Page 7 of Ship Happens

Dr. Bennett,

To complete a thorough assessment of The Rendezvous’ sustainability practices, we require your participation in our full range of activities. This includes our signature couples’ experiences, which consume significant resources we’re working to optimize.

Your partner for these evaluations will be Mr. Ethan Cole, who has graciously volunteered to assist with your research.

Today’s schedule is enclosed. Appropriate attire provided.

Warmly, The Rendezvous Management Team

I read it three times, convinced it’s a joke. Couple’s experiences? With Ethan Cole? After I doused him in Dom Perignon?

This has to be his doing.

I unzip the garment bag to find matching athletic wear—eco-friendly, according to the attached tags, made from recycledocean plastic. In my size. Which means someone looked up my measurements.

I’m going to kill him.

I grab my phone and search for the cruise director’s contact information. While it rings, I open the full itinerary and nearly have an aneurysm:

10:00 AM - Lover’s Obstacle Course (Main Deck) 2:00 PM - Tantric Yoga for Two (Wellness Center) 8:00 PM - Midnight Love Confessions (Live Broadcast, Starlight Deck)

“This is a joke, right?” I demand when the cruise director answers.

“Good morning, Dr. Bennett. I assume you’ve received your schedule?”

“I’m not taking part in couples’ activities with Ethan Cole. That’s absurd.”

“I understand your hesitation,” he says smoothly, “but Mr. Cole insisted this would be the best way to mend fences after yesterday’s... incident. The footage of your disagreement has gone quite viral.”

“Of course it has,” I mutter.

“He suggested this would be a more positive narrative. And frankly, the alternative was to ask you to disembark at our next port.”

“He can’t kick me off!”

“The Coles own the ship, Dr. Bennett.”

I pace the room, fuming. “This is coercion.”

“We prefer to call it ‘collaborative reputation management.’ Mr. Cole has assured us you’ll have full access to all environmental data after participating.”

I bite back several unprofessional responses. I need that data for my report. Without it, this entire trip is wasted.

“Fine,” I finally say. “But this is extortion.”

“The Lover’s Obstacle Course begins in ninety minutes. Breakfast is served until?—”

I hang up and throw my phone onto the bed. Then I notice something through the balcony door—Ethan Cole, lounging on the adjacent balcony in a bathrobe, coffee in hand, watching me with undisguised amusement.

We’re neighbors. Of course we are.

I storm onto my balcony. “You did this.”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” He sips his coffee, maddeningly calm. “Sleep well?”

“Explain this.” I wave the itinerary at him. “Lover’s Obstacle Course? Tantric Yoga? Are you serious?”

“Deadly.” His gaze sparkles with mischief. “I thought it would be more productive than having you thrown overboard for assault.”

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