Orbit to Love

by Laurie B. Spellman

Nico made one last adjustment to the lighting rig on the galaxy dome inside the Arena. The ceiling pulsed with programmable constellations, a custom install his team had spent weeks perfecting. It was bold, theatrical—just like her.

Nina Raye.

The Las Vegas rising star, and tonight? Her first headline show at the Nova Casino, launching her Celestia era into orbit.

He wiped his brow, leaned against the catwalk railing, and pulled out his phone. Thirty minutes until sound check. Just enough time to distract himself from the way her voice lingered in his head after rehearsals.

Don’t do it, he thought, opening the 📱Orbit App. 🚀
Find your gravitational pull to love.
Special Feature: Thrusters = super-like blast.

He did it anyway.

Orbit—Vegas’s slick space-themed dating app. Everyone used it. Most treated it like a game. Nico, however, had quietly given up hope of finding someone who made his circuits fire.

📡 Signal Acquired!
A quantum entanglement was detected.

A profile blinked onto his screen: JupiterR.
Tagline: Dreamer. Music addict. Occasional poet.
Only one photo—a blurry silhouette on the Strip, neon behind her, long dark hair caught mid-laugh. There was something familiar about her posture. The tilt of her head. The way she held space.

Before he could second-guess it, his thumb slipped.

🚀 Thrusters Activated!
A giant rocket launched across the screen.
“Oh no, no—I didn’t mean to thrust!” he muttered.

Across the Arena, tucked backstage in her dressing room, Nina Raye watched her phone light up.

🚀 NicoV blasted you into his orbit!

Her heart fluttered. That profile pic with those smoldering brown eyes and the sheepdog resting at his feet. She blinked at the screen, then laughed—loud enough that her stylist raised an eyebrow.

Nico Varela.
Lighting Artisan.
Tech Builder.
Her accidental Orbit match.

The same guy who’d been adjusting her world from above for the past six weeks. The one who never said more than necessary but knew precisely when to shift the spotlight. She’d felt his gaze a hundred times from the rafters like he was drawing constellations with his fingertips.

She stared at her phone.

What are the odds?

She hit the flame icon.
🔥 Signal Flare Sent.

JupiterR: Thrusters, activated? 🚀
NicoV: 😳 Total accident, sorry, I hit the rocket button.
JupiterR: 😉 Accidental thrusters? Bold move.
NicoV: Should I lean into it or hide in a black hole?⚫
JupiterR: Get too close, and you’ll hit the event horizon. 🌠
NicoV: I’m just here, hanging constellations. 🌟

The way he phrased things with that soft wit. The magnetic pull she couldn’t shake. He was the one who stayed late rewiring the main stage lighting when she asked for “the ninety-five moons.” He was the one who hummed the melody of her song during mic checks when he thought no one was listening.

She rose to her feet.

[Orbit App Notification]
🟣 Event Horizon: Nebula Haze Activated — Your match drew you into their cosmic orbit at the Nova Arena.

Nebula Haze? Nova Arena? From his perch on the lighting platform, Nico glanced down. Among the drums and guitars stood Nina Raye, smiling up at him, phone in hand, her eyes catching the light of the ninety-five moons orbiting Jupiter. And damn, he felt her gravitational pull.

He climbed down. Slowly. His heart beat faster with every step. “I didn’t mean to hit thrusters,” he said softly. “Technically.”

“Technically,” she repeated, stepping forward, “you launched a full-scale orbital collision.”

“Well, the thing about thrusters... You can’t reverse course once you fire them.”

She tilted her head. “The app or something else, Nico Varela?”

He swallowed. “I’m sensing...gravitational interference.”

“Careful,” she murmured, pulling him by the collar. “You’re approaching maximum lift.”

“Mass effect,” he whispered. “Tidal pull. Mutual acceleration.”

She didn’t wait.

Their lips collided in a kiss that surged with enough energy to light every marquee on the Vegas Strip. Above them, the bejeweled galaxy dome shimmered. Two stars, finally crossing in the same orbit.

🩷🩷🩷

Laurie B. Spellman writes romance, mystery, and a little mischief. Her work was long-listed in the top twelve by the Jane Austen Literacy Foundation Short Story Contest, and she recently picked up her third Honorable Mention in the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. Known for short stories that pack a punch, Laurie is assembling a collection of her best tales, all steeped in New Orleans charm, set to release this fall.