Page 3 of Hearts Aweigh
“Yes, sir.” She hopped from her chair. “I’m sorry.”
“We can’t risk offending our first-class patrons. Hurry!”
Abby wadded the skirt of her voluminous ball gown and prepared to run.
“Wait.” Emily lifted a hand.
Abby flopped back onto her seat.
The older woman glared at Peter as if chastising him for the interruption. “Abby, we’ll get more details from you later, but give us a twenty-second summary of what you want in a man.”
Abby grinned. “How about a carbon copy of the last husband you found. The guy you matched with my buddy Lacey was a dream come true. Sweet. Considerate. Funny.”
“Tall, dark, and drop-dead everything.” Althea sighed. “If Jonny had been a few decades older, I’d have kept him for myself.”
Abby pointed at Althea and winked. “I’ll take one exactly like him, please. Except for the tall part.” She stood to her full height of five foot two. The fact she wore tennis shoes under her billowy satin dress didn’t help. She rotated in a slow circle. “I’m vertically challenged. I want to look up to my husband in the figurative sense, not the literal. Someonemedium, dark, and dreamy is fine with me. No one over five foot ten, please.”
Spencer Masterson’s six-foot-plus frame allowed him to see over the stares of the waiting passengers. He tugged the lapel of his charcoal-colored business suit. A determined sea breeze whipped from one end of the pier to the other, attacking the straight black locks of his carefully styled hair. He pushed the wayward strands into place and smoothed the knot on his navy-blue silk tie.
A man in a floral shirt and Bermuda shorts grumbled beside him. “Who goes on a Caribbean cruise in that getup?”
“I wishyou’dwear that kind of getup.” His female companion tittered.
Spencer rolled his shoulder and pretended he didn’t hear their unguarded conversation. A flimsy velvet cord separated the preferred customer line from the teeming mass of regular passengers. The Monarch Cruises VIP experience lacked a few finishing touches.
He checked his watch and sent another text to the office. It took two people to cover his caseload during this little excursion. His jaw clenched as his to-do list ran through his mind. If he concluded this business on the first day at sea, they could charter a plane in Cozumel and fly to New Orleans in time for the trial on Friday. He stuffed the phone in his pocket and shifted the bag of legal briefs to his other hand.
“Excuse me, sir.” The woman behind him in the austere gray suit spoke. “The child is hungry.” She motioned to the five-year-old at her side.
He glanced at the blond-haired girl in the intricate lace dress who looked nothing like him. His daughter. One hand held the diamond-studded locket around her neck as she grasped her governess with the other. Her confused blue eyes absorbed the surrounding pandemonium. A twinge of guilt hit him. Had she eaten breakfast? He usually made do with a cup of coffee.
“Madeleine”—he crouched to her height—“did you eat this morning?”
She blinked. “Y-yes, sir.”
Did she think he was reprimanding her? They’d spent only holidays together for the past two years, and he knew next to nothing about being a father. How did one go about communicating with children?
He brightened the pitch of his voice. “Would you like a sna-ack?” The last word squeaked like a cartoon mouse.
Madeleine covered her mouth and giggled.
Heat singed Spencer’s neck. He stood up and gestured to Ms. Blanchet, the expensive caregiver his executive assistant had hired from the most prestigious agency in New Orleans. “You’re the governess. Didn’t you bring any food?”
“Of course I did.” The woman straightened her already rigid shoulders. “But you made it clear mealtimes were nonnegotiable.”
Spencer stared. Ms. Blanchet’s poise remained unruffled. And Spencer stared more. She wavered and tugged open the large leather satchel at her side.
“Perhaps one granola bar won’t spoil her lunch.” She unwrapped the all-natural, sugar-free snack and passed it to the child. “You said we’ll be on the boat for no more than two nights. Correct?”
“Yes. I should complete my business soon. We’ll fly from Cozumel to New Orleans.”
“Thank you,” the little girl murmured.
Spencer’s gaze took in the pocket-size stranger below him. His ex-wife’s decision to live in New York during their two-year separation meant he’d had few opportunities to spend time with Madeleine. Now that the divorce was finalized and Priscilla had agreed to give him sole custody, he would do everything in his power to make sure his daughter was happy. But how?
Madeleine chewed on her granola bar without complaint.
At least she’s quiet. Unlike her mother.
