Chapter #2
I wiggled the bare ring finger on my left hand.
The decidedly un-bridal, pink manicure that I’d given myself for my Instagram series on cruise-ship inspired makeup palettes glinted in the sun.
It felt lighter, my finger. Though it was probably in my head.
How much could a ring really weigh? Not enough to say, oh, yeah, there’s a difference there.
It was a symbolic lightness. Free of Sean.
Free of the version of me that I’d grown to hate.
Free to be whoever I was supposed to become.
Free of a roof over my head.
I pushed that thought aside. It didn’t matter that I was technically homeless until the check I was waiting on cleared.
I’d been twenty-five for eleven weeks and counting, and after liquidating the last of the stocks and bonds where my grandfather had invested my trust, I was finally getting the first disbursement.
When I got home from this trip, I was going to use that money to buy myself a shelter from this storm.
Working out of my car felt like amateur hour.
I wanted square footage. I wanted salon chairs and styling cabinets.
Mirrors and lighting. A sign on a post out front.
Not to mention a place to live that wasn’t my parents’ house.
I had it all picked out, my new studio-slash-apartment. A place where I could build my own happy ending and set my dreams in motion. Dreams that were mine. Not my father’s, not Sean’s—mine.
I’d just closed my eyes to draw pictures of those dreams in my head when a guy in a black T-shirt plunked down his backpack, causing a flock of birds to screech and scatter and startle the bejesus out of me.
He dropped onto the bench across from me, pushing the brim of a well-worn baseball cap off his head, and buried his face in his palms. Before he hid it from me, I’d thought that his face looked vaguely familiar, like maybe I’d seen it in passing, but that was silly.
I’d been on a boat for a week. Where would I have seen him?
It was a nice face, from what I could see: dark, vacation-style stubble and a strong, square forehead and prominent nose. His profile looked chipped out of the side of a mountain, but the headlong view of his face was softer. His cheeks were round and boyish. It was a surprising contrast.
He rubbed circles into his temples with his thumbs, stretching the sleeve of his T-shirt with each tiny flex of his biceps.
I should definitely stop staring, but somehow I’d forgotten all about the gorgeous ocean view surrounding me, and decided there was nothing else worthy of my attention while I waited for this ship. Besides, he couldn’t see me.
Until his head popped up like one of those Whack-a-Mole games, and he looked straight at me.
I froze, my mouth hanging open. It wasn’t being caught that made my heart do a frog jump in my chest. It was the way his pastel-colored, sea-foam green eyes looked alien against his tan skin and almost black hair.
How did he walk around with eyes like that?
Buy coffee, ask for directions? Were people constantly awestruck?
For God’s sake, Bridget. You were engaged less than a month ago.
But it couldn’t hurt to look. Emotionally, Sean and I had been done for a long time. And our relationship certainly hadn’t stopped him from looking. Or touching.
I fought off the familiar wave of humiliation and loneliness that came with Sean’s memory and went back to stealing looks at Alien Eyes.
It wasn’t just this guy’s face that had my interest piqued.
He looked like he was going to be sick. Even from here, I could see he’d sweat through the back of his T-shirt.
I watched him unzip his backpack and dig around. He huffed a sigh and turned to me. “Do you have a pen?”
I blinked at him for an awkward number of seconds before answering. “Um… No. Sorry.”
I was wearing a sleeveless white handkerchief dress and lace-up wedge espadrilles. I didn’t even have a purse with me. Where would I hide a pen?
He nodded, his eyes shifting away. He seemed like he’d forgotten the pen dilemma altogether. Did he have sunstroke? Why was he acting so weird?
“I’m sure they have one at the ship agent’s desk,” I said, wanting to keep up the conversation for no other reason than I was half-infatuated with his face.
His shoulders slumped like the space between us and the desk could be measured in miles not feet. “Will you watch my backpack for a minute?”
My burgeoning crush wavered as a robotic-voiced warning from every airport and docking station that I’d been in on this trip played in my head: If someone asks you to hold a bag for them, don’t do it. Report it immediately.
He was a little jumpy. His knee bounced furiously, and he was swallowing more than he should. Either he was going to be sick, or he had a couple of kilos of cocaine in that backpack.
I looked around the empty pier. Who was I supposed to report him to, though? The guys pulling in their fishing nets? It seemed dramatic.
His alien eyes took on a very human exhaustion while he waited for my answer.
“Of course,” I said, feeling a little naive, not for the first time since I’d started this solo vacation.
He pulled his large frame up and walked stiffly to the desk like he might be in pain.
I took note of his stuff, safely where he’d left it, then slipped my phone from my bra and sent my best friend Meri a picture of the ocean to keep from staring at his butt.
He had a really nice butt. Like he must spend all of his free time doing squats nice. I blushed just looking at him.
Meri texted back. Gorgeous. I hope you’re enjoying every minute of your Sean-free vacation.
Guilt kept a smile from blooming at her snarky response. I couldn’t seem to shake it, especially with all of this three-fifteen nonsense.
Pen in hand, Alien Eyes dropped back into the seat and nodded his thanks. He picked up the clipboard he’d left on the bench and began scribbling. His hand was too big for the pen, I noticed, and he was a lefty. He probably had terrible handwriting.
“Are you filling out a job application?” I asked cheekily.
He raised an eyebrow and I gestured to the clipboard.
“Yeah,” he said. “Ship captain.”
I snorted a laugh, and he ran a hand over his chin, scratching. “I missed my reboarding time,” he said. “By an hour. Apparently, it’s a paperwork nightmare.”
“You were on a cruise? And they left you here?” My arm hair stood up, my mother’s voice whispered in my ear: See, Bridget! Dangerous!
“Yup.”
“They didn’t wait? Or come looking?”
He huffed a laugh from his nose, his eyes on the clipboard. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Wow. That sucks.” I was suddenly ecstatic for that obnoxious three-fifteen reboarding time.
Turned out, I was being responsible by showing up this early, not ridiculous.
I could admit being responsible hadn’t been high on my priority list thus far.
At least not as high as working on my tan and proving something to everyone who’d ever known me.
He picked his head up and peered at me, seafoam swirling. “What are you here for?”
“I’m on a cruise too. The ship is coming in an hour.” I glanced at the phone I was still using to keep my hands occupied. “Actually, forty-five minutes.”
He straightened, turning over his shoulder, and looked out to the water, then back at me. “What do you mean it’s coming?”
“Here.” I waved a hand at the dock where I’d disembarked this morning for a day of exploring with just my phone, passport, and credit cards tucked in my bra.
He cocked his head, studying me like I was the one being weird. What’s this guy’s deal?
“It’s a cruise ship?” he asked, even though I’d literally just said that it was.
“Uh, yeah.”
His thick, black lashes blinked at me and he licked his lips. “They don’t leave and come back,” he said slowly. “It’s a hundred-and fifty-thousand-ton ship, not an Uber.”
Heat crept up my neck, but I wasn’t sure if it was indignation at his tone or the understanding that was starting to stir in the back of my head. “Well, this one must have,” I said with my practiced everything is fine voice. “Because this is where I left it, and where they said to be back.”
“And are you the only one on this cruise?”
“No.” I followed his eyes around the dock and my heart dropped like a hundred-and fifty-thousand-ton rock. Then my breath started to come out all wiggly and uneven. Oh God.
“Seems there would be more people here if it leaves in forty-five minutes.”
Okay, he had a very valid point, but I’d heard them say three-fifteen. I’d had an entire crisis over it.
“What cruise line?” he asked when I’d gone mute.
Now my forehead was starting to sweat. I swallowed a lump. “Festiva.”
He shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“They said three-fifteen.” My heart thudded against my chest, but my voice sounded oddly calm even to my own ear. Handle it, Bridget. Take a deep breath and handle it. Do not let everyone be right about this.
“They said three-fifteen New York time,” he was saying. “That’s one-fifteen Costa Rica time. They said that. They even said it in military time. They said it three different ways.”
I met his eyes, cursing under my breath. I’d been so distracted by that number that I must have missed the finer details. Suddenly the sound of the ocean lapping the side of the empty pier was amplified, ringing in my ears, screaming: There’s no ship here! Look at this big empty hole! Gone!
Shoot. This is sooo bad. As my mother had just reminded me, I had a reputation for making a mess of things and this was a really big one. Which was exactly what they expected when I told them I was taking my honeymoon cruise alone.
“You’re just not made for it, Bridget,” my father said. “You can’t go galivanting around the world because you feel… stifled.” He’d whispered that last part as if it was some shameful thing that would bring embarrassment upon our house if anyone had heard.
My bearer of bad news stared at me, obviously thinking the same. “Are you traveling alone?” he asked.
“Yes.” Double shoot. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that. My eyes caught on his again. It was distracting, that color. I was trying to work this out and I kept seeing flashes of alien green out of the corner of my eye.
“How can you be traveling alone?”
I scrunched my nose. “You’re traveling alone.”
“Yeah, but I’m a guy.”
“Oh, I see. I didn’t realize your dick came with a compass.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose the way my father did when the Red Sox were getting creamed. “You don’t need a compass. You need a watch.” He stood abruptly, yanking the hat he’d stuffed in his pocket and popping it onto his head. “Come with me.”
I most certainly would not. “You missed the boat too,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. The gesture felt childish and I imagined my mother’s rolling eyes. I dropped them back down to my sides. “Why would I go with you?”
He took a deep breath through his nose, his eyes slipping closed for two beats. When he opened them again, they’d softened. “I’m Nick,” he said, holding out his hand.
I blinked at him. This guy was all over the place. He’d just looked like he was going to toss his lunch over the railing, and now he was apparently going to save my day. I didn’t need a White Knight.
“Bridget,” I said, reluctant even to share as much. I shook his hand, trying not to have a physical reaction to how big it was. “I’ll just go talk to the ship agent. That’s what you did, right? They helped you?”
“I’ll go with you.”
I narrowed my eyes, trying to look fierce and capable. “Why?”
“I’m old-fashioned like that.” He smiled, full lips pulling back to reveal bright white teeth, like a perfect picket fence except for the left incisor which turned ever-so-slightly inward.
I stared at it for a moment before nodding my acceptance.
It was ridiculous, but something about that tooth said trustworthy.
If they’d all been perfect, I would have marched away.