(Author's Note: If you're a weather geek like Roger's new romantic interest, you'll know what happens in the Gulf of Mexico in this month and year. If not, then read on through this story and into Pt. II. This story is tentatively rated "T" (13+), but Roger Healey, being who he is, well, he might just bring it up to borderline "M" (16+) in later chapters. I'll put a warning at the Chapter beginning if so.)

Chapter One. Eddy.

Major Roger Healey's fingers and hands moved expertly over his upright bass as he smiled at the band members who, once again, indulged him and let him on-stage with them to play. This was one of his favorite things to do a few times a month: go to this favorite club of his, leaving behind his world as an astronaut and test pilot, and simply enjoy music.

He liked this particular group of guys; they played some mean jazz and blues, and they all seemed to know the same songs.

As they rushed to the finale, he turned to smile at the crowd, already starting the applause. Most knew who he was, of course; being an astronaut in Cocoa Beach, Florida, and one of the few remaining men to potentially be going to the Moon, he couldn't escape the celebrity. He reveled in the attention usually, having his share of "astronaut groupies" fling themselves at him, but he loved this attention too, knowing the audience saw him as an accomplished musician and sometime-singer as well.

He and the band members stood and took a bow, and the lead singer told the audience they would be back after a fifteen minute break.

Roger shook the man's hand, thanking him for letting him on-stage.

"Mike, it was a blast, as always, you guys are some cool cats!" he said, stepping off the stage.

"Sure, any time. We wouldn't let you play with us if you weren't the best in town!"

Roger waved the compliment away. "Naw, it's my pleasure being able to escape from it all and just PLAY!"

The man laughed once more as Roger retreated to the bar for a beer.

A couple sips into his beer, and a tall slender blonde woman took the seat next to him. Roger turned and smiled at her, the perpetual flirt that he was.

"Hey, how's it going?" he asked casually.

She smiled and said, "I wanted to tell you I REALLY loved your playing up there! Do you play Cocoa Beach often?"

Roger was rather taken aback by the question. She asks like she doesn't know who I am, he thought incredulously.

"Oh, I play here a few times a month, when I can."

"So what do you do, make the circuit around the southeast?"

This is amazing, he thought. She thinks I'm a professional musician! He figured he'd play this as long as he could, relishing the idea of someone thinking of him in such a way, not as an astronaut. He wouldn't flat-out LIE to her, but he didn't want to tell her the whole story. It'd come out eventually, after all.

"Hmmm, I usually just play here in town, when I have the chance."

"Well, you were great up there. You have a feel for the greats, I can tell. I grew up listening to a variety of jazz and blues because of my mother."

"Nice," he said. "I used to play when I was in Korea, whenever I could get my hands on a bass." He pointed fondly to his bass residing on stage, on its stand, "That's my baby now, though!"

She laughed, pleased to have found someone who had the heart and soul for the jazz and blues she loved so much. Here was a real artist, she thought. Cute as hell, too, she couldn't help noticing.

She held her hand out, and he delicately shook it. "My name's Alexis, what's yours?"

"You can call me Eddy," Roger replied. Not really a lie, after all, he thought as he smiled at her. His given name was Roger Edward Healey, after all, so Eddy worked.

"Nice meeting you, Eddy." She looked around at the people then back on-stage. "So, are you a part of the band? I got the impression when y'all finished that you weren't."

"No, not officially, they indulge me and let me sit in with them when I have the free time."

She looked at her watch. Still early, not even 8:00. She turned back to him as he continued sipping his beer, biding his time.

"Hey, if you're not going back on stage, why don't you come with me to a get-together my college friends are throwing for me, while I'm in town? Some of them are into jazz too."

Hmmmm, this is getting interesting, Roger thought, looking her up and down. And he surely wasn't disappointed. He could tell even sitting on his barstool that she was taller than most women he'd gone out with. Blonde shoulder-length wavy hair, blue eyes, slender. He found her lovely Southern accent endearing as well, a different type of accent than he was used to.

He put a tip on the bar and stood, almost touching her as he did so, she was standing so close. He was right: he was only about three inches taller than she, and he smiled at her, wondering how this party and evening were going to pan out.

"Sure, we can take my car if you want to, if you show me the way."

He went back on-stage to retrieve his bass and carefully put it back into its case. He asked the club manager if the bass could be secured in the manager's office until Roger could pick it up later.

"Sure, go ahead, it'll be safe there," the man smiled.

That taken care of, Roger returned to Alexis and guided her and himself through the crowd to the exit, both taking a deep breath of the moist warm air of Florida, happy to be out of the smoke-filled crowded bar.

"Whew," she said as she followed him. "This your car?"

She couldn't help admiring the sleek little cherry-red Corvette convertible.

He laughed, "Yeah, this is my OTHER baby. My bass and my little Corvette!"

She pointedly looked at his left hand after he'd got behind the wheel. "So, no other babies at home?"

"Nope, just me, my music and my books!"

Ah, he was into reading, better and better, she thought.

"Music and books, nice," she said, smiling as they headed for the main road.

"Where're we going?" he asked as he waited to get into traffic.

"Rockwell," she said. "My friends share a big house over there."

He turned into traffic, and looked at her. "I can tell from your accent that you're not from Florida."

"I'm from d'Iberville, Mississippi. What outsiders call 'North Biloxi.'"

"Ah, Biloxi I know. Keesler Air Force Base and the Hurricane Hunters, right?"

"Yes, were you in the Air Force?"

"Naw, I just know it's there. Been through there many times on my way to Texas and back, on 90."

"Oh, okay."

Roger continued his querying as he drove to the 520 bridge. "So, what do you do there?"

"I work for NOAA. I'm here in Florida to see my buddies, taking a week off."

"You went to college here?"

"Yeah, UF in Miami. Majored in Atmospheric Sciences. Hope my being an egghead doesn't put you off, Eddy!" she laughed, watching for his response. Many men she'd met, once they found out she actually had a brain, got instantly turned off.

Roger suppressed the gasp that wanted to escape. Beautiful, loves jazz AND a scientist? This was an entirely different can of worms!

Roger answered calmly, suppressing his glee, "No, no, not at all. Any lover of jazz is okay by me!"

"Great," she smiled as they drove on, heading west to Rockwell and into the setting sun. They both silently pondered the wonder of their discovery of one another, anticipating a most interesting night ahead.