His biceps bulge out of the fitted polo that slides up his arm as he takes the bag from me, revealing part of a tattoo. I don’t have to see the full letters to recognize the Marine Corps acronym:USMC. I’ve cared for several patients with a similar marking.
“Grab this stanchion.” He points to a vertical silver pole attached to the deck. “You can use it to pull yourself up.”
I grab onto it and accept his hand with my other, then step through the opening in the cable railing on the side.
Once I get both feet on board, he lets go. “I’m Adam, the first officer slash chef.” He offers a handshake, and his grip is firm and warm.
A dimple appears on his cheek when he grins, exposing perfectly straight white teeth as I return his handshake. Something about him strikes me as familiar. I study him for a moment before my gaze falls to his other hand, bare of a wedding ring, and I’m suddenly conscious of my own. A jab of pain stabs at my heart.
“Welcome aboard,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, distracted, wondering if Gigi specifically requested to have such an attractive first officer for her “content.”
“Hey, Adam?” Gigi’s voice is coated with sweetness as she calls from the other end of the boat. “Would you mind getting a quick photo with me before my assistant leaves?”
“Cabins are below deck through the companionway,” Adam says, gesturing toward the open doorway from where he’d emerged. “Please help yourself to champagne in the galley when you get below.” Hehands me my bag and flashes me a final smile before spinning around toward Gigi. “Sure.”
Before going below deck, I glance up at the mast, which is taller than the flagpole at my twins’ school. About two-thirds of the way up, a rectangular white plate is affixed to it.
“Palmer!” Beth appears in the doorway from below deck.
I’ve never been happier to see her. Her shoulder-length dark hair is in a ponytail, and I’m glad to see she’s dressed as casual as me, in a long-sleeved shirt and shorts. I close the distance between us, glancing at the captain behind the wheel who barely looks up from the navigation screen.
“We’re sharing a stateroom,” Beth says, holding a half-drunk champagne flute. “Come check it out.”
The older man looks up from his screen and nods at me before I follow Beth down the narrow half flight of stairs. “Welcome aboard,” he calls. “I’m Captain Nojan.”
“I’m Palmer. Nice to meet you.”
He looks to be around sixty, and I hope that means he’s been sailing for decades. Matt and I went on an Alaska cruise for our fifth anniversary, and even that made me nervous. But that had to have been much safer than what we’re about to do. As I descend the wooden steps, I think about the rain I saw on the forecast, suddenly imagining what it will be like to be stuck in the cabin with all of them, with no escape to the decks. I remind myself that it’s nearly June, which means we should have calm seas. I’m sure we wouldn’t be going if there were any forecasted storms, but I make a mental note to ask the captain before we embark.
“Wow,” I say when I reach the bottom of the steps.
Beth turns. “I know, right? The boat looks like it’s brand new.”
The interior isn’t huge, but it’s bigger than it looks from the outside, and it’s pristine. The gleaming countertops and light wood-paneled walls give it a modern yet warm feel. The hatches above our heads and rectangular windows at eye level fill the space with natural light.
To my left is a kitchen fitted with a microwave, stove, dishwasher, and fridge. A bottle of champagne rests in a bucket of ice on the speckled countertop beside prefilled plastic flutes and a fruit tray. Beside the tray, napkins are folded like origami, but I can’t tell what they’re supposed to be. I grab a glass and follow Beth through the living area where a large white-leather booth wraps around a wood table mounted to the floor. Across from it is a matching couch.
“I was just about to change into my thong bikini,” Beth says. “After I change, maybe you can take some shots of me for my Snapchat.” Beth tosses a smile over her shoulder as I laugh.
“Gigi hasn’t changed since high school, has she?”
Beth shakes her head. “Not an ounce.”
“I’m surprised you even know what Snapchat is.”
“I don’t really.” Beth points to one of the two doors ahead. “We’re in here.”
I follow her inside, seeing now why Gigi’s assistant told us to pack light. The room is just large enough for the double bed, which butts against the wall on either side, narrowing to fit within the curve of the bow. There’s less than three feet from the head of the bed to the door—enough room for a small, padded bench on one side and a single cabinet on the other.
“Cozy, huh?” Beth asks as I set my duffel bag next to hers on the bench.
My gaze lands on a framed photograph hanging on the wall—my twin girls at an Oregon beach. I took it last summer, but I’d never sent it to Gigi.
“Did you bring that?”
Beth follows my gaze. “Oh, no. Gigi asked me to send her one of your girls for a surprise. I knew that was one of your favorites. The photo was already up when I got here.”
