As Cole presses a mini spoon-shaped stamp onto one of the passcard boxes, a pang of longing thrums through me. It suddenly hits me, standing here in this luxury train with all its possibilities of where it can travel, that I want to be the passenger. The desire only solidifies being next to tubs of worldly flavors I’ve never experienced in person and serving candy that Emma’s picked out on her own adventures. I want to taste mangos in Taiwan and pistachios in Sicily for myself. I want to see the Greek Islands with my own eyes.
This urge is unfamiliar but strong. I rub my knuckles across my chest, the ache only slightly lessening.
The next stop on the customers’ journey is to our candy buffet, where they can top their ice cream with gummies and chocolates. I pull myself out of my thoughts and answer questions about wherewe source our candy and if the banana marshmallow candy really tastes like banana. (It doesn’tnottaste like banana.)
The booths and dining chairs fill up fast. Everyone has their phones out, snapping their sweet treats from various angles. Some have small clip-on ring lights on their phones for a more flattering image. I assume those are the influencers Emma was talking about.
A brunette with tight curls steps up to our section of the bar, holding bright purple ice cream. “Which of these would go best with ube, do you think?” she asks.
I reach for the coconut-coated licorice candy. “I’d recommend—”
“You’re here! Hi!” Emma singsongs beside me. “Hazel, this is Chelsea Rogers. She’s a writer atOut of Office.” I must look like I’m drawing a blank because Emma adds, “It’s one of the most popular online travel magazines in the country. And Chels, this is Hazel Yen. She’s our newest hire and data queen. I’ll introduce you to Gloria in a second.”
Chelsea does a double take. “Hazel Yen?” She looks at me for a few long seconds. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else for a second.”
Someone else like Older Hazel Yen by chance?
“Oh, no worries,” I say, busying myself by wiping sugar off the counter.
“Who’d you think she was?” Emma unhelpfully asks.
Chelsea taps her polished finger against her bowl before addressing me again. “Did you know you share a name with someone who just won the lottery?”
I freeze in place as my eyes dart up to her. Is that a look of recognition? The moment passes before I can be sure. Gloria zips over to us, so I assume she’s overheard this tidbit.
“Oh, really? Wow,” I squeak out. So it’s when I’m uncomfortable that my voice becomes shrill. Cool.
“A lottery winner with Hazel’s name?” Gloria asks. “What are the odds?”
Oh, just about 100 percent.
Chelsea gives me another once-over. “It was a husband and wife. She was much older than you, though. And white.” She sidesteps to keep the line moving. I don’t bother trying to tell her that I’m also white. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen the press conference photos. They’ve become the ‘it’ couple of the moment because of how elusive they’ve been.”
Great. Ignoring every text and call has only made us more mysterious. And therefore, intriguing.
“Elusive, but also cute,” Chelsea self-corrects. “There are a bunch of lottery winners, but their stories aren’t as adorable as this couple’s. After decades of marriage, they still had this, like, really intense chemistry. You need to look up the photos.”
I swallow. “For sure, will do.” There’s a very real possibility that my cheeks are as bright as the red ropes in the jar in front of us.
“If the first thing that comes up is the arrest of Marlin Mavers, keep scrolling. You’ll find them,” Chelsea reassures me, though it’s not at all encouraging. I don’t need photos of any of it. I witnessed—and experienced—the whole thing firsthand.
“An arrest?” Gloria asks. “Sounds exciting.”
That’s one word for what it was.
“The press conference was partially a setup for the police to catch the guy,” Chelsea elaborates. “Marlin had a warrant out for his arrest on theft and possession of stolen property charges. Something to do with sports jerseys and exotic fish? But then get this. He was bailed out by, you guessed it, his lottery winnings.”
Now, that part is news to me. Maybe Marlinworld will live to see the light of day, after all.
“Are you serious? He seemed—” I stop myself. “Thatseems… likea lot. But I don’t really keep up with that kind of thing.” I punctuate this with a shrug that I hope implies I’d like to move on from the conversation.
“A guy named Marlin stealing exotic fish?” Gloria asks with a smirk. “Sounds made up. Good for that couple, though. Talk about a sweet retirement plan.”
“My editor has been trying to reach them for a feature,” Chelsea shares, dropping a tong-full of candied ginger over her ice cream. “She wants to fly them out to a location of their choice for their second honeymoon.”
I knew that slipup about our nonexistent honeymoon would come back to bite me. Why couldn’t I just stick to food?
Gloria snorts. “Why is it that rich people get all the free stuff? You see celebrities getting sent clothes, bags, and skincare all the time. Like, why? They’re the ones who can afford it!”
