Page 1 of Love on Deck

CHAPTER ONE

LAUREN

Preparing for a warm cruise to the Caribbean when it was cold outside my Texas apartment was a puzzle my logical brain struggled to solve. What was I supposed to wear to the airport when Dallas was dipping down to the forties—the equivalent of freezing for me—yet the plane would land in Miami, where it was too warm for long leggings? My clothes for the cruise were all laid out on my bed in neat, organized piles, along with the perfectly aligned shoes and two swimsuit options—which suddenly didn’t seem like enough—but my traveling outfit evaded me.

My eyes darted to the shimmery pink dress smoothed out on the end of the bed, playing its own little game of which of these things is not like the other? against the array of grays, tans, and whites that made up my day-to-day wardrobe. Did my closet resemble a J. Crew ad? Perhaps. They did supply more than two-thirds of my wardrobe. It was clothing that lasted and was worth the investment. As a business professional in the hospitality industry, it was entirely reasonable to own so many things that fell in the neutral color scheme. I wanted my clothing to be good quality, comfortable, and professional.

Which was why I was fairly positive my sister had chosen the bright pink maid of honor gown just to get under my skin. Since I was up for promotion from assistant events manager to the events manager now that my boss was making her maternity leave permanent, I didn’t take anything lightly—clothing choices included. It was going to be a close call between Jerry and me for the promotion, despite my seniority, and I wasn’t giving the Hunnam Hotels Group any reason not to pick me. I had long taken my career seriously, and my array of unremarkable pencil skirts proved that.

My phone rang, pausing the cozy mystery that had been feeding into my earbuds, and I tapped to answer. “Lauren Foley.”

“You don’t have to put on the work voice for me, Lo,” my baby sister crooned through the speaker, all light and fluffy, a vocal embodiment of her personality. She acted like your stereotypical elementary school music teacher, and was—in my wise twenty-eight-year-old opinion—much too young to be getting married.

“That’s what you get for putting me in this awful color,” I teased. Only, it was more like a half-joke. A quarter-joke? Fine. I meant it.

“You’ll thank me when you see the wedding pictures. That pink is going to make your skin glow.”

“Didn’t you quit the whole personal shopper gig because you realized it isn’t your calling to decide what looks good on other people?”

“Maybe. But we’re practically identical, and I know how to shop for myself. Just trust me on this.”

Which was right where she lost me. Accepting that Amelia was not totally off base by providing me with a bright pink dress involved trust, and that wasn’t something I gave out freely. Besides, we were identical in everything except our skin tones. She was blessed by the sun in that regard, and I was a slave to the moon. “I love you enough to wear it, so that has to count for something, right?”

Amelia growled. “I wish you would just see yourself the way I see—”

“I don’t have time.” My stomach tightened as I fended off the pep talk. “I need to run into the office before I head to the airport.”

She sighed. “The office? Seriously? I don’t know anyone who needs to be surgically removed from work like you do. If my wedding is too much of a burden—”

“I never said this trip was a burden.” It was, but I never actually said that to her. I searched for another truth before she could read my tone and ferret out my real feelings. “I would never miss your wedding.”

“Well, duh,” she agreed with triumph. “This week is going to be exactly what you need to breathe for a minute. To take out that ridiculously tight knot and let your hair loose.”

My hand slipped to the base of my neck and smoothed over my perfect honey-brown chignon. This was a week of falling behind at work and slipping in the ranks against Jerry. To say nothing of the mountain of things that would be waiting to be dealt with once I returned, since he couldn’t seem to do anything without handholding. I had a plan to sneak away and check in with the office every morning using the Wi-Fi package the cruise line offered, but Amelia didn’t need to know that.

“I like my French twists. They make me look professional.”

I could practically hear her eyes roll. “At work, yeah. Not on a boat in Nassau.”

“I promise not to wear a French twist when we dock at Nassau.”

“Thank you,” she said kindly, as if I had offered to supply her with a stack of magazines and endless piña coladas instead of discussing my hair style choices. “So, there’s something I need to talk to you about. I was going to wait until you got to Florida for this, but I feel like maybe it’s better if you have the plane ride to prepare yourself.”

A cold, icy stone dropped to the pit of my stomach and made a home there. If she thought I needed two hours to prep my emotions, this couldn’t be good. “What is it?”

“You know how I told you Jack wasn’t going to be able to make it because of a work thing?”

“Yes.” It had been the best news I’d heard in months, and I’d immediately run to my portal to request time off work for the cruise. When Jack had potentially been in the running to attend this ridiculously small wedding party with us, I’d been tempted to tell my own sister I couldn’t make it to her elopement. That was how badly I wanted to avoid her fiancé’s best friend.

“Well...” Amelia drew the word out like she was dangling a moldy carrot in front of me.

“Don’t say it, Ames.”

She was quiet, and even the silence sounded unsure. “You don’t want to know?”

No. Oh, who was I kidding? The unknown was far worse than what I was imagining. It had to be.

Amelia read my silence for acquiescence. “Now Jack’s coming.”

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