Quickly, James fumbled for his pocket watch. Only thirty more minutes. Blowing out a breath, James refolded the paper and began to prepare the orders.
***
It was 11:28 p.m., and James was looking for the entrance toTitanic’s Reading and Writing Room, his stomach in his throat. Walking along the corridor, James searched the wood paneling to find the entrance. He hadn’t seen the room before. Even though people were permitted to enjoy beverages there, no stewards had been specifically assigned to work in it. Instead, whenever one of the passengers enjoying the space needed something, they had to beckon a steward over with the call bell. James hadn’t been asked to respond to those sorts of calls yet, though he knew other stewards who had.
Once James found the door, he pushed it open, expecting to see people finishing up inside since it was nearly closing time, but instead, the room was empty. Furrowing his brow, he leaned in to have a look around while he waited for Cassian. It was strikingly bright, the luminescence from the room’s many light fixtures bouncing off of the white walls and rose-pink carpet, and James blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the change. Even thoughthe corridor itself was more well-lit than the Smoking Room (which possessed an intentionally cozy and maybe even somewhat somber ambiance), the lighting in the Reading and Writing Room was much more intense. Not unpleasantly so, but it felt strange to see such a bright room so close to midnight.
“James.”
James startled from the sound of his name, though the smoothness of Cassian’s voice also made him weak in the knees. Holding his breath, he turned to face his friend.
“Right on time, as expected,” Cassian said.
James only barely managed a nod.
“I have something for you,” Cassian remarked.
He revealed a notebook he’d been holding behind his back—leather bound, burgundy color, much nicer than the one the man had thrown into the Atlantic. James’s breath rushed out of him in one fastwhoosh. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Still, he succeeded in reaching out a slightly shaky hand and taking it.
“It’s my own personal notebook,” Cassian explained. “As such, I expect you to return it to me once we reach New York.” His lips curled into a small smile. “But with the first part of your story written in it, of course.”
James’s cheeks burned hotter, and he huffed a light laugh.
“You want me to writemystory inyournotebook?” he asked.
Cassian shrugged. “Didn’t I say that I believed I would enjoy it?”
“Yes,” James said. “But youalsosaid that it was filth.”
“Yes, I know. And I’m certain that itisfilth. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it, though.”
Every ounce of James’s unease evaporated at once. He shook his head and bellowed a laugh. Cassian nodded into the room.
“I asked the man at the Purser’s Office if I could make use of this room for the next hour or so. Not thatIwill be the one writing, but I’m the only one of us whose passenger status permits it.”
James rolled his eyes in a playful manner. “Isn’t it meant to close now?”
“Nothing a little money couldn’t fix.” Cassian smirked and started into the room, his hands hooked behind his back. “Come along, James. I paid forsomeoneto write something in here, and it isn’t going to be me.”
James followed, shutting the door behind him. Cassian wrinkled his nose.
“It’s not exactly cozy, is it?” he said. “I feel as though we’re being—”
“Accosted by one of the electric companies?” James jested.
Cassian chuckled softly. “Yes, precisely.”
Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, James looked around.
“Do you really want me to sit here and write?” he asked.
“Of course. I even brought you a pen.”
Cassian took a fountain pen from his breast pocket and handed it to James.
“I suppose you’ll want this back later as well?” James asked.
Cassian merely winked. Laughing, James walked over to one of the chairs and sat. Once he was settled, he began to flip through the notebook for a blank page. He couldn’t help but smile at the handful of used pages containing Cassian’s notes. He kind of wanted to read them.
