Page 49 of Cabin Fever

He pauses to wipe his nose. “I’ve never once told any of you what that meant to me. And that was the night I knew we were more than friends. That’s how I learned what a family is. So, Theo and Dahlia, you’ve been my siblings since I was nine, but today, you’re the first to sign official paperwork. And Theo. Twenty-five years ago you gave me one walkie-talkie and made this thing between us permanent. Today you did it again, in front of witnesses, with a far better ring.”

Finn’s glass is up, and the rest of the room follows suit. “To Theo and Dahlia.”

The room thunders, everyone drinking, cheering, the band swelling, and then Theo’s up out of his chair to bear-hug Finn. But by the time I've wiped my eyes, set my glass down, and looked back at the head table, the mic is on the stand, and the jacket is gone off the chair.

I curse under my breath, searching for Finn. Nowhere. The man swoops in, gives his speech, and then rushes off again?

We have guests, a live band, the bride and groom, and I'm standing at the edge of my own masterpiece of a party with a champagne flute going warm.

How could he avoid me after that? How could he⁠—?

“Hon.” Pam from guest services materializes at my elbow in her off-shift cardigan and electric-blue eyeliner. And she looks troubled. “I need you to come look at something.”

I snap to attention. “What's wrong? Is it the cake? The band's on until eleven, if the noise complaint came from Deck Eight again⁠—“

Pam waves me off. “It's a situation. Up top. It really needs the coordinator.”

“Okay. Yes, let me grab my tablet⁠—“

“No tablet.” Her hand closes on my wrist, and she's already steering me toward the doors.

She takes me up the aft stairs, past Deck Ten, past the pool deck's blue glow, up the last narrow flight to the top of the ship. The sun deck.

She stops in front of a velvet rope strung across the landing with a sign that says PRIVATE EVENT. Pam unhooks it and ushers me through.

I turn back. “Pam⁠—“

“Six days ago you told me this wedding needed to be perfect.” She's already retreating down the stairs with a click-clack. “Go take care of the last item on the list.”

I stand there, frowning. Last item? I don’t have a last item.

I turn back and continue forward. The deck is dark, and the ship's wake unspools like silver behind us. String lights are up, which is a nice touch, and . . . I pause. How did any of the lanterns get up here?

I follow them around the shuffleboard court and past the stacked loungers to the open stretch of deck at the very stern.

And that’s where I freeze. Ahead of me, on the deck of the Dreamboat Aurora, stands a fence. Exactly like the one in my childhood backyard.

Chapter Eighteen

I don't move for a long time.

My brain tries to compute what I’m looking at. Somebody built a wooden fence with a gate on top of a cruise ship. Somebody who knows exactly what that fence looked like. And climbing up the wood, blooming out of florist buckets zip-tied along the side rail, is a green vine with bright coral trumpet flowers. So much of it the wind carries the scent to me across the deck, soft and sweet.

And on the other side⁠—

“Hey.” Finn’s head pops up.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I close it and try again, and end up with “There's a fence on the boat.”

“There is.”

“You built a fence?”

“Technically, it’s our fence.” He rests his arms on the top of the vertical planks. “Pam and I have agreed to call it 'an installation.'”

The wind catches the loose tendrils of hair that fell out of my twist hours ago. I step closer, my mind still reeling, then laugh when I see duct tape on the bottom corner of the fence. “My dad put that there.”

He grins. “I know. It was still there when Dahlia went to help your mom pack up.”