Chapter Thirteen
Mari lingered in bed longer than she normally would, not wanting to roam around the stateroom in a bathrobe.
The sound of James coming to life behind the door was enough to make her acutely aware of what had happened the night before. The dinner, the laughter, the conversation, the man.
The clarity of the morning had her second-guessing her involvement with James.
She was a mother. A grandmother. Happily living her life with a thriving business and a family that was growing by the year.
Her life was full.
Not one spot missing a puzzle piece.
But if that were true, then why had the sound of James behind the closed door put a smile on her face and skip in her heart?
Why had the feeling of his arms around her lingered long past the time he let go?
And why . . . why had Paulo’s last request of her repeated in her head even while she dreamed?
“Are you telling me something, my love?” she whispered to the room.
Oh, how she wished Paulo could answer her question.
A knock on the door was followed by James talking to someone.
Mari took the distraction as a sign to get out of bed. It was time to face the day, and the man, instead of hiding in her room. Or his room, as it stood.
She went into the bathroom and splashed a little water on her face.
Putting on the bathrobe, she opened the door between the rooms.
James had his back to her.
Sitting on a table were two large clear bags filled with her clothing.
“Good morning,” she said.
James turned around and smiled. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”
“Didn’t wake up once. How about you? Is the fold-out bed comfortable?”
“I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” he told her.
“That was the most nonanswer I’ve ever heard in my life.” But she appreciated his effort in ensuring she wouldn’t feel bad about him being on a bed that was notorious for being awful.
“They brought your clothes.”
“Good thing. I don’t want to be in a bathing suit all day today.” She moved to pick up the bags and was intercepted by James.
“I got it,” he said.
Mari moved aside for him to pass into the bedroom.
He placed the bags on the bed, and Mari dug into them.
“Should we order room service or hit the buffet?” James asked.
“Didn’t the doctor say they were coming by to check on us this morning?”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot why we’re in this roommate arrangement.”
Mari pulled a pile of clothing from the bag and glanced at James in disbelief.
“What? I did.”
Mari came just short of rolling her eyes at the man.
On the inside, she was smiling.
Turning her attention back to her clothes, she dug into the pile, searching out the black shirt she wanted to wear. But instead of the shirt, she uncovered the negligee Chloe had slipped into her suitcase.
The moment she realized what she was holding, she dropped her arms and glanced at James.
His eyes went from the nightie to her. “Hmmm,” was all he said.
Mari dropped it and continued to search for the shirt. “That’s all Chloe,” she told him.
“Ah-huh.”
“She put it in my suitcase as a gift.”
“Ah-huh.”
“She wanted me to have something should . . . if . . .” Mari sucked in a breath. “Chloe wants me to date. Or at least she hints at it.”
“I think I like Chloe,” James said.
“My sons don’t,” she said quickly. Luca and Gio wouldn’t be pleased with her roommate situation at the moment.
“They don’t want you happy?”
“I am happy.” She found the shirt and started to sort the other clothes.
“Happier?” James asked.
“I’m their mother. Not a woman.”
James huffed a single laugh. “You know how ridiculous that sounds, right?”
“Ridiculous or not, Luca and Gio have never once suggested I entertain the idea of another relationship. And since it hasn’t crossed my mind, I never needed to test how they would respond.”
“Are you?” James asked.
Mari stopped sorting her clothes and looked at him.
“Am I what?”
“Entertaining the idea of a relationship?”
And there it was. The question she didn’t even want to ask herself.
She thought for a moment and then said, “If you’d asked me that question a week ago, I would have told you you’re crazy.”
A slow smile crept on James’s face.
“You look entirely too pleased with yourself,” she said.
“I am.”
She smiled back and then sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know the rules.”
“There aren’t any rules,” he said.
“There has to be.” She liked rules. They made sense and were easy to follow to determine outcomes. Without them, it was nothing but chaos. “If we wanted to see each other when we’re home—”
“I already know I do,” James interrupted.
Yeah, she knew that. “No one can know.”
James hesitated. “I’m listening.”
“I need to be comfortable with this before I even consider telling my children I’ve met someone.”
“I do like hearing the ‘I’ve met someone’ part.”
“I’m serious, James. My sons are very protective.”
“Good thing I’m not a threat,” he said.
“To them, you will be.”
“Maybe you’re underestimating their understanding of the human condition.”
“The human condition?” she asked.
James nodded, pushed her clothes aside, and sat beside her on the bed. “We’re not meant to be on this roller coaster of life alone.”
To suggest she was alone was laughable. “I have my family. I’m not alone.”
“Without a partner, then.”
“Considering you’ve been single longer than I’ve been a widow, that’s a surprise to hear you say,” Mari said.
“Single, yes. But that doesn’t mean I’ve not dated on occasion. Nothing that went anywhere, obviously.”
She knew that. “I haven’t. I’m not going to upset my children with any of this until I am comfortable with it myself. And I think you should do the same.”
“Not tell Madison and Ellie?”
“Or anyone. Or at least anyone that would get word to your daughters. They want you to find someone and would be disappointed if things didn’t work out.”
“You want to date me in secret?”
Why did the word date sound like she was in high school?
“Yes. For now.” It’s the only way she could deal with her emotions and not invite those of her kids.
“Deal,” James said.
“Good.” She pushed off the bed. “I’m fine with a croissant and coffee for breakfast.”
“That was a quick change of subject,” he said.
“I’ve made a decision that I’m not sure I will keep if we continue to discuss it.”
James stood, smiling. “A croissant and coffee it is. I’ll call room service.”
Once James left the room and closed the door behind him, Mari sat back down on the bed, and her hand landed on the nightgown. Too bad Chloe was too old to ground.
Rosa was feeling slightly better, but not nearly enough for Mari to return to her stateroom.
After the ship’s medical personnel cleared them for a day roaming the ship, Mari and James went in search of activities to entertain them for a day at sea.
They avoided the main pool deck, deciding the ten-in-the-morning drinking crowd wasn’t where they wanted to be.
They passed the ship’s casino, which was packed with enough cigarette smoke lofting from it to set off a household smoke detector. That was a pass.
They sat in on one round of bingo before moving on.
Eventually, they found an open Ping-Pong table and set in for some healthy competition.
“I haven’t played in years,” James told her.
“Then I’ll have the advantage,” she warned.
“Do you play a lot?”
“When my children were little. There’s an upper terrace at my home where we rolled out a table on Sundays.”
James picked up his paddle and tapped the end of it on the table. “If your kids were kids when you last played, then how is it that you have the advantage?”
Mari lifted her chin and stared. “Because I’m good.” And she loved a healthy competition.
“Is that right?”
She pulled a ball from where several were stored. “You’ve been warned.”
James centered himself and lifted his paddle in the air. “You won’t go easy on me?”
“For the first few rounds. Unless you’re keeping up.”
He laughed.
And Mari served.
The ball bounced where she intended it before hitting the deck.
James frowned. “I wasn’t ready,” he said, picking up the ball before it rolled away.
Mari hid her smile. “Then you serve.”
“Why do I get the feeling that I’m in trouble here?”
Because he was smart like that. “Are we playing for money?”
“No.”
“Then the only thing that can be bruised here is your ego. And if your ego is that sensitive, we won’t have to worry about our children finding out that we’re dating because we won’t be.”
“Well, shit. Sounds like we have more on the line than a few dollars.”
“I have no time for delicate men.”
“Good thing I’ve spent a lot of time in steel-toe boots.”
James lifted the ball and served.
Mari softly hit the ball to give James a chance at hitting it.
“I find that . . .”
The ball came back to her.
“. . . men in boots have the easiest egos to bruise.”
James missed and once again chased after the ball.
“And how did you determine that?”
“There is no better place to learn behavior patterns than behind a bar serving drinks.”
James stood poised and ready to serve again. He looked her in the eye. “But you’re the chef.”
“I’m the owner. Therefore, I do everything from washing dishes to signing checks. Waitstaff and bartenders are not always the most dedicated employees.”
James served again. This time with a little more punch.
Still, Mari kept her return soft.
They volleyed four times before James hit the ball high in the air, where it missed the table altogether.
It was Mari’s turn to retrieve the wayward plastic ball.
“You have a lot of boot-wearing men at the bar?”
“Mainly tourists or military sit at the bar.”
“How do you know they’re military? They’re not there in uniform, are they?”
Mari shook her head. “It’s the haircut. The occasional attempt at being served when they’re eighteen. Which, if you ask me, is an absolute shame. You can die for our country and not even have a glass of wine with a meal.” She tsked.
“I’ve never understood that myself.”
She tossed the ball for James to start.
“How do you know when a man’s ego has taken a hit?”
Mari met James’s gaze. “When their smile falls and anger peeks out from under their overt charm.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone use the words overt and charm next to each other. Describe to me what that looks like.”
She paused. “You see three men walk in. Friends. They grab a seat at the bar. They come in talking about something unpleasant. A breakup. An unhappy relationship, married or otherwise. Work. The scores of the latest game where their team lost. The why doesn’t matter.
They’re drinking away their bad day, and a woman shows up. A lone woman. Likely single.”
“How do you know she’s single?” James asked.
“How many married women have you met that sit at a bar to drink when there is a perfectly good bottle of chardonnay at home? Not to mention children and a husband.”
“You have a point.”
“Men feel justified to stop at a bar on the way home from work, married or otherwise. It’s not the same for a woman.
” Mari waved her hand in the air. “Anyway. This man who has done nothing but curse the air since sitting down is now all smiles and charm to grab the attention of this fictional woman. Having seen this play out more times than most, I can bet money this woman is going to turn this man down.”
“How can you tell that? She might find him attractive. And maybe she’s there because she is looking for the same thing,” James said.
“She’s not. If a single woman sits at the bar and orders food, she isn’t looking for attention.
She wants a meal. And she’s not intimidated by dining alone.
If a group of women shows up, then maybe this guy has a chance.
Not the lone woman ordering one glass of wine with her dinner.
When this man is turned down, one of three things will happen.
He will try harder.” Mari lifted one finger in the air.
“He will say something respectful and leave her alone.” She lifted a second finger.
“Or Mr. Ego will let his charm fall and something nasty will be said.” A third finger waved.
“If this cycle happens a second or third time in one night, this guy doesn’t even try to lay on the charm. He’s just an ass.”
James stood there holding his paddle. “And what does the man without the ego do?”
“I already told you. He says something respectful and leaves her alone. He might try again, but he isn’t a jerk about it. And chances are . . . he isn’t wearing boots.”
“I’m still not sure why boots play a role in this.”
“I can only go by what I see on a daily basis. Maybe if I owned a restaurant in the middle of a big city and not on one of the busiest tourist streets in San Diego, I’d have a different experience.” Mari shrugged, but she didn’t think she was wrong.
“I need to pay more attention the next time I take a crew out for happy hour.”
Mari looked from James’s face to the ball he held in his hand. “You do that. Now, are we playing this game or not?”
James tossed the ball back to her. “I think I’m warmed up now.”
“You sure?”
“Yup.”
She grinned, stood back, and served without holding back.