Chapter 18
Safi to Marrakesh – Jack
W hile I think Bryant might be going a little hard on the crew, all their efforts are certainly noticeable as I walk around the yacht. I’ve never seen it so clean.
However, for better or for worse, I haven’t decided yet, the extra work has also kept Kayla away from me.
I’ve maybe seen her a handful of times over the last few weeks. Part of me is hoping that will change once we’re on land again.
“We should be docked in Safi within the next hour,” Bryant reports.
“Great.” I’m standing in the bridge and watching as he and the others around him navigate.
“Then, Denver arranged for tickets on a train to Marrakesh.”
“How long should that take?” Of course, I know that Marrakesh is where most of the action is, so it makes sense that we’d set up shop there for a while.
“It’s 138 kilometers.”
“Meaning?”
“Oh, sorry. About an hour and a half.”
“That’s not so bad.” One of my hands slides into my pocket, while the other one is grooming my short facial hair.
“No.” His eyebrow is raised high above his eye when he turns away from the console. “Are you going to go with them?”
“I might, yeah.” I don’t want to miss out on all the fun.
“Really? Huh.”
“What?”
Frowning, he shakes his head. “I’m just surprised.”
“You’re coming too, no?” Come on, man. You promised me you’d have a good time. If anything, all this anal cleaning has only proven how much he needs to get out.
He smacks his lips. “I guess.”
Yes! I get closer to him and take his shoulders. “Thatta boy! You won’t regret it.”
“That will remain to be seen. Anyway,” he does one of his classic throat-clearing coughs, “After a few days in Marrakesh, we’ll travel back to Safi and then head out for Greece once and for all.”
Good. I’m practically dying to finally meet up with the infamous Yannis Drakos. Each day that passes with his smaller publishing house mishandling his marketing, it feels like a part of me—or at least my bank account—is dying.
Just thinking about everything I could do to help his career makes me feel frothy at the mouth.
However, while I wait for us to dock, I go back to my room and review my pitch for him. I don’t think I’ll be getting much work done once we get to Morocco.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Bryant’s booming voice comes over the loudspeaker sooner than I anticipated. “We are moments away from docking.”
I hear the faint echo of chanting.
That’s normal, being cooped up on the same vessel for so long is kind of soul crushing.
“Once we do, please form an organized line as you depart the ship. Jack and I will be first, and then you may follow.”
With that cue, I get my bag together for the next few days.
When I step on shore, I can hardly believe my eyes.
Of all the places I’ve been, Morocco has always been on my bucket list. And what I can already see so far is absolutely gorgeous.
There’s so much golden-brown sediment, and it’s hard to tell where the hills and the buildings start and end. There is also the most heavenly smell in the air.
I’m standing in amazement when I notice some red fabric blowing in the breeze out of the corner of my eye. When I look to see it more clearly, I find that it’s a sarong or cover up around Kayla’s matching swimming suit. The fabric is tied around her waist, and she has a jean jacket to cover up the upper half of her body.
Her light hair is down, and there are yellow sunglasses pushed on top of her head.
She looks as beautiful as ever.
I want to approach and talk to her, but before I can, Bryant comes over and swings his arm around my shoulders.
“The train station is right this way.”
As we walk, there are a few street vendors selling some of the most beautiful pottery I’ve ever seen.
When I look behind me, I see several crew members stop to look at it—most noticeably, of course, is Kayla. She’s standing with Callie and another steward and observing a piece with clouds on it.
We’re just close enough that I can make out her words.
“My father used to call me Kayla-la-la head in the sky,” she explains while giggling. After that, clouds have always kind of been my thing.
However, I see her face drop when the vendor tells her that it’s five hundred dirhams, or almost $50.
“I can’t justify that. We only just got here!” She tells the woman behind the counter that it’s lovely, but she can’t purchase it.
So, after they move forward, I manage to wriggle free from Bryant’s grasp and sneak away from the group to get it for her.
“Could you wrap it really good?” I ask a man who spoke English to me first.
“Of course, sir.”
When I’m all done paying for it, Bryant is standing and waiting for me.
“What was that about?”
“What?” I play dumb. “I saw something that caught my eye.”
“Oh, okay. Well, let’s get going. The train is going to leave soon.”
We then hurry along to meet the others.
“What’s in the bag?” Jenkins, one of our engineers asks me while looking into it.
“Um. Just something for my—my aunt.”
“I see.”
“Yep. She’s big into African pottery.”
He gives me a funny look. “Interesting.”
“Uh-huh.” I nod.
In the distance, I can see Kayla, and I’m desperate to give her the gift. However, I didn’t really think it all through because I’m not sure how she’ll explain that she has it.
Oh, well. I hope she’s smart enough to keep it to herself.
After getting to the station, finding out train, and giving the man in the navy suit with yellow trimming our tickets, we board and find that the rows consist of four seats facing each other.
“Here we go,” Bryant directs me to a pod with him, Jenkins, and someone whose name I forgot. Although I know he also helps man the boat. “Tyler, let’s let Jack have the window.”
“No, it’s really fine.” Tyler. I’m glad he said that.
When everyone is seated, I listen to the hum of multiple conversations going on at once.
“What are your thoughts on Morocco?” Tyler asks me. He has big, square glasses and spikey, colorless hair.
Bryant gives him a look, but I wave my hand. As I’ve said, this is warranted, given the disinterest I’ve shown to crew members in the past, but that isn’t who I want to be anymore.
So, with a smile, I answer, “I think it’s beautiful. What about you?”
He stares out the window as we start moving. “It’s amazing. I never thought in my wildest dreams I’d be able to travel to a place like this. I grew up in a small town in Ohio.”
That strikes a chord with me. “You did? Where abouts?”
“Wooster.”
“Oh, nice. I’m from Powell.”
“No way. My grandfather was from Columbus.”
I nod along. “Very cool.”
Then, another Midwesterner comes into my view. Kayla is getting up from her pod and headed toward the bathrooms.
“Excuse me for just a second.” I know it will look weird, especially to Jenkins, who specifically asked me about the pottery, but I don’t really care. I can always lie and say I gave it to one of the employees for safe keeping.
That’s one of the bonuses of being the boss. No matter what you say, the other people can’t really question its validity because it is always possible that I’d actually done this or that thing.
So, I get up and cling the dish to my chest.
There’s a little back room where I assume the attendants on longer journeys prepare snacks. It’s separated from the rest of the train by two maroon curtains.
“Kayla,” I whisper when I see her get out of the stall.
“What in the—”
“Hey.” Being so close to her again has me skipping breaths.
“Jack? What are you doing?”
“Um. This is for you.” I hand the package over to her, her eyebrows wrinkly in confusion. “Just open it.”
“Okay.”
When she does, she gasps. “How did you know?”
Grinning, I let her know that I saw her admiring it.
“You said something about a nickname your dad called you?”
She gives me a big hug, and the overwhelming smell of lavender in her hair hits my nostrils.
“Thank you so much.”
“Of course.”
She wipes at her eyes and sniffles.
“Are you okay?” I hold her by the shoulders and search her face.
Another tear falls down. “Yeah, it’s just—this reminds me of my dad.”
Aw. “Wait. In a good way, right?”
She nods. “A very good way. Clouds were kind of our thing.”
“Well, I’m happy you’ll have a memory of him and your time here in Morocco.”
“Me too. Thank you so much again. That was so thoughtful of you. I can repay—”
“Absolutely not,” I interrupt. It wasn’t necessary, and it threatened to have this keepsake remind her of me when she saw it.
From there, her green eyes just look up at me. But when a tear rolls down her cheek, I don’t think twice before grabbing her face and wiping it away with my thumb.
The nearness of her is chilling and embracing her feels like second nature to me.
“Jack…”
Without thinking twice about it, I bend down and place a kiss on her lips. She seems resistant at first, but then she parts hers and lets my tongue explore her mouth.
She then carefully places my fragile gift down before wrapping her arms around my shoulders—her fingers digging into my skin.
Now this is heaven, I think.
We continue until I realize that her fingers are at the waistband of my pants.
As much as it absolutely kills me, and I know it’s a hypocritical move since I started all of this, I take her delicate hands in mine and kiss the knuckles of each one.
“What’s wrong?”
“We—we can’t do this. I’m sorry. I hope you enjoy your gift.”
I just leave her standing there as I go back to my seat. And then once there, I shield my face from seeing her walk out. I feel like the biggest asshole in the world.
I can’t control myself around her, and I can’t stop thinking about her. But you can’t have her, either. You just can’t.