“I see we have a ’90s pop music connoisseur in the house,” Nolan remarks, a look of impressed incredulity on his face.
“Whydo you have a Len tattoo?” Without thinking, I reach out and gently touch his arm, tracing the line of text with my forefinger. A few goosebumps rise up where I’ve touched him, and I yank my hand back sheepishly. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, that was such a weird thing for me to do.”
Nolan barks out a laugh. “It wasn’t weird at all. I’m honestly more surprised that you recognized the lyric.”
“What can I say? I have excellent taste in music.” I smirk, turning my attention back to the menu in my hand. I fold it in half, then hand it and the pen back to him.
“Thanks—I appreciate you dropping these off. Usually, I have to track down a lazy PA who’s too afraid to look for the kitchen, so you’ve saved me the trip,” he says, sliding the menus into a folder on his desk. He motions to the door. “I have to get going. Can I walk youout?”
Nolan leads me back through the maze of corridors until we’re back in the first kitchen I had arrived at this morning. Mama Shayla is nowhere to be seen, and the foot traffic has picked up considerably in the last twenty or so minutes.
“You know how to get back to the main elevators, yeah?” I nod—a lie—but Nolan seems to read my uncertainty. “Go straight out those double doors and you’ll be on the south side of the main dining room. Keep walking until you see a ridiculous chandelier, and you should be able to find your way from there.”
“Thank you!” I say brightly, giving him a genuine smile, which he returns. I feel the urge to look away again, but something stops me. Instead, I hold his gaze for a beat longer and then take a chance. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
His lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “Is it about my taste in music?”
“Actually, yes.” His brows lift; he clearly wasn’t expecting that answer. “Len and Chumbawamba…it seems like you have a thing for music that peaked before the early aughts. Why?”
It’s a weird thing for me to ask. So…personal. But I can’t help it. The lyric on his arm feels serendipitous. What are the chances that someone who has clearly—based on his Aussie accent—lived on the opposite side of the globe to me would have also memorized the same singular line of a ridiculous one-hit wonder that had crazy success in Canada the year it was released and then faded from memory?
But the minute the words leave my mouth, I instantly regret asking. I don’t evenknowthis man. Just because he saved me from a forklift and I noticed his niche tattoo, that doesn’t mean he owes me anything other than a polite smile as we pass each other in the hallways of the ship. Nolan purses his lips as he considers my question.
“I’ll have to think about that one,” he says slowly.
“Think about the answer, or whether you want to tell me theanswer?” I ask.
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
I offer a small smile and nod.
“Alright.”
Except, internally, I’m screaming.
Because what the hell kind of answer wasthat?
I say goodbye and disappear out the doors and into the dining room, cringing in mortification.
I’ve never been good at small talk, but that was…really something. Of course he would blow me off; that was such a weird thing to ask a person I don’t know. Next time, I should ask him who his preteen celebrity crush was, or if he thinks aliens exist.
As I weave through the dining room toward the lobby, all I can think about is how I am now going to be known to this man as “that strange woman who touches the arms of men she’s just met and asks intensely personal questions,” all thanks to one fifteen-minute encounter.
Now would be a great time for pirates to overtake this stupid ship.
NINE
Chloe’s ‘90s Hits, Now Playing:
TUBTHUMPING — CHUMBAWAMBA
A muffledrap-rap-rapon my stateroom door drags me from a deep sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, I had finally—finally!—fallen into a delicious slumber.
Just to be woken up by…whoisthat?
I blink once. Twice. Then my eyelids slowly flutter closed again.
As if moving through molasses, my brain slowly tries to untangle itself from whatever dream is still holding my consciousness hostage. I can feel my body slipping back into sleep.
