When they got back, Spence holed up and gave work what he could, and a few days later, he texted Caleb:
Spence:
I’ve got some shit figured out.
Caleb:
Awesome. So you went to New York after all.
Spence:
What the hell are you talking about? I meant the battery and weight distribution for the drone project. I think I’m close. Meet me at Marin Headlands.
Caleb:
Dude, you’re thinking about work on Christmas Eve?
Spence:
Shit. I forgot.
Caleb:
Forgot what? Your brain or that it’s Christmas Eve?
Spence:
Marin Headlands. One hour.
An hour later, Spence stood at the top of Marin Headlands, Caleb a few feet away, the two of them braced against the heavy gusts as they watched the drone fight its way through the wind like it wasn’t even there.
Another heavy gust sent them both back a step and Caleb’s baseball cap off toward Kansas as he looked down at his phone. “That one was seventy-five miles per hour.”
They both went back to concentrating on the drone until it was out of sight over the water. They switched their gazes to the tablet on the controls, watching as the drone, several miles out now, kept going without draining the battery. Twenty miles out and it still sent back both clear visuals and clear sound as it executed a hold-your-breath maneuver beneath the bridge, landing on a buoy being battered from all sides by the white-capped, frothy, unforgiving bay.
“Go farther,” Caleb said.
Spence did.
“Forty miles,” Caleb said some time later. “Battery?” The drone, still relaying back a picture-perfect visual and sound, came to the bridge again, hovered, dropped down onto a buoy, and . . . stayed there, perfectly balanced.
“Hold it there,” Caleb said, the two of them glued to the screen. “Wait for that incoming surge of waves—do you see them?”
Yeah. Spence saw them. They waited. Watched while the buoy was hit by wave after wave. Twice the drone did as it’d been programmed to do when things got too rough. It ascended, hovered in place, and then lowered back down, once again maintaining its position.
“Not even a wobble,” Spence said in marvel. They both looked at the tablet. “And the satellite reception held through the wind and water interference.”
Meaning if there’d been a doctor on this end trying to see and speak to a patient on the other end, they would’ve been able to maintain their connection.
“Make the drop,” Caleb said.
Spence executed the command and the drone rolled out a weatherproof, impact-protected box that was perfectly set on the tip of the buoy. The landing zone that was maybe six inches by six inches.
And the box landed right in the center, precisely weighted so that even with the swells hitting the buoy, making it rise and fall, the box didn’t shift.
Spence worked the controls and had the drone reverse the process, setting down and scooping the box back up.
“Still won’t stop someone from stealing the meds,” Caleb said. “Or snatching the drone.”
“We only make the drop after confirming by satellite that there’s an authorized receiver on site.” Spence shook his head. “That’s the best we’ve got. Patented long-use battery and unfailing connection through our app.”
Caleb nodded and turned to Spence, triumph gleaming through his smile. “You did it, man. Amazing.”
Yeah, and satisfaction burned through him at the triumph. Satisfaction, but not elation.
The last time he’d felt a surge of a positive emotion had been when he’d been buried deep inside Colbie, feeling like he’d found himself in her fathomless gaze, in her warm arms, buried in her body.
“Storm moving in,” Caleb said, tilting his face to the sky. “It’s a good night to cozy up to a woman with some good brandy and catch a sappy movie on TV.”
Spence arched a brow.
“Hey, women like sappy,” Caleb said.
Colbie liked sappy. The thought of cozying up to her in front of a blazing fire, wrapping her up close as a movie made her tear up, comforting her, making those tears vanish . . . “You ever been dumped?” he asked.
Caleb laughed ruefully. “Oh yeah.”
“Did you chase after them?”
“The hot ones,” Caleb said.
Spence sighed.
“Listen,” Caleb said on a laugh. “Honestly? I can make a woman happy. Keeping her that way is another thing entirely and definitely not one of my superpowers. So I’m the wrong one to give advice.”
Spence got that. He knew he’d made Colbie happy. Hanging out with her had been effortless. So was making her laugh. And when he got her in bed, she’d absolutely communicated how he’d made her feel there . . . In fact, he could still feel the indentions of her nails in his ass.
“You could talk to Archer,” Caleb suggested. “He’s managed to snag the most difficult woman who ever walked this earth. I mean, Elle actually smiles now. Get him to tell you the secret to that and bottle it.”
Spence wasn’t any good at asking for help but when they got back to his building, he found himself at Archer’s office.
Molly, Archer’s receptionist, shook her head. “He’s in, but he’s . . . busy.”
“Client meeting?”
“An Elle ‘meeting.’ ” She put meeting in air quotes.
“She went in there half an hour ago and no one’s seen hide nor hair of them since.”
There was a muted sound, a sort of thunk, like something—or a bunch of somethings—falling off a desk.
Joe stuck his head out his office door and glared at his younger sister Molly. “I thought he ordered corkboard for the walls to add insulation so I don’t have to hear what’s going on in there.”
Molly, who could hold her own with the kind of guys she worked for—which was to say completely badass—narrowed her eyes at his tone. “Hasn’t come in yet,” she said, her own tone cool, with an added watch it implied.
“Shit.” Joe vanished back into his office and then they heard him crank up some music to window-rattling levels.
Spence left and hit the elevator. When the doors opened to Willa and Keane locked in an embrace, apparently checking each other’s tonsils, he pivoted on a heel and took the stairs.
This sucked. He’d just made an incredible work breakthrough and he had no one to share it with. It felt . . . empty. He’d been alone before, plenty of times. In fact, he’d been alone for most of his life, but he’d never felt this hollow.
He strode through the courtyard, hell-bent on key lime pie, which surely would ease the gnawing pain in his gut.
Except it wasn’t hunger and he knew it—it was something he hadn’t seen coming. Heartache.
Halfway to the coffee shop he caught sight of his grandpa sitting on a bench staring into the fountain like it held the answers to the mysteries of the universe.
Spence had a short argument with himself, which he lost. Changing directions, he headed to the old man’s side.
Eddie didn’t look over at him, just kept staring into the water. “Hear you screwed things up pretty good, boy genius.”
“Who told you that?”
“I hear all. I know all,” Eddie said sagely. The guy’s white hair was standing straight up in his best Christopher Lloyd imitation and in spite of the cold, he wore only a Deadhead T-shirt and tie-dyed Bermuda shorts.
Spence shook his head and shrugged out of his jacket, handing it over.
His grandpa pulled it on and smiled. “Warm.”
“I’ve given you a bunch of jackets and other warmer weather gear. Why aren’t you wearing any of it?”
His grandpa shrugged, pulling the hood over his wild hair. “Some of my friends don’t have a you.”
Spence read between the lines on that one. “So you gave it all away to keep them warm.”
Eddie didn’t answer. Instead he worked his way through the pockets of the jacket, locating a candy bar and grinning with happiness over the find.
Spence gave up with the life lectures and stared at the fountain as his grandpa had been doing. He was exhausted. And . . . dammit. Sad.
“You could try to fix it with her, you know.”