Page 47 of His Secret Gift

I cross my arms. “I’ll have you know that I was.”

All three of them laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I demand.

“It just makes a lot of sense,” Denver confesses.

I still don’t fully understand.

Gwen adds, “Do you or do you not have sparkly eyeliner on right now?”

I do.

“So, as I was saying, none of that cutesy shit in Morocco. We’re all going to exude sex appeal.”

“Not me,” Denver pushes back.

Callie scoffs. “Come on, dude. You can still have fun while also being faithful to your precious Maria.”

“I guess.”

That has me thinking. I should probably establish where Jack and I stand beforehand. I’ve let things hang up in the air, but it’s enough. Especially if I want to have fun, like Callie said, in Morocco.

So, I start trying to devise a plan to slip him a note before we dock.

“I really need to know where I stand with Jack,” I explain to Callie later while we’re sitting in her cabin.

My legs crossed like a pretzel, and she’s laying on her stomach across her bed while looking at pictures she brought from home.

“How do you plan to do that?”

I’m kind of embarrassed to admit it to her because it sounds so juvenile, and it’s absolutely something I did to boys I had crushes on in middle school. But I force it out, “I was thinking of leaving him a note.”

Her pupils raise up to meet mine. “Seriously?”

I cross my arms. “Well, do you have a better idea?”

She purses her lips and wiggles them from one side of her face to the other. “Other than just straight up asking him…”

“Oh, god.” Even the suggestion makes a shiver run down my spine. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” She sits up.

“Because what if he rejects me. I’d much rather that be on paper and not in person.”

“But at least you’d know.”

“I’ll know doing it my way too. Won’t I?”

Her fingers fiddle with her bangs. “I guess. Do you know how to cut hair?”

“What?” I wasn’t expecting that hard of a pivot in our conversation.

“Do you know how to cut hair? I could really use a trim. These pieces are practically hanging in my eye sockets.”

Judging by the horrific haircut I gave myself when I was a child, I suggest she should ask someone else.

“It’s really not that hard, I promise. I’ve watched dozens of YouTube videos about it.” She stands up and examines herself in the small mirror hanging near the door.

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