2
Casey
I couldn’t understand what was happening. Visually everything looked right—my boyfriend had his suitcase and looked ready for travel—except everything was horribly, horribly wrong. There was more than one suitcase—still not that far off expectations—but it wasn’t one or two more. It was every bag and piece of luggage Hudson owned, and they were all stuffed to the brim. Oh, and we didn’t leave for the cruise for another two weeks.
“I don’t understand,“
I repeated aloud.
“And that’s part of why we’re here,“
Hudson said with a level of exasperation I reserved for having a book ending spoiled and reading a “romance” without an HEA.
“But… I got us a spot on the first ship sailing out of PhilaPort to Bermuda. You’ve always wanted to go on a tropical vacation. I even sprung for a stateroom with a balcony.“
I knew I was floundering, grasping at anything that could make this right.
Hudson brushed back his golden hair with a sigh. Truthfully, he already looked like he lived on a beach with his tanned skin and flowing locks. Maybe his growing his hair so long, which he knew I wasn’t a fan of, should have been my first hint. “You’re right, I have always wanted that, but let’s be honest with ourselves.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?“
I asked indignantly.
He gave me a disbelieving look. “Really, Casey?“
He scoffed and set down his personal bag. “Okay, we’ll do this. First off, as much as I wanted this, I wanted it two years ago. Second, it would be the first vacation we’ve taken out of the state.“
He gave me a meaningful look. “Besides, you’d probably have your nose in a book or be ‘writing’ the entire time.” It was the air quotes that broke me.
“What is your problem? You’ve never supported my writing ambitions!”
“Ambition implies that you plan to actually do something with it. We’ve been together how long? And you’ve yet to finish a single story,“
he snapped back.
I bristled. “Three years. We’ve been dating—practically living together—for three fucking years.”
“Yeah, well, it was three years too fucking long.”
I gasped as if he’d just buried his fist in my gut, which probably would have hurt less.
Hudson winced and wiped a hand over his face. “Okay, that was unkind. We’ve had some good times together, but that’s all they ever were. And ‘good’ isn’t good enough anymore. I want great, and you should too.“
He gave me a sad smile. “I love you, Casey, but face it. We haven’t been in love for a while. We want different things. I want to go out and live life. You’d rather stay home and imagine it. I want to see the world, or at least another country, and I doubt you’ll ever leave Oak Haven. The cruise was a nice gesture, but it’s too little, too late.“
He stacked his personal bag on his largest suitcase and rolled toward the door.
“Is this really it? We can’t talk about this? Or… or…“
I scrambled to find some way to turn this around, while he steadily moved each piece of luggage out of the townhouse.
He paused in the doorway, his last bag slung over his shoulder, and gave me a wan smile. “Look at it this way. Now you can ogle the cute twink neighbor to your heart’s content.“
Then he shut the door and was gone.
I briefly considered going after him. Maybe I should have. But I couldn’t imagine it would make a difference, not for Hudson and not for me.
Two Weeks Later
It was too damn hot for Philadelphia in April, and the only reason I was currently sweating my ass off waiting to board the Mosaic was because I’d let Jace talk me into going on this stupid cruise—solo. Also, because I couldn’t return the tickets and Mason, my manager at Literary Lighthouse?, refused to rescind my pre-approved vacation time. Whatever the reason, this was a mistake.
I was halfway to the information desk to ask about getting my luggage back when my boarding group was called. With a resigned groan, I fell in step with the mass of people crowding the gate. I went through the motions of scanning my ticket, reaffirming that I had my passport, going through the security briefing, and searching for my room in a daze.
It only took getting turned around more times than I cared to admit and taking the wrong elevator twice until I finally stood outside my stateroom. The room cards—sea passes, I corrected myself—were helpfully secured in two tamper-proof envelopes wedged behind the room number plaque.
My heart twinged as I removed them and opened the one with my name. I keyed open the door, tossed my bag onto the built-in desk, and flopped onto the large bed.
“Fuck, I’m pathetic,“
I groaned aloud. “Hudson was right. I’ll probably spend the entire trip locked in the room with a book.“
I glanced at my backpack, which looked in danger of falling off the desk. As I watched it slowly slide toward oblivion, anger replaced my melancholy.
With a growl, I lurched off the bed, re-situated the bag, and grabbed my sea pass. “Fuck Hudson and fuck his expectations.“
Without so much as a glance at the balcony, I left the room in search of a drink. Thanks to the drink package I’d upgraded us to, that proved even easier than I’d expected.
I was happily nursing my third cocktail and listening to the same broadcast of instructions for the umpteenth time when I glimpsed a familiar face. Snorting to myself, I took another drink and dismissed it as the illusion it likely was. Wasn’t like he, of all people, would be here.
Out of pure drunken delusion, I turned to get a better look at the guy and promptly fell out of my chair. All eyes turned to me, but I only saw one pair of concerned green eyes. What were the odds that the cute twink neighbor a few townhouses down from mine in Oak Haven would be here?
Turns out, really fucking good.