Page 4 of Love Overboard
The bell dinged as the elevator doors slid open. Lacey leaned inside and pressed the button for the seventh floor, placed a gentle palm on Emily’s back, and pushed her in. “I’m sure I heard the muster announcement. You’d better get going. Promise me you’ll take your medicine before dinner.”
Emily clicked her tongue. “Very well, dear. If it will make you happy.”
The doors closed, and Lacey turned to Jon and his ever-present smile. “No time for the dining room.” She dashed toward the stairs before he could respond. “I have to tell Chef about a VIP passenger’s special cake request after we finish the drill. Nice to see you.”
“Cake? I love cake. What kind did they order?”
Jon caught up in two strides, and Lacey finally halted in defeat. No sense wearing herself out if he refused to take a hint. She didn’t remember him being this slow on the uptake. Perhaps she should be more direct about her desire to be left alone.
She opened her mouth. “Listen, Jon—”
A text alert dinged.
Jon pulled his phone from his pocket. His shoulders straightened as he scanned the screen. “Sorry, Lace. We’ll have to continue our conversation later.”
He sprinted past her, taking the stairs three at a time. His attractive form disappeared in a matter of seconds, and Lacey’s lips twisted.
“Same old Jon.”
Nice of him to remind her why it hadn’t worked the first time around. The flighty charmer was always racing away without warning or explanation. And she was a girl who needed explanations. She wanted stability. Craved it. And Jon represented a pulse-racing jump off the cliff of uncertainty. No matter how gorgeous the man was, he couldn’t be trusted. Not with her heart or anything else.
Like someone else she knew.
CHAPTER 2
“RENDEZVOUS ATHQIN ONEhour for new intel.”
Emily Windsor grasped her walkie-talkie while the elevator ascended. Wouldn’t the girls be excited to hear her news? She hummed an old love song from the days of crinolines and corsages as she raised her eyes upward.
“This is an interesting development, Lord.” She chuckled. “The air was hot as jalapeños with those two. Did you have me witness their reunion on purpose? I sense a little heavenly intervention. If so, who am I to argue with the Ultimate Matchmaker?”
The car stopped at several floors for other passengers, and Emily tapped her foot with each interruption. The digital display took pity on her, and the number seven lit. She made a token appearance at the safety drill, then inspected the latest group of merry vacationers before heading to her cabin. The most punctual Shipper, Geraldine Paroo, stood waiting in the hall, her lengthy spine as rigid as the book she was carrying.
“Where are the others, Gerry?” Emily unlocked the door, walked in, and dropped her walkie-talkie in the charger on the desk. She smoothed a pucker from the colorful crocheted afghan at the end of her bed.
“I haven’t talked to Daisy since breakfast.” Gerry stepped around Emily to settle on the short loveseat by the wall. “And I remember Althea saying something about bingo. If the game has started, we may not see her for a while.”
Emily straightened the silver-framed photo of her late husband and propped her hands on her hips. “I gave them a whole hour.”
“They’re from Louisiana. The clocks move slower down there.” Gerry lifted the cat-eye spectacles hanging from the chain around her neck, placed them on her thin nose, and opened her book.
Emily snorted as she pulled out the desk chair opposite Gerry and sat. Five seconds later, she was up again, pacing in the tiny pathway from the door to the bed. The timer was ticking, and she was missing half her team. What could possibly be more important? Didn’t they realize it was duty first?
“I can text Althea, but Daisy doesn’t own a cell phone,” Emily grumbled.
“You know why.” Gerry didn’t bother to look up. “She says there’s no one she wants to talk to that much.”
“But it would make everything so much easier. Then we wouldn’t have to use these antiquated contraptions.”
She reached for her walkie-talkie to summon the AWOL members but stopped when someone knocked. She opened the door to find the always-put-together Daisy Randolph Masterson standing in a black linen jumpsuit with matching floppy sun hat.
“I tried to hurry.” Her unhurried Southern drawl contradicted the words. “Did I miss anything?”
“Yes!” said Emily.
“No,” said Gerry.
The delicate Daisy floated into the room on a cloud of magnolia perfume and lowered her dainty self to the couch. “I was in the middle of a manicure when you radioed. Magda can’t be rushed. She’s such a perfectionist. That’s what makes her the best.” She held up her freshly polished nails and waggled them.
