We chat comfortably for another few minutes, watching as the sun finally crests over the horizon. The soundtrack of ship life cocoons us in our own little world—staff putting out chairs by the pool below us, squeaky shoes sliding on wet deck floors, an errant booming laugh, more gulls screeching, and the rhythmic murmur of the waves. I know I should get back to my room and organize my gear bag, but…I’m enjoying the sunrise. And the company.
I don’t want to walk away from this conversation without some idea of when I might run into him next. Not that I’m anticipating anything happening between us, exactly. Because if it didn’t, that would be fine! It’s just…for the first time in a very long time, I feel the need to do something just for me. And so what, if that “something” is enjoying the company of another person, who just so happens to make my heart do an uncomfortable flippy thing in my chest?
I feel a strong urge to ask him out, but I stop myself. How can I ask him out on a ship? That we’re both working on? And when we have little to no free time?
Suddenly, an idea comes to mind.
“Here’s a question,” I say quickly, before I lose my nerve. “I have to get some footage of the kitchens at some point; just some B-roll video that we can slot in during scene changes and after commercial breaks. Would Shayla…er, Mama be the best person to talk to about setting that up?”
The thing is, I already know she isnotthe best person to set that up.
Nolan is.
Although, I don’t want him to feel like I’m just making these plans for work…but on the other hand, I don’t want him to think I’m making up some excuse to see him again.
Even though I totally am.
I just want to give him an opportunity to see me again, to see how he reacts. If he pushes me toward Mama Shayla to make these plans, or doesn’t show up while I’m around, then I’ll know he’s not interested.
But…if he finds a reason to be close by when I’m in the kitchen, then I’ll get more time around him, and it may just mean that he wants to spend more time with me, too.
I realize belatedly that this is a very convoluted and fragile plan that hinges on a whole lot of “ifs.”
Maybe I should have just asked him out instead.
“When were you thinking?” he asks, a look of genuine interest on his face.That’s a good sign.
“Oh, anytime. I was going to bring one of the new PAs along as well, so she can get some insight into the camera side of things.”
Another total lie.
If Sora wants to tell the entire group of baby crew members that I’m the mentor they never knew they needed until now, then I can definitely use her to seem less like a lovestruck weirdo and more like aprofessional… and an actual adult.
“Sure—how about Sunday night during dinner service?” He asks, without hesitation. He didn’t even have to think about the answer. “I can make that happen.”
“That’s perfect,” I say, attempting to rein my goofy grin into a polite smile. By the way his eyes dip to my mouth, I’m not so sure I was successful. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Come by the kitchens at seven.”
A few ship staff walk by in neatly pressed white shirts, and my watch goes off on my wrist… letting me know it’s time to start getting ready for the day.
“I have to head back to my room,” I sigh, as I dismiss the alarm and hand him back his thermos.
“I should probably get back to the kitchen, too.” Nolan holds out a hand, as if to say,after you, and we walk side-by-side toward the stairs. Before we make our descent back to the Lido deck, though, he pauses and turns to face me.
“Would you let me cook you dinner Sunday night? After you finish filming, of course.”
His gaze is unflinching, his tone steady.
See,thiswas the kind of confidence I needed.
I school my expression into something that I think looks fairly neutral, allowing only a hint of a smile to crack through my carefully constructed facade.
Meanwhile, inside my brain, a celebration worthy of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is going on, complete with giant floating balloons and tiny monkeys with cymbals.
“That would be really nice,” I say, like a sane person.
“Awesome,” he purrs. A hint of mischief flashes in his eyes, and my stomach does one more nervous flip. “Bring your appetite.”
