I pressed a hand over my eyes. “Look, Oliver, I’m really not in the mood to argue with you about pizza again. The question wasWhen did you and Nina meet?”
“I met you—”
“Don’t do it like that. Pretend I’m the interviewer,” I said.
Ollie rolled his eyes. “I metNinawhen she walked onto the boat looking for a job. That was in January, about a month before we set sail.”
Good. “And you two hit it off right away?”
Ollie rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Nah. She was annoying. Cute, but annoying.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about being calledcute, but it was better thanscary. I couldn’t imagine the interviewer keeping a straight face with that one. “You got married only five months after meeting each other,” I said. “That seems pretty quick. When did you start to develop romantic feelings for Nina?”
“By the end of the second week on charter,” Ollie said. I glanced at my notes. We’d agreed on three weeks, but before I could correct him, he continued speaking. “I’d been watching her since we set sail. She’d made it clear she didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of her. Most people like that, they act like they don’t care about anything, but not Nina. She may not care what people think ofher, but she cares about people. I liked watching her with the guests because she took their requests, even the ridiculous ones, so seriously.” Ollie looked awayfrom me to grab another slice of pizza from the box. “I’m a perfectionist about food. Have to be as a yacht chef. It didn’t take long for me to realize Nina was like that too, but with the smallest things. Things no one else would think are important. She’d take forever adjusting those little umbrellas in the guests’ drinks so they’d look just right. I once caught her in the Sky Lounge making sure all the streamers for a party were the same length. Stuff like that.”
Ollie chewed thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “Our second week we had this charter, a bunch of empty nesters. They found out Nina used to coach gymnastics and begged her to teach them how to do flips on the floating trampoline. Dinner was marinating, so I was out on the main deck watching, because, hell, it was amusing. These middle-aged gals trying to do flips and stumbling and laughing all over the place. And Nina, she was just mesmerizing, laughing along with them and looking like a real pro doing all her moves.”
I kept my eyes on the notes. This was off-script but... good. Really good.
“When the primary finally landed a flip, Nina just barreled into this woman and hugged her so hard she nearly knocked her right into the ocean. She was so happy for this lady she hardly knew, and not because she was trying to get a good tip. I’m not exactly the most pleasant personality, especially at work, but it’s just because I want every meal to be something the guests will remember. That day, watching Nina, I could tell helping people have fun really mattered to her. It was what cooking was to me. I remember standing there and thinking, Fuck, I’m in some real shite now.”
Ollie stared at his pizza and took another bite. It took me a few seconds to realize he’d finished speaking. Everything he’d said had happened—the trampoline and the flips and all. The things he’d saidabout my perfectionism, about what mattered to me... it was all true, though I’d never said those things to him or anyone else. But what he’d said about how hefelt...That couldn’t be real, right?
“Damn,” I said, rubbing my bad knee. It had ached like hell after that day on the trampoline. “You’re good, Ollie. I almost believed you.” I scratched out what we’d originally put as the answer to that question and scribbled in a quick summary of what he’d said. “Let’s keep that version.”
Ollie shoved the pizza into his mouth and didn’t respond. Once he’d finished his slice, including the crust, he leaned over and snatched the paper from my hands. “My turn to ask the questions.”
“Bring it,” I said.
“Let’s see.” Ollie scanned the page. “Right. Which side of the bed does your sexy specimen of a spouse sleep on?”
I rolled my eyes.
He poked my side. “No eye rolling or they’ll know you’re lying.”
“The left side. But only because it’s farthest from the closet,” I said. “He’s terrified of closets.”
Ollie narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t before you made me watch thatFact or Fictionshow where the kid disappears in a closet.”
“It was fiction!”
“Not on theshow! The show says it was inspired by a true story!”
“The kid was a runaway! They found him a few weeks later!”
“You read that in a fecking YouTube comment. That’s not a reliable source.”
“Oh, whatever. Will you focus on this, please? Next question.”
Ollie looked at the paper again and grinned. “How often do you and your spouse have sexual intercourse?”
I held his gaze. I wouldn’t let him think he could embarrass me. “Twice a week,” I said.
He cocked his head to the side. “That’s it? Shouldn’t you still be in the honeymoon phase?”
“We’re busy people.”
“But you live togetherandwork together, right? You never, you know, rock the boat a little?”
