Page 108 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Irritated, but also delightfully triumphant, because I can playandbeat him at his own game, I slow down, pleased I just won that round. Do I want to kiss him again? Yes. But it’s not a good idea. We still have to share a room, and if things turn bad, it’ll ruin our cruise. I simply can’t risk that.
Taking the last step to Deck Four, I round the corner to where Riley is chatting with Manny and Hugo.
“There she is,” Hugo says, waving animatedly.
I wave back and smile—the shampoo conversationwillbe revisited later.
“Hi, guys,” I say. “Are you doing the ship tour as well?”
“We are. Manny’s been looking forward to it ever since we boarded. He likes engines and grease, and all that dirty stuff. Me, on the other hand? I just want to see how the galley works… and I don’t mind a man or two in uniform.” He winks.
I nudge his shoulder. “Me too.”
Riley cocks a brow, then says to Manny, “Engines, huh? So what is it you do for a living?”
“I’m a dentist.” He flashes his pearly whites and taps one of them.
“A dentist? That’s not what I thought you were going to say.”
Hugging his husband to his side, Manny elaborates, “My love of engines comes from my grandfather. He was a mechanic, so I spent many days in his garage, watching him work.”
Riley nods with interest, slides his hands into his pockets, and rocks back on his heels, which I’ve noticed he does here and there. Not that I’m complaining; I like when he does it. It’s suave and?—
“Earth to Riley.”
Blinking, I turn to Hugo. “Sorry, did you say something?”
“I said your dress is lovely.”
“Oh.” I twist my hips, letting the floral material swish. “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites.”
“A versatile number indeed.”
“Yes, very much so.” I kick my legs out. “Boots and tights for now, sandals for when we get to London. I only packed one suitcase, so I had to be smart.”
“One suitcase?” Hugo touches his chest dramatically. “Are you crazy?”
I giggle. “Yes, sometimes.”
Raising his hand to the side of his mouth like a shield, Manny whispers, “Hugo packed two… for himself.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t use yours as well.”
“You did.”
Hugo dismisses his husband. “Only a small section.”
Snickering, my heart warms as Hugo links his arm with mine and leads me toward our guide, who is issuing colored wristbands.
“Why must they be a godawful neon tangerine?” He wrinkles his nose. “They could’ve at least gone with vermillion or coral. Tangerine looks dreadful with magenta.” He glances down at his shirt, then at my dress. “At least you won’t clash. That cobalt-blue is divine.”
Impressed with his colorfulknowledge, I ask, “Do you work in fashion?”
“No, dear. Interior design.”
“Really? You and Riley would get along well. He’s a carpenter. He has his own business, designing and building signature furniture.”
“He does, does he?” Hugo pokes his arm out for his wristband, so I do the same, waiting while our guide secures them.
