Page 39 of Love Overboard
“Write what you know.” Gerry blew her lips out with a noisy puff of air. “How can I explain to my readers that their favorite romance author is a dried-up old spinster who’s never been in love and only ever kissed a man once?”
The mere mention of a kiss transported Lacey to the dark storage room. Her pulse quickened as her body relived the touch of Jon’s gentle lips on her own. She’d wanted to stay there forever, but that nagging voice in the back of her mind had whispered the same word over and over.
Run.
Lacey inhaled and forced her mind back to the conversation. “One time? How was it?”
“I have no idea.” Gerry snorted. “I squeezed the juice out of that kiss for five novels until there was nothing left. No flavor. No pulp. Just a crumpled rind of a memory.” She pounded a fist against the arm of her deck chair. “What else can you do when that’s the sole experience you have? It’s a mercy I don’t write the books with the racy covers. I’d be stumped.” She chuckled. “I could always ask Althea.”
Lacey laughed with her, but Gerry’s smile faded away as she raised her face to the clouds stretching overhead and sighed.
“Don’t be like me, Lacey. Make more memories.”
Lacey was supposed to be mad at the Shippers, but the plaintive note in Gerry’s voice tugged at her heartstrings. “Hey.” She swung her legs between the two chairs and grasped the woman’s arm. “You’ve still got plenty of time to make some of your own.”
“I suppose so.” Gerry continued to stare at the afternoon sky. “But it’s not as much fun making memories alone.”
“You’re not alone. You have your friends.”
“That’s true.”
“And me.”
“Do I?” Gerry glanced her way. “Thank you, Lacey. Friends make the loneliness bearable.”
“If you’re lonely”—Lacey nudged her—“I recall a certain redheaded magician who’d be happy to help.”
“Oh … button it.” Gerry clicked her pen and yanked another book from her bag.
Lacey considered the romance novelist in front of her who’d admitted she knew nothing about real love, and the unwelcome thought occurred that she was looking at her future. If she continued on her current trajectory, she’d end up independent but alone. Would answering to no one but herself be too high a price to pay? There’d never be anyone to share the good moments or the bad.
Could Gerry be right? Was it time to throw caution away and make new memories?
CHAPTER 17
TWO CHILDREN COVERED IN STREAKYsunblock squealed at the splash pad while their mother worked on her tan and scrolled through her phone. Jon passed rows and rows of empty deck chairs as he tracked down the hired detective who was, once again, missing. The ship was easier to maneuver with most of the passengers enjoying the tropical pleasures of Puerto Limón. He spotted Collins wandering near a bevy of bikini-clad coeds playing volleyball. The investigator had traded his messy Hawaiian shirt for a tank top molded so tight it revealed the man’s outie belly button.
Jon caught his attention and waved him over to a pair of adjustable recliners. “You said you were going to follow those kitchen workers if they got off the boat. Did you get their names?”
“Not necessary.” Collins stretched out on the chaise and propped up his feet, his customary wad of gum missing. “It was a dead end.”
“How so? What made you cross them off the—”
“They were talking about salads. You were right.”
“Excuse me, Jon.” One of the college girls bounced beside them. “Our team is desperate for another member. Do you happen to play volleyball?”
“Not today I don’t.” Jon pointed at a trio of guys in the hot tub with their tongues practically hanging out. “But I bet one of those gentlemen will be happy to accommodate you.”
She peered their direction, gave an unenthusiastic grunt, and left. Collins’s elbow jabbed him in the lower leg.
The detective waggled his eyebrows. “Must be nice having every beautiful girl on the boat calling your name. Wish I’d become a cruise director instead of an agent.”
Jon pushed away the horrific mental image of Collins in thigh-high white shorts. Every past and current cruise passenger should count their blessings the man had chosen the FBI and their suits. Though Jon shuddered to think what damage the lackluster detective might have done to the bureau.
He straddled the chair across from Collins. “I asked the main office to cross-reference our passenger list with everyone who’s sailed on a Monarch ship this year. If we find a person with multiple trips in a short period of time, they might be a likely suspect.”
“When do you expect the results?”
