Chapter 11 #2
“Uh-huh, I got it,” he laughs. “So, you haven’t been off the ship since you boarded?”
I shake my head, then snag the thermos back from Nolan’s hand and take another sip.
“That’s shitty, Chloe.” He bumps my shoulder again, but this time he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans into me. “I’m sorry.”
“Eh, it’s the job, I guess,” I say with a sigh. I probably would have sounded more disappointed if I wasn’t so focused on how nice his body feels this close to mine. In the distance, a tiny speck of land slowly comes into view on the horizon.
“For what it’s worth,” He starts, clearing his throat, as if he too had become distracted by the contact. “I agree with your choice. I’ve been to every port in the Mediterranean several times over now. I could do with a change of scenery.”
“Yeah?” I ask and he nods, then flashes me one of his insanely gorgeous smiles. It gives me such a head rush that I clutch the rail for a moment to catch my breath. “Alright, then, same question for you.”
“Australia, for sure,” he replies, without missing a beat.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about how much I miss home.
I’ve spent so much time in Europe over the last ten years, but barely any at home with my family.
I could even make do with just a quick overnight—see my family, visit a few friends, go for an early morning surf. ”
“You surf?”
“Oh, yeah—I love it. I’m shit at it,” he says, with a lighthearted chuckle, “but I love it. Have you ever tried?”
“Surfing? No. I’m from Toronto. There’s not exactly anywhere to surf.” I laugh, and my thoughts drift to home. There’s a brief pang in my chest as I think about Kyla, and wonder what she’s up to. I make a mental note to text her later.
“That’s a shame, it’s a ton of fun.”
“I’m not exactly the sporty type,” I muse. “Also, I’m pretty afraid of what might be swimming out there with me.”
“Oh, sharks are pretty rare—”
“No, no,” I interrupt, shaking my head vigorously. “Any marine life. One time, a fish touched my foot while I was swimming in the lake at a friend’s cottage, and I swear I thought I was going to be pulled under and eaten alive.” A shiver runs down my spine at the memory.
“By a fish?” He gives me a dubious look.
“I don’t like what I can’t see! I don’t really do swimming unless it’s in a pool. And even then…you just never know,” I say ominously.
“We all have our flaws, I suppose,” he mocks, his deep voice rumbling into a low laugh.
“It’s hardly a flaw to be overwhelmingly cautious of the creatures of the deep.” I shoot back playfully.
We chat comfortably for another few minutes, watching as the sun finally crests over the horizon.
The soundtrack of ship life cocoons us in our own little world—staff putting out chairs by the pool below us, squeaky shoes sliding on wet deck floors, an errant booming laugh, more gulls screeching, and the rhythmic murmur of the waves.
I know I should get back to my room and organize my gear bag, but…
I’m enjoying the sunrise. And the company.
I don’t want to walk away from this conversation without some idea of when I might run into him next.
Not that I’m anticipating anything happening between us, exactly.
Because if it didn’t, that would be fine!
It’s just…for the first time in a very long time, I feel the need to do something just for me.
And so what, if that “something” is enjoying the company of another person, who just so happens to make my heart do an uncomfortable flippy thing in my chest?
I feel a strong urge to ask him out, but I stop myself. How can I ask him out on a ship? That we’re both working on? And when we have little to no free time?
Suddenly, an idea comes to mind.
“Here’s a question,” I say quickly, before I lose my nerve. “I have to get some footage of the kitchens at some point; just some B-roll video that we can slot in during scene changes and after commercial breaks. Would Shayla…er, Mama be the best person to talk to about setting that up?”
The thing is, I already know she is not the best person to set that up.
Nolan is.
Although, I don’t want him to feel like I’m just making these plans for work…but on the other hand, I don’t want him to think I’m making up some excuse to see him again.
Even though I totally am.
I just want to give him an opportunity to see me again, to see how he reacts. If he pushes me toward Mama Shayla to make these plans, or doesn’t show up while I’m around, then I’ll know he’s not interested.
But…if he finds a reason to be close by when I’m in the kitchen, then I’ll get more time around him, and it may just mean that he wants to spend more time with me, too.
I realize belatedly that this is a very convoluted and fragile plan that hinges on a whole lot of “ifs.”
Maybe I should have just asked him out instead.
“When were you thinking?” he asks, a look of genuine interest on his face. That’s a good sign.
“Oh, anytime. I was going to bring one of the new PAs along as well, so she can get some insight into the camera side of things.”
Another total lie.
If Sora wants to tell the entire group of baby crew members that I’m the mentor they never knew they needed until now, then I can definitely use her to seem less like a lovestruck weirdo and more like a professional… and an actual adult.
“Sure—how about Sunday night during dinner service?” He asks, without hesitation. He didn’t even have to think about the answer. “I can make that happen.”
“That’s perfect,” I say, attempting to rein my goofy grin into a polite smile. By the way his eyes dip to my mouth, I’m not so sure I was successful. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Come by the kitchens at seven.”
A few ship staff walk by in neatly pressed white shirts, and my watch goes off on my wrist… letting me know it’s time to start getting ready for the day.
“I have to head back to my room,” I sigh, as I dismiss the alarm and hand him back his thermos.
“I should probably get back to the kitchen, too.” Nolan holds out a hand, as if to say, after you, and we walk side-by-side toward the stairs. Before we make our descent back to the Lido deck, though, he pauses and turns to face me.
“Would you let me cook you dinner Sunday night? After you finish filming, of course.”
His gaze is unflinching, his tone steady.
See, this was the kind of confidence I needed.
I school my expression into something that I think looks fairly neutral, allowing only a hint of a smile to crack through my carefully constructed facade.
Meanwhile, inside my brain, a celebration worthy of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is going on, complete with giant floating balloons and tiny monkeys with cymbals.
“That would be really nice,” I say, like a sane person.
“Awesome,” he purrs. A hint of mischief flashes in his eyes, and my stomach does one more nervous flip. “Bring your appetite.”
I smirk and follow him down the stairs.