Her calm voice is a stark contrast to the one we just heard inside her stateroom. Beth tosses her book on the bed and scoots to the edge. I sit up as she stands to open the door.
“Hey,” Emma steps inside, her face slightly flushed. Otherwise, she displays no trace of the anger we overheard. “Oh.” She stops, seeing me on the bed. “I thought you were on the deck.”
I fight not to scrunch up my face. Despite Emma’s pleasantries yesterday, I wonder if she still carries a grudge for thinking I coveredup for Courtney. I swallow the guilt that rises to the back of my throat. After all this time, I’ve never told Emma the truth.
Emma glances behind her before motioning to Beth. “Close the door,” she says in a lowered tone.
Beth obliges. “What is it?”
Emma casts me a wary gaze before perching on the end of the bed. She bends one knee onto the mattress, twisting to face both of us.
“It’s Adam.” Her tone is hushed, barely above a whisper. “Didn’t the captain say he had years of sailing experience?”
“Yeah. Why?” Beth folds her arms and sits beside Emma.
“Because”—Emma glances at me—“just now, on the deck, the captain told him to ease out the jib.”
Beth’s eyebrows crease together. “What’s a jib?”
“The headsail.” Emma points toward the bow. “Anyway, after Adam let the sail out, he wrapped the jib sheetcounterclockwisearound the winch.”
Beth and I exchange a look of confusion.
“So?” Beth asks.
Emma’s eyes widen. “Youneverwrap a line counterclockwise on a sailboat!” She runs a hand through her short curls. “It’s like the first thing they teach you.”
“Maybe he just made a mistake,” Beth says. “It’s pretty rough out there.”
Emma lifts her gaze to the windowed hatch over our heads. “Fortunately, Captain Nojan caught him doing it and made him redo it the right way. At least the captain seems to know what he’s doing.”
Beth laughs. “Gigi told me yesterday that she requested a hot deckhand. I thought she was joking, but maybe she really did. It wouldn’t surprise me, knowing Gigi and the way she’s been drooling over him.
“I agree that the captain is obviously competent,” Beth adds. “So, Adam just needs to be able to take instructions, right? Maybe he has more experience as an onboard chef.”
Emma chews her lip. “I suppose so. The meatballs he made last night were amazing.”
I picture the angles of Adam’s jaw, and again I feel the sense of déjà vu that spread through me two nights ago when he smiled. “Do you think there’s something familiar about him?” I ask Emma.
She shakes her head. “No, why?”
“I feel like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place where.”
“I told her it’s because he looks like Chris Pratt,” Beth says.
“He does,” I say. “But I still feel like I know him from somewhere.”
Emma gestures toward me. “Don’t you work at a hospital? Maybe he was a patient.”
I stare at the wooden cabin door. “Maybe.” But he doesn’t seem to know me.
“Hey, guys,” Gigi’s soft voice sounds on the other side of our cabin door.
Emma stands and opens it, pressing one hand against the wall as the boat shifts.
Gigi looks pale, her skin nearly the same shade as the oatmeal-colored Lululemon hoodie she has her hands jammed into.
Gigi lifts her aviators to the top of her sun hat, revealing cheeks heavily caked with blush—a failed attempt to hide her seasick pallor. In fact, I think she’s made it worse.
