Page 182 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“You do!”
“No, I don’t. What I care about is getting Georgia back on the phone, so I don’t lose my job.”
My eye twitches.
“You have no idea what you just did.” She storms off, then disappears behind a wall.
Fuck!
Settling my hands on my head, I grip my hair and make my way outside, wandering about the exhibit until Riles eventually steps up beside me. I want to look at her, to see if she’s okay, but I pretend to read about the Neolithic way of life instead.
“Did you lose your job?” I ask like a smartass.
“No. But thanks to you, I could have.”
I scoff. “I doubt that.”
She turns on her heel and heads back inside, so I grit my teeth and hurry after her.
“Riles, wait! I’m sorry.” I grab her arm and turn her to face me. “I shouldn’t have hung up on your boss. You’re right; it was none of my business, and I was out of line.”
Letting out a shaky breath, her shoulders slump. “You can’t interfere with my job, Riley.”
“I know.” I pull her in for a hug and kiss the top of her head. “I just don’t want to see you….” I hold her at arm’s length, my eyes searching hers. “Never mind. This is the last day of our cruise. Let’s just enjoy it, yeah?”
She nods but averts her gaze, so I tuck her into my side as we head back to the tour bus.
During the tripback to Southampton, Riles falls asleep again, her head on my shoulder, her drool on my shirt. Like puke, I’m not a fan of spit, especially someone else’s, but I’ll deal with it, because Riles isn’t just someone else. In the short time we’ve spent together, she’s become a part of me, a part of my life as I now know it and want it to be moving forward.
Her puke is my puke.
Her drool is my drool.
I wince.
Well, not exactly. But it’s less stomach-churning if I keep telling myself that.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” I say as we pull into the dock not far from the ship.
She lifts her head, wipes her mouth, stares at my damp shirt, and then wipes that too. “We’re back already? That was quick.”
It wasn’t. Fifty-seven minutes in a bus full of noisy people is far from “quick.”
We collect our things, amble along the aisle, and descend the stairs, stepping out of the path of other passengers as they disperse.
“We still have five hours before we set sail,” I say, clasping her hand, “which should be enough time to visit the car museumandtheTitanicexhibit.”
“About that.” She holds her ground, our arms outstretched. “I can’t. I need to go back to the room and read through?—”
My heart deflates, and I let go of her hand.
“I’m sorry, but Georgia insisted.”
“Have fun. I’ll see you later.” Turning away from her, I make my way toward the city center.
“Riley!” she calls out. “Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry.”
I lift my hand in a wave, refusing to look back, not wanting to argue. Am I mad? Yeah… livid. But I’m more disappointed than anything. We don’t have a lot of time left together before we have to say goodbye, and who knows how long that goodbye will last. A few days, a week, a month? I have no idea. Judging by how easily Riles sacrifices everything for Georgia, my gut tells me it could be the latter. I hope it’s not. I hope we can make this work. We won’t know until we try, of course. I just pray I’m not the only one trying.
