3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Meg
C ontrary to what my mother believed, it proved impossible to find anyone to go on an all-expenses paid cruise to Bermuda at the last minute. My father had never come to see me in the United States, even though I couldn’t resist yanking Mom’s chain when she called to cancel. My friends worked. Some had kids. And no matter how much my bestie Elaine and I tried to convince our boss to let us both take off at the same time, the answer had been a humorless no.
But traveling alone aside, as a self-proclaimed introvert I didn’t mind having a luxury suite to myself, the ship’s staff catering to my every whim. I didn’t have to wake up early with Mom. Nor was I pressured to go to fitness classes before breakfast. My mother was the athlete in the family and incredibly driven. The woman earned her black belt at the ripe age of fifty-eight. A five-foot-one dynamo, she was in great shape and wore a size two. About the only thing I inherited from her was red hair and blue eyes. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit her athleticism, nor was I petite. For exercise I enjoy long walks, don’t mind shoveling snow, and can chop wood like a mountain man (thanks to Dad). Organized fitness? I’m allergic.
So, I got to relax.
I went to the spa for a massage.
Twice so far.
I ordered room service and struck up a conversation with the bartender on the Lido deck who told me about his wife and kids back home. And I read.
A lot.
What can I say? I’m a librarian. Reading is my elixir.
I didn’t even step ashore when the ship stopped in Nassau because I had just started reading Kristan Higgins’ Out of the Clear Blue Sky and couldn’t put it down. I also had an aura in the center of my vision which was an indication I was about to get smacked with a migraine. I’ve had headaches all my life, but I got a leg-up on this one with a cocktail of acetaminophen and ibuprofen, and, of course, a fantastic book.
This morning when the ship arrived at King’s Wharf on the Bermudian island of pink sand, it happened to be my twenty-ninth birthday and, after indulging myself for three days, I was ready to go forth and act like a tourist. I slathered sunscreen on my freckly and fair skin. I also packed a couple of waters and a granola bar into my mini backpack and headed for the gangway, taking the stairs as my exercise for the morning. The excursion I chose for today was a tour of the Crystal Caves.
I’d given deep sea diving a miss.
Am I afraid of sharks?
Sure am—and anything else that might sting, bite, or eat me.
I had a spring in my step, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, sunflower-shaped sunglasses, pink shorts, and a frilly boho tunic swirling with purple, lime green and blue. I might be a librarian, but I also love color which, according to my colleagues, made me eccentric. You should see what I did with the kid’s section at the main library. The entrance looks like the door of a hobbit hole surrounded by book trees—similar to a money tree, except with brightly colored book covers. Inside, the walls are painted with scenes from classic stories like Where the Wild Things Are , The Wind in the Willows , and Charlotte’s Web . Of course a children’s section wouldn’t be complete without a white-bearded wizard wielding his wand and presiding over the center of everything.
The salty smell of the Atlantic washed over me as I stepped onto the pier. Warmed by the Bermudian sun, I smiled broadly, snapping a selfie with the ship and the ocean in the background. I quickly posted it on Facebook with the caption, “Mom doesn’t know what she’s missing!” Then I found my shuttle bus, spotting a woman wearing a turquoise shirt who waved a “Crystal Caves Excursion” placard over her head.
By the time I climbed aboard, most of the seats were taken, but I found an empty one near the back. “Anyone sitting here?” I asked the guy in the window seat who was scrolling through his phone. He glanced up and grinned—one that gave my stomach a zing.
Whoa. I hadn’t zinged in a while.
He was hot in an unkempt sort of way, appearing as if he might have rolled out of bed, riffled his fingers through his hair, and called it good. He gestured with an upturned palm. “Be my guest. ”
“Thanks,” I said, taking off my backpack and sliding in beside him, our shoulders slightly touching. Bring on the zing .
I didn’t try to shift away. “Where are you from?”
He returned his attention to his phone while one shoulder twitched up. “Ohio.”
“Cool. I’m from Wisconsin. We’re practically neighbors.”
The dude blanked out his screen, giving me a sideways glance like he was checking me out but didn’t want me to notice. He slid his phone into a pocket of his khaki shorts which were as wrinkled and disheveled as his hair and t-shirt.
I didn’t care. He smelled like Ivory soap and that was nice, especially since I couldn’t shift aside far enough not to press up against his shoulder.
“Wisconsin, huh?” His warm thigh pressed flush against mine as well. “Are you a Badger fan?”
“Sure am—got my master’s at UW Madison.” I tried to scoot away, but the contour of the seat just made me slide right back into him.
“A brainiac?” The dude offered his hand. “So, I’m Lance.”
I shook it. “Margaret but everyone calls me Meg.”
He grinned wider this time—I mean dazzling white teeth, the incisors crossed slightly. If I had to assign a word to his lazy smile, I’d choose magnetizing . “Meg it is.”
I think I melted for a moment, but when Lance looked out the window, I remembered to breathe. “Did you go to Ohio State?”
“You mean The Ohio State University?” he asked, putting the emphasis on the “The” like the starting NFL football players do when they’re announced at the beginning of games.
Being from Wisconsin, I wasn’t a fan of emphasizing the word “The” because the pros sounded so disgustingly arrogant, but the dude smirked as if he knew he was being a brashole. I rolled my eyes. “Yeah…did you study there?”
He nodded just as the bus started off and the tour guide interrupted us with a welcome and a spiel about our destination. She pointed out the Commissioner’s House and Museum, as well as a dolphin sea pool. She continued to mention points of interest, then said something about taking a detour through the town of Hamilton with its brightly painted buildings. The word “bright” got my attention, of course.
The sound system grated with static and, as I strained to hear, Lance tapped my sunglasses. “Cute shades. ”
“Thanks.” Any guy who complimented an item of my unconventional attire was an ace in my book. Maybe my fashion sense skipped a generation because my father wore nothing but jeans and button-down shirts. Mom? Well, she must have been born in a business suit.
“How has your cruise been so far? Having fun?” asked Lance.
“It’s been awesome,” I said, turning my ear toward the speaker.
“What has been your favorite part?” He obviously wasn’t even trying to pay attention to the guide.
If I told him about the plot from the last book I read, he’d probably never speak to me again, so I shrugged. “The food has been amazing.”
“It has.” His hazel eyes lit up. “Oh, my God, did you have the lobster last night?”
My gaze trailed to his arm, slender and peppered with dark hair—same color as on his head. “Sure did…melted in my mouth.”
“And the chocolate volcano dessert?”
Sheepishly, I scraped my teeth over my bottom lip. “I went for the fruit plate.”
“Who eats fruit when there’s an eruption of molten chocolate?”
I laughed. The guy was super thin but he talked like he ate as much as an offensive lineman. Did he have any idea how difficult it had been for this chocoholic to resist the volcano? “Maybe I’ll try it next time it’s on the menu.”
“I noticed that, too. Especially with desserts—if you miss it one night, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll be able to get it later.”
I pulled out the bottles of water and handed him one. “So, what has been your favorite part of the cruise so far?”
“Lots of things.” He guzzled the entire bottle, then dropped it on the floor which I tried to catch with the toe of my daisy sandal, only managing to push it farther under the seat. I was a stickler for recycling, especially plastics because my mother was adamant that if people were more vigilant about recycling the millions of bottles her company produced, the oceans would be less polluted. “Last night’s comedian was pretty good. And I really liked the show with all the singers and dancers.”
“The shows have been great,” I agreed, though I’d given the comedian a pass.
I finally trapped the bottle with my heel and leaned out into the aisle to pick it up.
“I won the basketball contest,” Lance offered .
“Seriously?” My gaze slid to his knees now propped against the seat in front. Was he tall? “Did you play in college?”
“High school—guard.” Lance looked aside. “Um…there wasn’t enough time to play sports when I was in college.”
I stowed the empty bottle in my backpack so I could drop it in the first recycle bin I found.
“What was your major?” he asked while the tour guide gestured to the buildings along the main street, reminding me of Disneyland with pinks, corals, yellows, and blues.
I glanced to the dude and grimaced. “You’ll think it’s boring.”
“Me? No way.” Lance nudged me with his elbow. “Come on…what? Basket weaving?”
I nudged him back. “Contrary to what someone from The Ohio State University might think, Wisconsin does not offer a basket weaving major.”
“So, what then?” He looked at me as if my answer might be the most important tidbit of information he’d heard that day.
I think I liked this scruffy guy. Sort of. “I majored in biology, then got a masters in librarianship.”
“Biology to librarianship? Is that a thing?”
“It was for me. I worked in the library when I was an undergrad, and decided it was the perfect place for a girl with a profound love of books who was about as sociable as a Hobbit.”
“Books, huh?” Lance sounded intrigued as if reading were his favorite pastime, too. “So, I take it you’re a librarian? Are you still at UW?”
“Yes to the first question—though I’m now an assistant director and I work for the La Crosse Public Library.”
“La Crosse?” He narrowed those hazel eyes. “Where is that?”
“West side of the state. On the Mississippi.” The bus had taken a turn down a winding, narrow road, every so often giving us a glimpse of a pink sandy beach while Lance and I swayed in tandem. “How about you? Where did you land after you got your degree?”
“A little hospital in Nowheresville Ohio.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“Ah…yeah.” A bit of pink tinged his cheeks as if he was a little shy, either that or he was afraid I was going to start talking about some awful affliction and ask him a bunch of questions .
But go figure, the dude wearing wrinkled khaki shorts and a Pabst Blue Ribbon retro t-shirt was an MD. One thing was for sure, the saying “you can’t judge a book by its cover” certainly applied to Lance.
I took another sip of water then twisted the cap back on. “What’s your discipline?”
The static from the speakers spiked with a grating crackle and he reverted his attention out the window. “What?”
“Did you specialize or are you a general practitioner?”
Lance pulled a ball cap out of his back pocket and jammed it on his head. “Definitely a generalist—emergency room stuff. That’s where it’s real, you know?”
“Well, I’d imagine so.”
By the time the bus arrived, we friended each other on the ship’s app which had everything you needed to know for the cruise. The best thing about the app was it worked at sea where there wasn’t cell service. We followed the procession of tourists inside the gift shop and then to the cave’s entrance. The temperature cooled noticeably as we descended the steps into a cavern as enchanting as a fairytale.
From the parking lot, no one would have guessed the beauty hiding underground, with ancient stalactites dangling like icicles from the ceiling. A wooden dock meandered through the center of the cave, the shallow aqua-blue water shimmering with iridescent lights. It was magical and ethereal. How incredible to think the formations began over thirty million years ago by one drip of water at a time.
I took a couple of selfies with Lance and posted the one of us on the bridge on Facebook because it was so perfect, we looked like we were in a dreamland. I bet that photo was going to make my mom happy—and sad because she hadn’t been able to come along. Was I rubbing it in?
Probably.
If I were being honest with myself, it burned that she cancelled on me. All my life, she’d put her job first. As a teenager, I was more than a little resentful. As an adult, I do my best to insulate my feelings. I love her, but I also love myself.
After the ship left Bermuda, Lance and I taste-tested a sampler in the ship’s martini bar. We’d had a bottle of wine with dinner, so Miss Lightweight here was already buzzed. I gaped at the rack of six shot glasses in front of me. “Tell me again what each one is.”
Lance leaned in, his shoulder nudging mine. “The clear one is the classic, then espresso, appletini, cosmo, lemon drop, and chocolate.”
I handed the classic to him. “You have that one. It doesn’t look sweet enough for me.”
“All right.” He sipped.
I took the chocolate, tapped his glass with mine, and we drank. “Oh, my God, this is better than a milkshake.”
Lance licked his lips, setting down his empty glass. “I thought you’d like that one.”
I pushed the rack toward him. “You choose the next round.”
He took the espresso and gave me the lemon drop, which was almost as good as the chocolate, though I doubt anything would top the milkshake.
We each shared sips of the appletini and cosmo. I’d had a cosmopolitan before, so I knew I’d like it. I wasn’t as keen on the apple-flavored liqueur, though. “So, what’s next?” I swayed in my chair. “Anything but more booze.”
Lance slung his arm around my shoulders and nuzzled into my ear. “Anything?” he asked, sounding like hot sex.
I shook the disc that was my room key. “You want to hook up?”
He kissed my earlobe, using just enough tongue. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Oh, my effing God. Did I mention hot sex?
It might have been a while since I last slept with a man, but I certainly remembered how it was done—learned a few new moves as well. Three times. Before noon we managed to order room service. By one o’clock we decided to find the Outback Lounge to play a Harry Potter themed trivia game—which I won because, well, I’m a librarian. Lance came in a close second, but this Ravenclaw girl won a coaster.
After that, it took a whopping four hours to solve the murder in High Seas Heist, but of the three thousand five hundred people aboard, Lance and I won! And for our efforts we each received a cruise line hat and tote bag .
On the final night of the cruise, we went to the theater for a Broadway-themed show during which he held my hand, kissing me, nuzzling my ear. By the time the production was over, I was ready to get naked.
He laced his fingers through mine. “Let’s go to the bar for one last drink.”
A better idea came to mind. “How about going to my suite and ordering room service?”
“Hmm,” he ran kisses up my arm. “We did that last night. You pick the bar, okay?”
“If that’s what you want. Let’s go to the Skylight Lounge at the top of the ship because not only is there a fantastic view of the ocean, it’s always quieter up there.”
We sat at the bar and Lance ordered two old fashioneds, paying with his room fob. Because all my drinks were free, we’d been using mine, but he insisted on paying this time. Honestly, I appreciated the gesture.
“When do you have to be back at work?” he asked.
The bartender put the old fashioneds in front of us. “Monday. How about you?”
“Monday as well.”
Tomorrow was Sunday, which didn’t give us much time to get home and unwind. “I guess we’d better not have any flight delays—especially you.”
Lance pushed one glass toward me and picked up the other. “Why just me?”
“Well, missing a shift when you’re an ER doc is a whole lot more critical than it is for me at the library. I mean, it’s not the end of the world if I don’t show up for work on time, but with your job, people could die.”
He took the swizzle stick and pulled the maraschino cherry off with his teeth. “Yeah. There is a lot of stress.”
“But that’s why you get so much time off, right?”
“Yep.” He kissed me on the lips. “I need to use the little boy’s room. Be right back, okay?”
I watched him saunter away while sipping my drink. This was probably the second old fashioned I’d had in my life and I was still trying to decide if I liked them or not. I usually preferred sweeter drinks with clear alcohol or wine.
“Is everything good here?” asked the bartender, tucking Lance’s receipt under his glass.
“Yeah. Great. I can’t believe we’re already at the end of the cruise.”
“Time flies, huh? ”
“Sure does.”
I glanced at the receipt peeking out from under Lance’s glass. The first name was Virgil.
Virgil ?
I slid the glass away, but the condensation from his drink had blotted out the rest of his name. I guess it didn’t matter. He’d told me his last name was Lovell before we left Bermuda.
Was Lance his middle name?
If my name was Virgil, I’d probably use Lance as well. Glancing back to the doors, I took another sip, shrugging off the alarm bells. Lots of people went by their middle names. Heck, I used a nickname. I’d been Meg as long as I could remember. Any time someone other than my mother called me Margaret, it took me a beat to realize they were talking to me.
As I turned my stool, Lance strolled back inside. I pointed to the receipt. “Hey, I—”
“I wanted to talk to you, too,” he interrupted, sliding his fingers through his hair. I raised my eyebrows, encouraging him to continue. “Um…I have a super early flight, and well, my life is so busy I wanted to make sure I thanked you for the good time, okay?”
The temperature in the bar suddenly went from freezing to unbearably hot. My pits stung. My face burned like I’d just been slapped.
Holy shit, I know we hadn’t labeled our fling, but was he breaking up with me? Then again, if we were only casual, could we really breakup? Was this one of those micro-breakups I’d seen all over Instagram?
“Okaaay…?” I said, my mouth deciding this was the time to become inarticulate. “D-did I do something wrong?”
“No way, you’re totally amazing.” Lance’s damned hand landed on my shoulder, his fingers squeezing. “Thanks for the good times, Meg. I had ton of fun.”
“But what about—?”
As the bastard all but sprinted out of the lounge, I glanced at the bartender out of the corner of my eye. Thank God he was across the room and hadn’t overheard. I’d just been micro-ditched by a guy who not a half-hour ago was necking with me during a Broadway show. Ohio wasn’t that damned far away from Wisconsin. We could have at least pretended we were going to stay in touch.
I finished the rest of my drink, not quite ready to move yet. If I tried, my legs might give out. Was micro-ditching a thing?
Dammit, I was having such a good time, and now I’m going home pissed!