“Heading directly for the target. The rover is about fifteen meters off the surface, and . . . we’re getting some signals from MRO. The UHF looks good.”

I reach out to brush my fingers against his under the table. It’s meant to be just a fleeting, reassuring touch, but his hand closes around mine, and I decide to stay.

With Ian, I always decide to stay.

“Touchdown confirmed! Serendipity has safely landed on the surface of Mars!”

The room erupts into cheers. Everyone explodes out of their seats, cheering, clapping, laughing, jumping, hugging. And within the delightful, triumphant, radiant chaos of mission control, I turn to Ian, and he turns to me with the widest, most brilliant of smiles.

The following day, our kiss is on the front page of the New York Times.

Bonus

Chapter

Sometime later

LIAM

If Liam were asked to compile a list of the most momentous days of his life—the ones that’ll surely flash before his eyes when he’s death adjacent, even though in the meantime he’ll have to stash them in a corner of his heart, hidden and secure, because dwelling on the feelings they elicit is overwhelming, unmanageable, and just plain dangerous—today would make it to the very top.

Not number five, like that Tuesday two years ago when he tried to propose and Mara didn’t quite let him, bursting out with a “Yes, yes, yes!” after he barely managed a “Will you m—” (It allowed him to spend the following week pretending that he’d only wanted to ask her to mail out the census form: amusing for him; less so for her.)

And not number three, like the day Mara announced that she was planning to move into his bedroom, and to convert her own into a “The Bachelor blogging studio.” Approximately twenty minutes later, Liam’s walls were full of pictures of two girls he’d never even met in person yet, and his serviceable gray comforter had been replaced with a chevron rainbow quilt that should have given him a headache but instead had him craving cake pops for the first time in his life.

Today . . . today is number one. The most perfect day of his life. Mara in his arms, the words she just said in the air between them, and the promise of what’s to come.

It could be a boy. Or a girl. Or both, or neither. It doesn’t matter. Liam couldn’t care less. All he hopes for is carrot-red, curly hair and freckles. The baby should have Mara’s looks. And her understanding of numbers. And her temperament. Her love for broccoli, her ability to fix things, and Liam’s . . .

Okay. Ideally, the baby will take exclusively after Mara. Liam would be perfectly okay if none of his alleles made it into its karyotype. Liam is taller, which is useful when it comes to reaching for higher shelves, but legroom on planes is a bitch and a half, and he really wouldn’t wish the cramps on anyone, let alone his progeny—