Right?
Maybe it’s the slight beer buzz humming pleasantly throughout my body, or the way Sora looked at me earlier—like shebelievesin me—that gives me the confidence I’ve been lacking, but I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders as I deliver my next words carefully.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” I say nonchalantly, plucking an invisible fluff off my sleeve like they tell the guys inGQphotoshoots to do, to make them appear more confident. “Maybe that means you could send me on one of the upcoming excursions this week? It would be nice to get off the ship for once.”
“Oh,” Glen looks surprised. “Why would you want to go on one of the excursions? They’re such a pain in the ass.” He calls over the bartender and orders a drink, then turns back to me, as if considering my question. “I could try, though.”
“Really?” I feel my expression brighten considerably and try to school it back into an aloof stare.
“I’m sure Cameron would appreciate a break from lugging gear all over the city. Let me talk to him, and I’ll get back to you, ’kay?”
I nod, giving him a sincere look. “Thanks, Glen.”
“No problem, hon,” he says airily, thanking the bartender wordlessly as his neon pink drink is placed on the bar. I’m about to stand to leave when Glen turns back to me and says, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. I heard your dad passed last year. You doing okay?”
I’m taken aback by his words and open my mouth to respond, then snap it shut. My brows furrow and I wistfully eye the exit again, desperately wanting to escape this conversation. I could be honest with Glen and tell him that no, I’m not okay, and maybe he would ease up on me a bit. Or maybe he would pat my arm, give me a pitying smile, tell me how sorry he is…and then never bring it up again.
Don’t get me wrong, Iwantto be honest when I’m asked this question. I want people to understand the gaping hole my father left in this world when he died; to feel the pain that tears me apart in those quiet moments when I forget he’s gone—when I pick up the phone to call him, then remember…
But I can’t takethe look, the one I get from people who have never known loss like that. I can’t take more of their hollow words. Because a minute later, after I’ve just shown them my poor, broken heart, they go right back to whatever it was they were doing, without a second thought.
So, when Glen asks? I tell him, “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Good,” he replies with a smile and a squeeze of my arm. Then he grabs his drink off the bar top. “I’ll see you later.”
As he saunters away toward a gaggle of rowdy producers, I rub at my chest absentmindedly, trying to ease the suffocating sense of loneliness squeezing every part of my body.
Not wanting to spend another minute in the crowded room, I’m finally able to make my escape. But as I stand and turn to grab my can of Diet Coke off the bar, I spot Nolanleaning against the kitchen door, his gaze zeroed in on me and a wry smile lifting the edges of his mouth.
“Hey,” he mouths. Two other chefs are having a heated conversation on either side of him—flailing limbs and all—which he doesn’t appear to be paying any attention to. The energy between us feels loaded, immediately, and I return his smile with a shy one of my own before I mouth back, “Hey.”
He’s so handsome, standing there—broad shoulders relaxed, arms crossed casually over his chest, and the vibrant ink on his skin a sharp contrast against his white apron. His usual black T-shirt has been replaced with a deep purple dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows in an easy, effortless way that—paired with his dark curls and square-framed glasses—makes me realize that I may just have a thing for a man in uniform.
Especially a flame-resistant one.
Our eyes lock for a beat or two. The way Nolan’s soft gaze doesn’t waver, not even when one of his chefs accidentally bumps him with an elbow, makes me feel so incredibly seen that my breath catches.
It’s terrifying.
And I love it.
“See you later,” I mouth, jerking my head toward the door to indicate that I’m heading out.
He dips his head with a slow blink in acknowledgment, then returns his eyes to mine and winks as he mouths, “See you later.”
Somehow I don’t spontaneously combust from howhotthat damn wink was (not a lot of guys could pull that off, honestly), and finally I manage to turn away and walk toward the exit. But as I push my way through the door and into the cool corridor beyond, I sneak a glance back at Nolan to find him still watching me. Like I’m the most interesting thing on the whole damn ship.
THIRTEEN
Chloe’s ‘90s Hits, Now Playing:
DON’T STOP MOVIN’ — S CLUB 7
The unique thingabout the Mediterranean Gemstone— other than it being a massive floating TV set for drunk singles looking for love—is that, in addition to the full-sized public pool, it also has a private pool, reserved solely for use by the contestants.
The public pool, located in the middle of the ship on the Lido deck, is open to anyone who wants to use it, including the cast and crew. Cast members rarely film there, but once a season or so, a few producers will bring their contestants to this pool to scope out singles from the ship who might be interested in chatting.
These contestants usually haven’t made any kind of connection with another cast member yet and are desperate to stay on the ship, instead of being walked off the metaphorical plank in the next port.
