Page 35 of Sailor's Delight

“I was really hoping for some honesty. I…” she stopped, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. This was a terrible idea, and I don’t know why I let myself get carried away so thoroughly. Honestly, I did not see this coming.” Jenn’s voice wavered, and she put her hands on her hips, one hand going up to stifle the sob that tried to strangle her.

Trey was dumbfounded. This was definitely not part of the plan. His mind was scrambling, still trying to somehowsalvage the reason for the trip, while watching it fall apart like wet crepe paper before his eyes.

When she realized that Trey wasn’t going to say anything, Jenn seemed to flip a switch internally. Her expression went cool and impassive, and her tone went flat and robotic.

“I asked Ricardo if they have any empty cabins. He’s looking into it for me. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you kept your distance for the remainder of the cruise.”

She paused, and her half-closed eyes lingered on Trey, as if daring him to speak. Trey couldn’t make his mouth work. The link between his brain and his mouth felt severed, like a broken telephone line flailing in the emotional hurricane he was now stuck in.

Jenn’s mouth twisted in a facsimile of a smile, and she scoffed, shaking her head. She pushed past Trey, bending unbelievably so as not to touch him as she did. When she reached the door, she stopped, her hand on the handle.

Trey saw her head dip, following the slump in her shoulders, and his heart twisted uncomfortably.

“You know, I really saw this whole week going very differently,” she whispered without looking back.

Trey’s heart imploded.

Jenn pushed down the handle and slipped out of the room, letting the door close loudly behind her.

Trey stood dumbfounded, his brain disbelieving the messages his eyes, ears, and heart were sending it.

Chapter 10

Jenn sat in her room and ugly-cried for roughly thirty minutes before she decided she was over that. She was on a cruise ship, dammit. There were no responsibilities, no DUI, absolutely nothing to keep her from getting all-out, sloppy, fall-down drunk. In a moment of preventive clarity, being in no mood for company, she thought to wear her frumpiest, most dowdy and uninteresting outfit. She just didn’t know what that was, given her expectations at the time of packing.

Looking over the collection of lace, silk, cotton, and spandex her closet had to offer, she briefly considered wearing the complementary bathrobe included in her room, then decided against it. There would probably be some sort of policy in place to deal with clearly-crying, robe-wearing, sorrow-drowning women in the cruise line handbook. She had no desire to be placed on some “watch” or something.

In the end, she went with the tasteful yet covering flared jacket. Barely any skin showing, a concession to her better sense in the event there was a chilly evening, it met her parameters for now. Not the intended purpose of the piece, but a use, nonetheless. She buttoned the jacket, pushed the hair of her pixie forward into as boyish a look as she could, and went straight to the door.

Aware now of Trey’s penchant for watching through the peephole for her (which felt a little creepy to her, in this frame of mind), Jenn opted to take the long way to the elevators, the route that wouldn’t take her past Trey’s door.

Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Jenn punched the down button on the elevator, then stepped aboard when the carriage opened. She stared for several moments at the bank of buttons, no destination in mind, except for two details: alcohol and wherever Trey was not, nor likely to be. She briefly wished, not for the first time, that there was a women-only bar of some sort on the ship.

“Which floor are you staying on?”

Jenn blinked. She hadn’t even registered that there had been anyone else on the elevator. The woman’s slow, too-loud inquiry was a clear indicator that she thought Jenn was already inebriated.

Not yet, I’m not.

“Do you know any good bars on board?” she asked by way of reply, enunciating clearly to show her sobriety.

“Oh!” The woman was clearly taken aback. “I thought you were– That is…” the woman trailed off, not willing to finish the sentence with what she obviously thought.

Jenn simply waited, her eyes still fixed on the bank of deck buttons.

“I like the Cabana Lounge, down on Deck 8. It’s a lot smaller, better lit, and quieter than most of the others I’ve seen. They typically have a wonderful piano player who–”

“Thanks,” Jenn said, pushing the button and hoping to cut off any more helpful chatter that she wasn’t really in the mood for.

“I–” The woman broke off, clearly offended, but trying not to appear so. “You’re welcome.”

When the elevator dinged on 8, Jenn stepped out.

“I hope you have a better evening, miss!” the woman called out to her.

“You, too,” Jenn muttered.

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