“I ought to shut this door in your face,” I said.
The rest of the crew had gone barhopping in Saint Martin. I’d declined to join them. It was awkward, not eating or drinking when everyone else was. I only ever ordered water, and it was hard enough to part with the few dollars I left as a tip. I didn’t want to explain why I was such a tightwad.
Ollie, like me, didn’t go out much. I had no idea why. He was a bit of a loner. I assumed it was because he preferred his own company to that of other people.
So seeing him there at the door to my bunk was unexpected. He rocked back and forth on his heels in the hallway. “Meet me on the bunny pad in ten,” he said. “I’ve got a plan. And bring your cigs. I’m out.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
He swore. “That’s right, Ms.Florida Free Tobacco. I know your little secret. Your hair smells like it.”
I touched a hand to my hair.
“You think you’re sneaky hiding down on the sun deck when I’m smoking, but I know you’re there.” He shook his head. “Rushing a man on his smoke break, now that’s rude.” He smacked the doorframe with a hand. “Right. Bunny pad, ten minutes.”
“No,” I said.
He cocked his head to the side. “No?”
“I don’t like being told what to do.”
He rested his head against the doorframe, eyes narrowed as he looked me over. “I’d never have guessed that about you.”
I gripped the edge of the door. “I really will shut this in your face.”
“Wait, wait. Let me try again.” He closed his eyes, looking like an actor preparing for a scene. When he opened them again, he said in a saccharine voice, “Nina Lejeune, junior stewardess of theSerendipity, would you do me the honor of meeting me up on the bunny pad in ten minutes and bringing your cigs?”
I glanced at the mug in his hands, then eyed him suspiciously. “Did you put drugs in your tea or something?”
“I did not,” he said. He leaned closer. “So? Will you come? I have a plan, like I said. It involves snacks.”
It was the promise of snacks that lowered my defenses. That, and I was bored of being alone in my room and, despite my better judgment, curious about this plan of his.
“What’s the plan?” I said.
Ollie grinned. “Tell you when you get there.”
“No. You’ll tell me—”
“When you get there!”
I sighed in defeat. “Fine. Ten minutes.”
“And the cigs?” he said.
“You have a problem.”
“I’ve got more than one, love,” he said, and turned away.
“Don’t call me love!” I called after him. Ollie disappeared into his room with a laugh, and I stood in the hallway for a moment and stared at his door, utterly bewildered by the unexpected turn my evening had taken.
Fifteen minutes later—I didn’t want to seemtoointerested—I found Ollie up on the bunny pad. He looked at me eagerly, his hair boyishly windswept. He seemed so young, sitting there with his arms wrapped around his knees, a whiskey bottle resting between them. At twenty-three, hewasyoung. We both were.
“Did you bring—”
“I said I would.” I hurled my cigarettes at him, and the carton hit him square on the nose.
Ollie rubbed his face and swore. “Are you gonna keep throwing shapes if I ask for a lighter?”
