Love Overboard

Chapter 15

LACEY RUBBED HER EYES AS the glare from the endless white walls stretched in front of her. After Abby had rescued them from the lost and found, sleep had been impossible. She lay awake until sunrise, then put in a good eight hours at the front desk. It was better than reimagining Jon’s soft breath against her lips.

Again.

She plodded down the long corridor that spanned the length of the ship. Only accessible to staff, the plain-Jane hallway was dubbed Route 66 since it stayed busy twenty-four hours a day. Lacey took a right into the staff mess. The red vinyl booths, chrome tables and chairs, and checkered floor tiles resembled those of an old fifties diner. Her coworkers’ conversations buzzed like bees in a hive. Faces turned her way as she grabbed a salad from the buffet and wound through the diners to an empty table in the corner. It appeared the scuttlebutt of last night’s escapade had already made its way around.

She didn’t blame Abby. Her roommate had woken the head steward, Mr. Gozar, to borrow the lost-and-found keys, and he’d wanted to know the reason they were required at three-thirty in the morning. A logical question. But even her roommate’s short explanation was ample fodder for the rumor mill. Why did the keeper of the keys have to be the biggest gossip on the ship?

Lacey clunked her plate on the table and sat with her back to the room. The Argentinian housemaids congregated to her left, and their words tumbled over each other as the women talked in their native language. With three years of high school Spanish and four years’ interacting with international coworkers on a cruise ship, Lacey understood most of it. Salacious suppositions about why she and Jon had been in a closet in the middle of the night. She leaned on one elbow and picked at her uninspiring but healthy lunch, poking the wilted lettuce with her fork.

“It is not good?” asked a deep voice with a thick, charming accent.

She looked up into the sparkling regard of Ricardo Montoya, the pastry chef on the MS Buckingham. His curly black hair spilled over his forehead, giving him a boyish, innocent quality. He sat down across from her with his food.

His hand motioned to the dish in front of her. “The salad is not good?”

Lacey shrugged a shoulder. “Not as good as your cherry tarts.”

He beamed and sucked in a breath, his chest expanding. “I will save some for you.”

Ricardo made the motion of the cross and said a silent prayer. When he finished, he cut into his ground sirloin, took a bite, and gagged. “The person who made your salad also made my steak.”

She pushed her plate away. “Someone in the kitchen was having a bad day.”

“It is an epidemic. The head chef bit on my head this morning.”

Lacey tried not to chuckle at his unusual twist on the old cliché. “Why?”

“He told me to make three hundred extra cherry tarts for the captain’s special reception. I did not hear him right and made a few too many.”

“How many?” She lifted her water glass and took a drink.

“Three thousand.”

Lacey choked and wiped the dribble from her chin. “Three … three thousand?”

Ricardo grimaced. “You are making the same face as Chef did when he found out. I spent hours making those tarts. He should recognize my hard work. But all he does is worry I wasted the ingredients. Too much flour! Too much sugar!”

“He has a point. Resources are limited. If a cruise ship runs out of food, the customers will mutiny.”

“We will not run out.” Ricardo sawed off another piece of overcooked meat. “I am arranging for more to be delivered with the fresh produce when we dock in Puerto Limón. It was supposed to be my afternoon off, but I will spend most of it coordinating with the provision master about the new supplies.” He shoved the steak in his mouth. “At least I will still have time for dinner. My good friend runs a restaurant there. He grills a red snapper with lemon and basil”—he kissed his fingertips—“so fresh, like it jumped out of the ocean onto the plate.”

Lacey laughed. “Sounds delicious.”

“Come with me. I can pick you up after I supervise the delivery, and we will eat together.” His warm perusal of her promised more than friendship if she was interested. “It will be my treat.”

Lacey hesitated. She enjoyed Ricardo’s company but wasn’t sure a date was a good idea. The housemaids stirred beside her, and their volume rose. Faces pointed in the same direction—at the tantalizing cruise director who’d walked in the room. Jon’s gaze found her, along with just about everyone else’s. The employees scrutinized them both with whispers and smirks.

Lacey looked away. She hated being the center of a cheap scandal. None of it was true. Jon was her friend. Period.

“Lacey?”

Ricardo’s voice broke into her musings.

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow? The snapper?”

She made a split-second decision. “I’d love to eat dinner with you.”

Ricardo smiled so big his upper lip disappeared. He dropped his silverware and grabbed the edge of the table. “What are your favorite flowers? I will bring them for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It is my pleasure.”

Lacey had received so few bouquets in her life, she had to think a moment. “How about something unique and colorful?”

Ricardo winked. “Claro.” He took Lacey by the hand and stroked her fingers.

She fought the urge to see if Jon noticed. Her attention stayed fixed on Ricardo.

“I will be counting the hours,” he said.

“Me too.” She was a very punctual person.

Ricardo released her hand, held his drink for a toast, and tilted it her way. “Until tomorrow night?”

She clinked her glass against his. “Tomorrow night.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Lacey’s nerves jumped at the new voice. Her water sploshed onto the table as Jon towered over them with his tray. She wiped the renegade drops and kept her head down. “What?”

“Is this seat occupied?” He motioned to the empty chair beside her.

“Please, sit.” Ricardo scooted his things to make more room at the table.

Lacey stayed where she was and said nothing.

Whoever he is, he’s friendly.

Jon vaguely recalled the man’s face from studying the employee profiles. He placed his lunch on the spot the stranger made for him and sat, his eyes automatically swerving to Lacey. No one would guess she had done a brief stint locked in a dingy storage space. Her hair glowed like a ray of golden sunshine in the industrial-lit cafeteria. She avoided his eyes, which wasn’t surprising. They’d left on an awkward note when Abby liberated them from their unconventional prison. But the touch of her lips still lingered on his own, making him reckless. Why not risk rejection one more time?

He held out his hand to the other man. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Jonathan King.”

“Yes, the new cruise director. Mucho gusto.” He shook his hand. “I am Ricardo Montoya, pastry chef.”

Jon picked up his fork and pointed the blunt end at him. “Are you the one who makes those seven-layer chocolate cakes?” He nodded at Lacey. “I bet you love those.”

She fished a piece of lettuce with brown edges from her salad and didn’t answer.

Ricardo raised his chin. “Guilty. I add a touch of chili powder as my mama used to do.”

“Your mother was a wise woman. I must’ve gained five pounds on this ship.” Jon tasted his food and winced. “But not from this. Monarch should feed its staff better.”

“I agree. Maybe you should tell them.”

“Maybe I will.” He grinned and turned to the silent Lacey. “I was looking for you. Have you confronted Emily yet?”

Her head jerked. She cut her gaze to the pastry chef and back to Jon before she answered. “I haven’t discussed that particular matter with her. It’s an uncommon situation.”

“That’s one way of putting it. It’s not exactly normal to lock—”

Lacey smacked the table. “Trust me. She and I will have a heart-to-heart soon.”

“Don’t be too hard on her.” Jon reached over and touched her hand.

She withdrew it and glanced at Ricardo again.

Jon tamped down the same old sense of rejection. He wished Lacey would have a heart-to-heart with more than just Emily. When would it be his turn? If she’d only be honest with him and reveal the real reason she left all those years ago. Had God brought them back together for reconciliation or closure? Neither was happening.

He took a drink of his water and dived in again. “Have you got any time off in Puerto Limón? I thought we might have dinner.”

“You are a few minutes too late, Jonathan.” Ricardo waved a finger at him with a good-natured smile. “I already claimed this beautiful woman for tomorrow evening.”

Jon’s eyes shifted between the two, and he resisted the impulse to break that waving finger. “My mistake.”

Lacey stabbed her fork in her salad and left it there. “Would it kill them to serve us fresh food?” She pushed her chair back and stood with her tray. “I can’t eat this. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I should go check my mail.”

Jon watched her beat a hasty retreat from the dining room. The other diners clocked his reaction. He focused on his plate, took a bite from his meal, and chewed.

This was no time to be drawing attention to himself. The investigation required discretion. And it’s not like his clumsy romantic overtures made the gamble worth it. Every time he chucked his metaphorical pride out the window, it landed with a thud. Why did he keep expecting Lacey to catch it?

She’d friend-zoned him. Rejected his kiss. And made a date with another man.

It took his hard head a while to get the message, but he finally admitted the truth. The answer was no. He had to move on.

I might need a little help, God. But I can do it. Right?