Chapter 15
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
Hello, Trixie!
Update from my Iceland cruise! Remember how I wrote about my college BFF and our terrible travel compatibility? Well, I took your advice and we had “the talk.” She was surprisingly understanding, and we agreed to do our own things during the day and meet up for dinner. Crisis averted!
Except now I have a NEW situation. Yesterday during the waterfall excursion, I met someone.
A man. A very charming, funny, age-appropriate man named Sean who made me laugh so hard I nearly slipped on the wet rocks (not my finest moment).
We ended up talking for two hours on the bus ride back about everything from terrible first jobs to our favorite books to why turning fifty feels both terrifying and liberating.
He’s traveling solo, recently divorced, and seems genuinely interested in getting to know me.
Here’s the problem: My BFF saw us having coffee together this morning and got WEIRD.
Not jealous-weird, more like uncomfortable-weird.
She made some comment about “being careful with shipboard romances” and “not everyone is who they seem,” then changed the subject when I asked what she meant.
Now I’m second-guessing everything. Is she being protective, or is there something about Sean I should know?
Also, he asked me to join him for the northern lights viewing tonight, and I really want to say yes, but I don’t want to make things awkward with my friend. We’ve finally found our groove!
Exhausted but Intrigued
Dear Exhausted but Intrigued,
First of all, congratulations on the successful BFF negotiation AND on meeting someone who made you laugh hard enough to risk injury on Icelandic terrain. That’s the kind of midlife magic we all deserve.
Now, about your friend’s weird reaction—trust your gut here. Her comment wasn’t casual concern, it was specific. She either knows something about Sean, or she’s projecting her own relationship baggage onto your situation. Either way, you deserve clarity.
My advice? Ask her directly. Something like, “You seemed uncomfortable when you saw me with Sean. Do you know him, or is something else going on?” Give her the chance to be honest. Good friendships can handle direct questions, especially when you’re both trying to make the most of a trip this big.
As for the northern lights viewing—GO. You’re not responsible for managing your friend’s discomfort, especially when you don’t even know what’s causing it.
If Sean turns out to be problematic, you’ll figure it out.
But don’t miss out on a potentially wonderful evening because of vague warnings and uncomfortable vibes.
You’re almost fifty. You’ve earned the right to take chances on people who make you laugh, even if it gets a little messy.
XOXO
Trixie
P.S. The northern lights wait for no one. Wear something warm, bring lip balm, and if he tries to get too poetic about the aurora borealis, feel free to laugh again. It’s clearly your signature move now.
Day 5: Isafjordur, Iceland
(northwest fjords, dramatic cliffs, isolated village)
After yesterday’s Second Act Society meet-and-greet—which was equal parts inspiring and suspicious—Bess, Nettie, and I decided we needed some serious ice cream therapy.
The soft-serve machine just outside the Blue Water Café is self-serve, which means we basically ate our weight in chocolate and vanilla swirl. We each started with a vanilla cone, then a chocolate cone, and then Nettie double-dog dared us to create the ultimate combo.
Neither Bess nor I have ever walked away from a dare, which is how we ended up in a sugar coma discussing murder suspects at midnight.
I invited Marina to join us, but she said she wanted to curl up with a book.
Fair enough. She didn’t join us for dinner either—not that she’s joined us for dinner on any other night—and at first, I thought maybe she just needed to cocoon herself and process whatever brought her to tears in that Copenhagen bar.
But now I’m getting the distinct feeling she’s avoiding us.
Bess and Nettie did basically announce to her that I solve homicides for fun. And she knows Ransom is—or was—the chief of security.
Maybe having friends who are professionally adjacent to murder investigations is more than she bargained for when she boarded this ship with a suitcase full of secrets?
Nonetheless, Marina Maxwell is harboring a few secrets of her own.
Something broke her heart and sent her on the run.
And as much as I’d like to let sleeping secrets lie, a part of me is determined to find out what’s going on.
Today’s a new day, though.
The Emerald Queen is anchored off Isafjordur, Iceland—or as close as we can get, which turns out to be not very close at all.
This is a tender port, which means we’re ferrying to shore in smaller boats.
After I wrote in my blog and consumed a few too many breakfast treats—raspberry Danish, eggs Benedict, a waffle that had no business being that fluffy, and a cinnamon roll because abandoning it felt wrong—Ransom, Bess, Nettie, and I headed for the tender boats.
No sign of Marina, but I’m hoping we’ll catch up with her on shore.
The tender ride takes fifteen minutes, and the water is choppy enough that Bess turns slightly green, but recovers quickly once I offer her a few of the white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies that I tucked in my purse for a snack later.
The village of Isafjordur appears through the drizzle—brightly painted houses clustered at the base of mountains so dramatic they look Photoshopped. The whole place smells like salt water, wet stone, and fish.
We step off the tender onto a small dock, and I’m immediately in love.
The village is tiny—maybe four blocks long—with red, yellow, and blue houses defying the gray sky. Tour buses idle near the waterfront, their engines rumbling, and I spot several Second Act Society members milling around.
Nicolette is on her phone, looking stressed, Silas and Holland are window shopping, and everyone else is consulting maps as though we’re navigating a major metropolitan area instead of what amounts to a very scenic fishing village.
“We’ve got a couple more hours until the whale watching tour,” Bess announces.
“Plenty of time to explore all four blocks,” Nettie says.
Ransom pulls me close against the drizzle. “What do you want to see first?”
“Surprise me,” I say.
“Dangerous words, Mrs. Baxter.”
Nettie honks out a laugh. “Oh, I bet he surprises you plenty. All that FBI training has to be good for something in the bedroom.”
“Nettie!” Bess looks scandalized.
“What? I’m just saying, the man knows how to handle high-pressure situations. He’s probably very thorough and very detail-oriented.”
Heat floods my face, and not from the Icelandic chill. “You’re not wrong, Nettie.”
“I knew it!” She practically jumps for joy—and believe me, I have on occasion jumped for joy, too. “See Bess?” she continues. “Inquiring minds wanted to know if all that undercover work translates to under-the-covers work and according to a primary source—it sure does.”
“Nettie—” Bess cringes, then turns my way and gives a sly thumbs up.
“Does he still have the handcuffs?” Nettie goes on. “Because I feel like that’s relevant information for the group.”
Bess groans. “We are not the group that needs this information.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m taking notes.”
Ransom nods. “For the record, I do still have handcuffs.”
My entire body goes hot. “You’re terrible,” I say with a laugh as I strangle his arm.
“You didn’t complain this morning.” He winks my way, and a laugh catches in my throat.
“Oh my word.” I bury my face in his shoulder and continue to chortle away without any sign of stopping.
“She’s blushing!” Nettie crows. “Look at those cheeks. That’s a yes on the handcuffs, ladies.”
“I’m changing the subject,” I announce.
“Why? We’re just getting to the good part,” Nettie says. “Ransom Baxter is the very best husband. Does he growl orders like he’s still reading someone their rights?” she asks me. “Because that’s the detail I need.”
Ransom’s chest shakes with a silent laugh that you can’t hear but you can sure see. I refuse to look at him.
“Nettie Butterworth, so help me—” I’m still trying to recover, but I can’t stop giggling.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Nettie spikes a finger into the air. “Ladies, the man growls!”
“Feel free to direct the questions to me,” Ransom says, rather innocently because obviously he has no idea what he’s opening himself up to. Either that or he totally does and he’s unabashedly unashamed.
“Oh, please don’t encourage her,” Bess is quick to reply.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Nettie balks. “This is an educational conversation.”
Ransom nods. “I’m all for educating the masses.”
I elbow him in the ribs, but I’m still laughing despite myself. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m never trying to help when Nettie’s on a roll. I’m just enjoying the show.”
“Some husband you are,” I tease.
“The best husband. Very hands-on, according to Nettie’s research.”
“I’m leaving you at the next port.”
“You’d miss me too much.”
He’s right, and we both know it. Even unemployed and currently enabling Nettie’s commentary on our sex life, the man is perfect beyond reason—both in and out of the bedroom.
“Look,” Bess says, clearly desperate to change the subject. “There’s a maritime museum. Now that’s educational.”
“Boring,” Nettie counters. “Do you know how many maritime museums we’ve been to on our adventures? I want trolls.”
“Trolls aren’t real,” Bess says in an effort to destroy Nettie’s dreams.
“And that’s what they say about you,” Nettie shoots back.
We’re wandering along the waterfront when I spot a flash of crimson hair near what appears to be another sort of museum. Marina’s standing apart from the crowd, her phone pressed to her ear, and even from here I can see she’s upset.
“Oh look, there’s Marina,” I say.
Nettie’s eyes light up. “Is that a troll museum behind her? Please tell me that’s a troll museum.”