Page 22 of A Perfect Disaster

“Right here,” I point out, marking the port-side service corridor. “This section seems too narrow to me if we need to clear the area quickly.”

That’s why I hate going from cruise to cruise. I always end up working three times as hard.

Maika sets her fork down on her plate.

“Because it is.”

“Wow, thanks for the diagnosis.”

She raises her left eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“What?”

“With that look that says, ‘I just scored a point and I’m going to revel in it for the rest of the trip.’”

Maika bursts out laughing, and I find myself storing that sound in my memory.

“I don’t need that much time,” she replies. “I have a very good memory for my successes.”

My heart skips a beat before finding its rhythm again. I force myself to close the map tab before my blush gives me away.

“After my shift, I want to inspect that area on-site,” I announce.

“Great. I’ll go with you.”

She doesn’t offer it as an option.

“Fine.”

We finish eating while discussing regulations and a few anecdotes. I suppose you can already guess who brings up each topic.

Meanwhile, I try to maintain a strict, by-the-book demeanor as she tells me how a passenger on her last cruise threatened to file a complaint against the entertainment department because she claimed the bingo was rigged.

“And was it?” I ask, feeling the tension in my jaw ease.

“Helen, the prize was a company cap and a bottle of sparkling wine that had been sitting in the sun for three hours.”

“People have started riots over much less, believe me,” I reply, and this time I can’t help but let a genuine smile cross my face.

Maika laughs heartily, drawing the attention of two slot machine attendants at the next table. And I force myself to maintain my usual seriousness.

· · ·

An hour later, we climb the interior stairs to Deck Nine. The Marine IV glides with a dignified pitch. Outside, the sun begins its descent, tinging the sea with a dense, coppery hue. In the outdoor stage area, lighting technicians adjust the robotic spotlights while the onboard DJ tests the bass with an electronic beat that reverberates off the structures.

I begin checking the safety distances with the digital tape measure, noting the readings on the tablet. Maika follows me closely. Too closely.

“You’re going to have a blind spot there,” she says, pointing to the cocktail bar on the port side.

“I agree. The turning radius is insufficient.”

“Maybe if we put a high-top table next to the entrance, people will stop before entering the aisle.”

“No. It would block the security staff’s line of sight,” I counter, measuring the width of the aisle. “I don’t want any fixed obstacles.”

“Then the other option is to station promotional staff at the corner to divert attention toward the center of the dance floor before the side gets too crowded.”