, on the other hand, was a reality.

As was Chantelle’s dog.

No, Trudy said firmly to both of them: the gray-haired woman and the bulldog by her side. They were standing in the doorway across the hall, exactly where they’d stood when Trudy had moved in three years ago.

Baby girl, I need you.

Trudy kept her eyes on Chantelle. If she allowed herself to meet the limpid gaze of Mr. Sweets, she knew from experience she would fold like a cheap card table.

Not today, you don’t. Today you need somebody else. I can’t be late to work, I can’t show up covered in dog hair and drool, and I definitely can’t show up with Mr. Sweets.

Chantelle drew herself up to her full height, which was four foot eleven on a good day.

Baby girl.

Trudy folded her arms and leaned back against her apartment door. No.

Chantelle slumped a little, and Mr. Sweets slumped, too, leaning against his owner with a heavy sigh.

She would not let that sigh get to her. She would stick with a firm No, say her goodbyes, and leave.

What about your grandson? she heard herself ask. School’s out for the summer, isn’t it?

Yes, but Derrick got himself a job mowing lawns. I can’t derail his gainful employment.

You don’t have any trouble derailing mine.

Now, girl, you know that’s not true. You can manage anything, which is more than I can say for my grandson. Chantelle let her lower lip tremble ever so slightly. I guess I could cancel my appointment. The doctor said it was important for me to go, but—

All right, all right. Trudy crossed the hall, took the leash from Chantelle, and looked down at Mr. Sweets for the first time. Some people leave their dogs at home, you know. For hours.

Bulldogs hate to be alone, Chantelle said. And he’s a senior now, like me. He can’t hold his bladder and he takes more medications than I do. She handed Trudy a paper bag. Here’s his stuff. The peanut butter is so he’ll take his pills.

Trudy had bought a briefcase yesterday to replace her oversize tote. Mr. Sweets’ bag of medicine, which included an economy-sized jar of peanut butter, wouldn’t fit inside.

Sigh.

I’m not snuggling him, she told Chantelle. Not until after work, anyway. He’ll shed all over my outfit.

You do look sharp today, baby girl.

Yes, I do. And for once I’m going to keep it that way.

A few minutes later, she settled Mr. Sweets on the passenger seat of her Corolla and put her briefcase on the console between them. Maybe the barrier would keep her fur-free during the commute to the Johnson Space Center. She had a big meeting today, her chance to lobby for a dream assignment, and she needed to make her best impression.

Mr. Sweets nosed her briefcase as she pulled out of the parking lot, and she wondered if the leather was built to withstand dog snot.

She broke down and petted him at the next stoplight. His eyes closed in ecstasy as she scratched the wrinkles between his ears, which felt like velvet.

I can’t do a full-on cuddle, she told him. Not until we’re heading home, okay?

He snuffled as he rested his chin between his paws, and she chose to interpret that as acceptance.

We’ll go for a walk at lunchtime, she went on as the light changed. And if you promise not to—

She was interrupted by her caller ID.

Call from: Carlos Machado.

Her hands tensed on the steering wheel. The air punched out of her lungs and she took a deep, deliberate breath before answering.

Hey, big brother. When did you get back to town?

Couple days ago.

Okay, good. If Carlos wasn’t calling the second he arrived, he didn’t need money. Which, considering she’d just spent her disposable income on new clothes, was definitely for the best.

How’s the poker circuit?

Not bad. I’m up almost 50k.

50k? That would make this the best season he’d had in years.

There was suddenly a lot more space between her ears and her shoulders. You finally listened to me, huh?

Listened to what?

My sisterly wisdom.

His chuckle came through loud and clear on speakerphone. Which wisdom is that?

This was their oldest joke. You’ve got to know when to hold ’em. Know when to fold ’em. Know when to walk away—

"Oh, that wisdom, he said. Yeah, I’m finally following your sage advice."

So what are you doing to celebrate?

That’s why I’m calling. Can you have dinner this week?

Sure. Just say when and where.

Nine o’clock Thursday? At Ninfa’s?

Nine was late for her on a work night, but Ninfa’s was in her neighborhood and Carlos kept gambler’s hours.

I’ll be there.

I’ll be buyin’. See you, sis.

See you.

Carlos with plenty of money, not asking her for anything, and laughing at their old jokes. Talk about a good omen.

She was going to get that assignment. She just knew it.

* * *

You didn’t get the assignment.

A sharp sting in her nose gave warning, but this was a mind over matter situation.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Going to Hawaii to profile the Mars habitat team would have been an amazing opportunity, but she’d known it was a long shot. She was the newest member of the department, after all.

Waterproof mascara irritated her eyes and she never wore it, even though that left her makeup vulnerable to tears. But professionals didn’t cry when they were passed over for an assignment and she would not cry over this.

Uh…Trudy?

Yes?

Gillian was squinting at her. Are you all right? You look really weird right now.

I do?

You haven’t blinked in like thirty seconds. It’s starting to freak me out.

She blinked. There. Happy?

Damn. Now she’d snapped at a coworker.

I’m sorry, she said immediately. I didn’t mean to be bitchy.

Gillian shrugged. No worries. I’m the bearer of bad news a lot, so I never take anything personally.

Trudy studied her for a moment. Gillian was tall and built like an Olympic volleyball player, and she was the star of the office softball team. Between the confidence that came from athletic prowess and her cheerful demeanor, Trudy had never thought of Gillian as someone with emotional vulnerabilities.

But saying you didn’t take things personally was a dead giveaway that you did.

Just because you coordinate media assignments is no reason for people to take their disappointments out on you. That’s not fair.

Gillian shrugged again. Human nature, right? But it’s nice of you to say so. She paused a moment. It’s not just the blinking thing that’s weird, though. Where’s your color?

My…what?

You usually wear all these bright colors. It’s weird to see you in black and white and gray. What’s up with that?

The whole point of the new clothes was to be noticed for her job performance and not her appearance. But she should have realized that altering her look might be noticed, too.

It was always harder to make a change than you thought it would be.

I’m just trying something new.

Gillian nodded, but instead of leaving she leaned against the low wall of Trudy’s cubicle.

Hey, Trudy?

There must be something else weird about her. Yes?

Is that a dog under your desk?

She looked down at the paws that were clearly visible from where Gillian stood.

Um, yes. I’m watching him for a neighbor. I cleared it with the office manager, she added quickly. I’ve brought him before, and he’s always good. He’s ten years old, which is ancient for a bulldog, and he doesn’t run around or anything. Sandy said other people bring their dogs to work sometimes and—

I wasn’t complaining. I love dogs. Gillian squatted down. Hey there, buddy. Do you want to come out and say hi?

Trudy rolled her chair back so Mr. Sweets could emerge if he so chose.

He did so choose. He was at his most charming, too, with his stump of a tail wagging furiously and a big bulldog grin on his face.

Oh my God, he’s adorable. What’s his name?

Mr. Sweets.

Come to think of it, there was a silver lining to not getting the assignment in Hawaii. She wouldn’t be going to the prep meeting for it, and that meant consummate professionalism could wait another day.

Gillian was giving Mr. Sweets under-the-chin scritches just the way he liked them. Do you have a treat I can give him?

The subtle tension of keeping her clothes neat and dog hair-free had been building up all morning. Now, as she slid off her chair to sit cross-legged on the floor, it felt like she was setting down a hundred-pound weight.

She reached under her desk for the bag Chantelle had given her, pulling out the jar of peanut butter.

This is his favorite. If you let him he’d eat the whole—

The rest of her sentence was cut off by bulldog kisses.

She wasn’t sure if it was the peanut butter or her position on the floor, but Mr. Sweets took one look at her and lunged, launching his sizeable self into her lap and licking her face from chin to forehead.

She started to laugh. Gillian, you have to rescue me. Open the peanut butter and—

Good morning, ladies.

Trudy froze.

The voice was unmistakable. Rough and smooth at the same time, like the burn of good tequila sliding down your throat. But with her view blocked by a bulldog and only the voice to go by she could still hold out hope that it wasn’t—

Liam! Gillian said. What are you doing in our neck of the woods?

If he’d shown up two minutes earlier—even thirty seconds earlier—she would have been sitting in her chair like a grown up, clothes and hair and makeup all flawless. Instead, she was on the floor with Mr. Sweets’ big butt in her lap and dog saliva all over her face.

If it had been any other astronaut, she wouldn’t have minded so much. Even though they were royalty at the Johnson Space Center, NASA’s astronauts were a surprisingly down-to-earth bunch.

Except for Liam Jones.

Bill asked me to stop by. Some new project, I guess. You don’t know anything about it?

Not yet.

Peeping out from behind Mr. Sweets, Trudy saw Liam extend a hand to Gillian and help her up. His biceps flexed under the short sleeve of his polo shirt.

Suddenly terrified he would offer her the same assistance, she dumped Mr. Sweets onto the floor, eliciting a bulldog grunt of annoyance, and scrambled to her feet.

Liam barely glanced at her before turning back to Gillian. I just heard about it this morning. You probably have something in your inbox.

Gillian pulled out her phone to check while Liam slid his callused hands into the pockets of his khakis.

She should have stayed on the floor with Mr. Sweets on her lap. Now she had no dog to hide behind and was standing there like an idiot, trying to look like she had some place in the conversation when it was obvious she didn’t.

Liam still wasn’t looking at her. She might as well be invisible.

A quality that did not go both ways.

Every time she saw Liam, she remembered what her mother used to say about her father.

The first night I met him, I should have run the other way. A man that good-looking doesn’t have a soul.

If that was the standard for souls, there was no way Liam Jones was in possession of one.

He had the most perfect nose she’d ever seen on a man. His cheekbones could cut glass. He had short brown hair and gunmetal eyes, and a jaw so firm and square Hollywood would let him play himself in a movie.

He had an easy grin when he smiled, which wasn’t often. His shoulders were wide and powerful, his arms could make a grown woman weep, and his butt was like granite.

But it wasn’t just his face and body that conveyed perfection. His clothes were never wrinkled. His shoes were always shined. And okay, yes, he’d probably acquired those habits in the military, but he wasn’t in the military now. He could relax a little at NASA, couldn’t he? The other astronauts did. Not when it came to their jobs, but when it came to social interactions and their lives outside the job.

But even when Liam relaxed, he wasn’t relaxed.

Then again, maybe she was projecting. Maybe she was the one who couldn’t relax. Because for some reason, Liam Jones had disliked her from the moment they’d met.

Yep, you’re right, Gillian said, looking up from her phone. Bill wants us in his office in half an hour. You’re still early, though.

Liam shrugged. I’m always early.

He wants you, too, Gillian added, looking at Trudy. You’re copied on the appointment request.

She was? I thought I didn’t get the assignment.

You didn’t. Not the one in Hawaii, anyway. I’m not sure what this is about. She glanced at the clock on the wall. I’m going to grab a cup of coffee from the break room. You guys want anything?

Trudy shook her head, sitting down at her desk and opening up her email. Sure enough, there was an appointment request and a message from her boss.

I’ll go with you, Liam said to Gillian.

Trudy expected him to leave without a word to her, since his record of ignoring her existence was pretty much unbroken over the last three months. She kept her eyes on her email inbox and told herself not to take it personally.

Dog hair.

She looked up, startled. Liam had taken a step away from her desk and then paused.

What?

You’re covered in dog hair.

She was so surprised he’d spoken to her that it took a moment to process what he’d said. For a few seconds, she was more conscious of his eyes than anything else. Were they blue with a wash of gray, or gray with a wash of blue?

Then she looked down at herself and saw that he was right. Her slacks, blouse, and jacket were covered in brindle bulldog fur.

By the time she looked up again, Liam was walking away.

Damn.

She usually carried a lint roller with her. When you were an animal lover who wanted to pet every dog you saw, it was just common sense.

But today, she wasn’t carrying the oversized canvas tote that held everything she might ever need. Today she was carrying her brand-new briefcase, which held her laptop and not much else.

And it had all been for nothing.

The briefcase. The hours of shopping over the weekend. Getting up early to iron the clothes that were currently covered in fur. The careful application of neutral, minimal makeup that Mr. Sweets had just licked off.

Damn, damn, damn.

You’re covered in dog hair.

Those were the first words Liam had ever spoken to her directly. When they’d met for the first time at a new employee social, he’d given her a cool nod and nothing else. The other astronauts she’d been introduced to had been funny, gracious, charming—or at the very least, polite.

Not Liam.

She’d done her homework on every single astronaut currently at the Johnson Space Center, because they were her heroes and this was her dream job and she wanted to be the best public affairs officer in the history of NASA. There were a dozen astronauts at the social, and she knew their biographies and areas of specialization and every mission they’d flown. She knew their pets’ names and their favorite colors, too, if that information happened to be on their profile pages.

Some were scientists by training, many were military, and all were impressive. But even in that august company, Liam Jones stood out.

Eagle Scout. First in his class at the Air Force Academy. Fighter pilot and combat veteran. At the time he’d joined NASA he’d been the youngest astronaut ever selected, and at thirty-eight he still had years of space exploration ahead of him.

So far he’d logged more than four hundred days in space. He’d flown the space shuttle and gone on two missions to the International Space Station.

So, yeah. Impressive.

He was also the best-looking man she’d ever seen in real life.

The day before that new employee event, she’d caught herself staring at the photo on Liam’s profile page. The moment she realized it she’d closed her laptop. There were a lot of things she wanted to accomplish at NASA, but ogling astronauts was not one of them.

Still, she couldn’t deny that there’d been an extra flutter or two when her boss had introduced them.

And this is Liam Jones. Liam, this is our newest public affairs officer, Trudy Machado. She’s only been with us a few weeks but we’re expecting great things.

At that moment, someone else had claimed Bill’s attention, and he’d left her and Liam to get acquainted.

She’d been marshaling her wits, planning to open up with a question about the mission he’d just returned from—six months on the International Space Station—when he’d rendered all her preparation for this meeting moot.

His gaze flicked over her as though he were a commanding officer inspecting a new recruit. She was wearing a lemon-yellow blouse and a tangerine skirt, and she wondered suddenly if the colors were too bright.

Then he looked at her face.

It was only for a second. Maybe she’d even imagined it. But for a moment, she was absolutely certain that he was staring at the thick scar that began at her left eyebrow and ended at her chin.

He nodded once, cool and impersonal, before turning his back.

And that was it.

The only good thing about the encounter was that it happened near the end of the social, which meant she could slip away without being noticed.

Their paths had crossed a few times since then. On each occasion, Liam had avoided speaking to her. When he looked at her, his eyes always went to her scar before he turned away.

Until now.

You’re covered in dog hair.

God, how humiliating.

For the second time that morning, tears stung behind her eyes. Now, though, her makeup was already ruined and no one was looking at her.

She might as well let go and cry.

Instead, she clenched her hands into fists and took a deep breath. Maybe she wasn’t the kind of person who could keep her clothes neat for more than an hour, but she didn’t have to break down and sob while she was at work.

Especially when she had a meeting to get ready for.

She read her boss’s email while she fished around for her tape dispenser.

PBS is funding a new documentary about space exploration, and they’ve asked us to partner with them. The first episode will be filmed in Mexico. Given your background, we thought you’d be an excellent choice for this assignment. Let’s meet in my office at 11 to discuss.

Trudy reread the email twice while she worked on her clothes with the poor woman’s lint roller: strips of Scotch tape. In a few minutes her clothes were fur-free and she’d memorized the short message from her boss.

Her background? What did that mean, exactly? Was she being sent to Mexico because she was Latina? If so, her boss was going to be sorely disappointed. She didn’t speak Spanish and she knew next to nothing about her Mexican heritage.

Her mother, Maria Machado, had never talked about her past. All Trudy knew was that she was from Mexico—and that she was undocumented.

She’d also been a single mother from the time Trudy was seven and Carlos was nine, which was when their father had left. Maria had raised them on her own, moving from town to town to keep ahead of border agents, and eventually leaving Texas for Florida after a bad scare from ICE.

She never spoke Spanish in front of her children and she didn’t let them speak it, either. They’d been born in America and she wanted them to be Americans, she always said. They weren’t even allowed to study Spanish in high school.

Her mother’s rules were so strict that Trudy had never even talked about her college minor in anthropology. Some of her classes had covered Mesoamerican civilizations, and she didn’t dare mention that fact. The little Spanish she’d picked up in the eight years since her mother’s death still made her feel guilty.

She’d never been south of the border and she didn’t speak the language. If Bill was looking for some kind of Mexico expert, he’d have to look elsewhere.

Talk about a rotten day. She’d embarrassed herself in front of Liam Jones, and when she’d finally gotten a travel assignment it was because of her ethnicity.

At least she was no longer covered in dog hair. All she had to do now was fix her makeup.

But as soon as she went into the bathroom to do just that, she wished she hadn’t. She wasn’t in the mood to see her own face in the mirror.

Her scar looked more…obvious than usual.

You’re so young and lovely, one of the doctors had said after the car accident. I don’t understand why you’re refusing plastic surgery.

She hadn’t tried to explain it to the doctors or to anyone else. But she’d never regretted her choice, and she was damned if Liam Jones’ disapproval or disgust or whatever he felt when he looked at her was going to change that.

She let cold water run over her hands until she felt calm. Then she rinsed the dog spit from her face and reapplied her makeup, studying her face in the mirror afterward.

Professional as all hell.

Chapter Two

Wow, you’re distracted today.

Liam blinked at Gillian. What?

I said, you’re distracted today. I’ve asked you three times if you want sugar in your coffee.

Liam never got distracted. But for the last ten minutes, ever since he’d arrived at the public affairs building, he’d only really been conscious of one thing.

Trudy Machado.

No sugar, he said, taking the mug Gillian offered him. It was NASA blue with a chip on the rim, and the coffee it contained smelled old and bitter.

On second thought, he said, dumping it into the sink, I better not have any more caffeine today. Thank you, though.

He turned on the faucet, grabbed a sponge, and washed