Coming out to sea was meant to mark a new start in his life. And James needed to let himselffeelsomething again. Something other than lingering, unrelenting melancholy and emptiness. He wondered if perhaps feeling something might, in this particular instance, mean letting himself indulge in the burgeoning crush he now had on a certain first-class passenger.
James rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. He still missed George so much, though. He was still so sad about his passing, and as such, he was maybe not ready for somethingrealjust yet.So, perhaps he ought to be cautious about liking the random man so soon and so intensely, especially because the man was very clearly taken to boot.
James hummed as he continued to consider this. Perhaps the handsome passenger being taken was agoodthing, then, in this particular situation. Despite the fact that the fellow had been a little flirtatious—the playful lilt in his voice unmistakably imbued with something not entirely platonic at the end of their last interaction—there was no risk that they could ever reallybecomesomething, was there? And what harm was there, really, in letting himself have a little crush?
Fifteen minutes before James’s break was scheduled to end, the clock chimed, pulling James out of his thoughts and reminding him of his responsibilities. He hurried to his room to change. Earlier, he’d been instructed to wear a white jacket and bow tie to serve dinner, but now he needed to don a black jacket for the Smoking Room.
It took James several minutes to travel from the saloon on D-Deck to Scotland Road—a passageway on E-Deck along which the crew members had their accommodations.Once he arrived in the crew’s quarters, he walked between the rows of bunk beds to find his own, which was situated in the middle of the cramped room. Beneath the bedframe, he had his trunk with his clothing and other belongings. Hurriedly, James changed into his new jacket and waistcoat. By the time he finished and reached the Smoking Room up on A-Deck, he was feeling winded.
Leaning forward, James rested his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath just next to the First-Class Smoking Room’s entrance. Once he felt a little less like collapsing, he went inside. And froze.
Oh, the room was beautiful—large and lovely, with impressively carved mahogany woodwork on the walls and well-crafted furniture scattered about. Most of the paneling was inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the façade luminous, even in the warm, low light. James became a little lost in the magnificence as he continued into the room.
After a few steps, he nearly collided with someone—the first-class passenger he’d seen either laughing at or laughing with the handsome, haughty fellow to whom James had served the potatoes. Spluttering a soft “sorry,” James watched the man walk over to a little cluster of furniture on the far side of the room and sit in one of the four green-and-gold plush velvet chairs. Immediately, James started over so that he could ask the man whether or nothe could fetch him anything. But before James could reach him, someone else pushed past him—the handsome-but-snobbish man from the boat train.
Heat flooded James’s cheeks. How and why he found the man so captivating, he couldn’t know.
Smiling his friendliest smile, James took the remaining few steps over to the furniture cluster and clasped his hands together in front of him.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “Might I interest you in a nightcap?”
“I’ll have a brandy and a cigar, thank you,” the first man said.
“Same for me,” the potato man added.
“Fine choices,” James said. “I’ll be right back with those.”
James spun on his heel and left for the bar area to procure the refreshments and cigars. When he returned moments later carrying them on a circular tray, the men were in the middle of a lively conversation. Seeing the potato man looking so at ease—smiling effortlessly, laughing softly, his hands positioned to form a relaxed little steeple in front of his chest—James froze, his heart stuttering. How strange it was that the man had become evenmorehandsome over the course of a few minutes. Or perhaps it wasn’t so strange. After all, people were often more beautiful when they were happy. Happiness itself was a thing of beauty.
“Here we are, gentlemen,” James said, holding out the tray with the brandy and cigars.
“Thank you,” the first man said, taking one of each item.
The potato man plucked them off of the tray without saying a word.
“Would you like me to light your cigars for you?” James asked.
“Yes, please,” said the first man.
James retrieved his matchbook from his pocket and took the cigar back from him. He struck the match and proceeded to lightthe end of the cigar in the manner that he’d been taught—first toasting the end with the flame and then shaking the cigar a couple of times to simulate someone puffing on it. Afterward, he returned the lit cigar to the man, who thanked him with a cordial smile.
“I can light yours as well, if you’d like,” James offered to the other fellow.
“Please,” the man replied somewhat curtly.
But then, rather than hand the cigar back to James, the man simply leaned forward, keeping the cigar firmly between his fingers. James stared for a moment. It took an extra couple of beats of his fluttering heart to realize what the other man wanted him to do.
James fumbled for a match.
Swallowing thickly, he struck one and crouched down. Slowly, he brought the flame to the cigar’s tip. After it was toasted, the handsome—no, make thatextremelyhandsome—man leaned forward to puff on the other end.
All while holding eye contact with James.
A shudder of excitement rolled up James’s spine, making him shiver. Seconds passed—every one of them feeling longer and stranger and more seductive than the last—and then, finally, the mesmerizing fellow sat back in his chair.
“Good man,” he said, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Th-thank you,” James spluttered, immediately feeling ridiculous for both the expression of gratitude and the fact that his voice had wobbled.
