Page 1 of Ship Happens

Chapter One

HARPER

WELCOME ABOARD (OR NOT)

Igrip my phone tighter as the cab pulls up to the port, trying to ignore the gnawing in the pit of my stomach. The Rendezvous looms ahead of me like a floating monument to excess—fourteen decks of “luxury singles experience” according to the garish banners flapping in the sea breeze.

“That’ll be thirty-eight fifty,” the driver says, eyeing the massive ship through the windshield. “Headed on vacation?”

“Work,” I correct him, sliding my card through the reader. “Definitely work.”

He eyes my casual outfit dubiously. I don’t blame him. Most people don’t board a luxury cruise ship in ripped jeans and a “Save the Oceans” t-shirt, but I’m not most people, and this isn’t a vacation.

“You a performer?” he asks, handing me the receipt.

I snort. “Marine biologist. Environmental consultant.” I tug at my shirt. “The outfit’s my subtle form of protest.”

“Doesn’t seem that subtle.”

“Wait until you see my PowerPoint presentation.”

I grab my battered duffel bag and step out into the humid Miami air. The truth is, I’m here to document The Rendezvous’ laughable “sustainability initiatives” for my consulting firm’s blog.Spoiler alert: slapping solar panels on a floating city that burns thousands of gallons of fuel daily doesn’t make it eco-friendly. But billionaire cruise line owner Marcus Cole thinks a few green buzzwords will distract from his company’s environmental destruction.

The cruise terminal buzzes with excitement. Everyone looks ready for prom night rather than a seven-day voyage—designer dresses, salon-perfect hair, enough cologne to qualify as an air pollutant. I clutch my backpack—filled with camera equipment, research notes, and exactly zero sparkly evening gowns—and join the check-in line.

“Welcome to The Rendezvous Singles Adventure!” chirps the woman at the counter, her smile so bright I consider checking for batteries. “May I see your boarding pass?”

I hand over my documents, wincing at the hot pink “Love Awaits!” logo stamped across the top.

“Harper Bennett! Perfect.” She taps away at her computer with glittery nails that could probably be seen from the International Space Station. “You’re all set for our Deluxe Romance Package in cabin 842.”

“I didn’t book a romance package,” I say, frowning. “Just a standard cabin.”

“Oh!” Her smile doesn’t falter. “It looks like you received a complimentary upgrade.” She lowers her voice like we’re sharing state secrets. “We have several high-profile guests this voyage. Management wants to ensure everyone has the full luxury experience.”

Translation: The ship isn’t fully booked, so they’re padding their numbers with upgrades.

“Great,” I mutter, accepting my key card.

“Enjoy your journey to love!” she calls after me with the conviction of someone who’s watched The Bachelor religiously for fifteen seasons.

I suppress a groan as I make my way up the gangway. The Rendezvous is even worse up close—gold accents everywhere, champagne fountains, and an actual red carpet leading into the main atrium. A string quartet plays while staff members hand out flutes of champagne to arriving passengers.

I accept one purely for journalistic research purposes. And because my hotel minibar charged eight dollars for a Snickers, so I’m taking freebies where I can get them.

The atrium rises several decks high, with glass elevators zooming up and down like something from Willy Wonka’s factory. Screens everywhere advertise the week’s activities: “Tantric Yoga for Two,” “Midnight Confessions Under the Stars,” and “Lovers’ Obstacle Course.”

“Are you here alone?” asks a woman with an impressive updo and a name tag reading “Matchmaker Melissa.”

“By choice,” I respond, raising my champagne in a mock toast.

“Not for long!” she sings, handing me a heart-shaped itinerary. “We have a 98% match rate!”

“Is that scientifically verified?” I ask, but she’s already bounced away to her next victim.

I sip my champagne, mentally calculating how many sea turtles could be saved with the money spent on just the crystal chandelier above me. When a staff member points me toward the “Welcome Mixer” on the pool deck, I head in the opposite direction. I need to drop off my bag and get my bearings before diving into this floating Tinder experiment.

The elevators are packed with excited passengers, so I take the stairs. By the time I reach deck eight, I’m regretting my decision to pack my entire marine testing kit. I fumble with my key card at cabin 842, shoving the door open with my hip.

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