Page 27 of Falling Overboard

She said, “I don’t think we’ll be visited by Blackbeard anytime soon.”

Lucky focused on putting out the knives and forks and I wanted her attention back on me so I reverted to the thing I knew would work. A joke. She couldn’t resist them, no matter what she said. “Do you know the way to make a pirate angry?”

“Steal his doubloons?”

“No, take away theP.”

I saw the moment when she realized that I meant the letterP, turningpirateintoirate. And she grinned at me and made me feel like I could defeat an entire boatload of pirates by myself. “I like making you smile.”

It wasn’t something I’d wanted to admit to, but it was true. I wondered if she would confess that she liked me making her smile, but she stayed silent and finished setting the table.

Feeling a little like I’d been dismissed, I asked, “What else do you need me to do?”

“You could go down and wash dishes,” she said. “The dishes are never-ending, just like the laundry.”

Wasn’t there someone on board for that? “Don’t we have a dishwasher?”

She looked at me like I’d just spouted nonsense. “Yes. You.”

I was a dishwashing virgin and had no idea how to do it. “I’ve never washed dishes before.”

“I can show you,” she offered. “I’m really good at it.”

Which led me to wonder what she would say if I offered to show her the things that I was really good at.

Another stew called over the radio, “Lucky, Lucky. The guests are ready to come up.”

She glanced around and said, “Copy. Send them up.”

The Carbombs and their guests came upstairs, and Mrs. Carbomb seemed thrilled by her birthday decorations and kept thanking Lucky. “Everything looks so wonderful.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Lucky said and I was happy that she looked so happy.

The French guy had set up an audio system and started playing songs from the 1950s and 1960s and two of the couples started to dance. I knew I should go but I liked watching Lucky getting her accolades.

Mrs. Carbomb came over and patted me on the arm. “Why don’t you dance with Lucky?”

I saw the twinkle in the older woman’s eye. She had done this deliberately. I wanted to kiss her on the mouth. Throw her a ticker-tape parade. Thank her profusely.

Lucky looked like she was about to refuse so I hurried over to her and held out my hand. “We have to do what the guests want, right?”

“You’re right. We can’t disappoint Mrs. Carmine. Especially since you’ve already promised to save her in case of an emergency,” she said, giving me her hand.

I whirled her once and she laughed in surprise before I pulled her close. She wrapped her hands around my neck and I settled my hands at her waist again and was surprised at the relief I felt. Like this was what I was supposed to be doing—touching her.

But I didn’t bring her in as close as I wanted to, thinking a bit of distance might keep me from doing something entirely inappropriate in front of the guests. We swayed together and I saw the way she kept swallowing, felt her fingers fidgeting against my neck, how she wouldn’t meet my gaze.

Then I did something stupid. I leaned in to whisper, “What are you thinking about?”

She tilted her head and shivered against the sensation of my breath on her ear. I shouldn’t have asked her but I wanted to know if she was thinking the same things as me. Had to know if I was the reason for the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

“Nothing,” she said.

“I don’t believe you,” I murmured.

Lucky cleared her throat and then said, “I was thinking about how much work I still have to do.”

“That’s not true, either. I think you’re thinking about me.” I finally provoked the reaction I wanted, her dark eyes indignantly meeting mine, that pulse point in her neck that was already a fan of fluttering.

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