Shipped(65)

“No more work talk.” My voice wobbles but my grip is sure when I raise my wineglass.

Eyeing me, Graeme clinks his glass against mine, the sound clear and piercing as a bell. “Agreed. What do you want to talk about?”

I glance around for inspiration. “How delicious dinner smells?”

“Buffet time?”

“Let’s hit it.”

We each fill a plate with food. Graeme gets held up at the far end of the buffet when a couple of guests begin chatting with him. He lifts his chin toward the tables in a go on ahead gesture.

I make it all the way to the table where Walsh is sitting before realizing that I forgot to put dressing on my salad. Pulling an about-face, I weave back through the throng of guests toward the buffet but get stuck behind a particularly stocky, slow-moving passenger. He digs a serving spoon into the tray of barbecued pork, scooping and rescooping until he has the perfect mound. Donna’s voice cuts through my irritation.

“Graeme, there you are.”

“Good evening, Donna. You’re looking lovely tonight.”

I peek around the edge of the guest, who is now resolutely poking around a plate of potatoes. Donna and Graeme are at the end of the buffet. They don’t see me. I jerk my head back and listen.

Donna harrumphs. “I have something I want to say to you. This request for donations…” she begins.

I brace myself for impact.

“I think it’s wonderful.”

My fingers go slack and I nearly drop my plate.

“Charles and I are so happy to have the chance to do something good for this place. Thank you for giving us the opportunity.”

“You’re welcome, although you really should thank my colleague, Henley. This was all her idea. She set all the wheels in motion.”

“Oh. Well. Be sure to tell her thank you from us.”

I’m almost at the end of the buffet now, and I slink away through the crowd before Graeme and Donna can spot me.

Tears burn behind my eyes and I have to take a deep, steadying breath. The fussiest passenger on the cruise loved having the chance to support conservation in the Galápagos. And Graeme made sure she knew it was my idea.

I’m still fighting back a wave of emotion when he joins me at the table not a minute later.

“What?” he asks, when he catches the look on my face. His expression is one of honest puzzlement; he doesn’t know I overheard him.

“Nothing.” I pick up my fork, but put it down a heartbeat later. “Thank you,” I add.

“For what?”

“For what you said to Donna just now. I overheard you talking.”

Reaching under the table, he gathers my hand in his and squeezes it. I don’t want him to ever let go. “You’re welcome.”

After several long seconds he pulls away. We tuck into dinner. Crew members come around with bottles of wine, topping off glasses, and the volume of happy chatter rises. At the next table over, Doug and Analisa are sitting with a handful of the oldest guests. Doug’s hand covers hers on the table, his thumb stroking her knuckles. What easy tenderness. Why can’t things be easy with Graeme?

I swallow a bite of pork.

Why can’t things be easy with Graeme?

Maybe I need to do what Walsh suggested and simply focus on the now. So what if I don’t know how things will turn out tomorrow or the next day? It doesn’t change the way I feel about Graeme right now, in this moment. And he said he’s willing to keep any relationship between us quiet. It comes down to… do I trust him?

Yes. Undeniably.

As plates empty and glasses are refilled, the ocean swallows the sun in a wash of hazy purples and pinks. Another glass of wine later, someone taps my shoulder.

“It is time for us to leave,” says Analisa from directly behind me. “Thank you again for everything.” She brushes her cheek against mine.

Standing, I edge around my chair and lower my voice. “How did it go?”

“Astounding. Absolutely astounding,” Doug chimes in. He hands me a stack of donation cards. His eyes are wide and almost dazed, and I don’t think it’s from the wine.

I flip through the cards, scanning the checked-off amounts.

$100

$500

$200



I gasp. A thousand dollars. From Donna and Charles Taylor. My heart is so full it nearly bursts.

“Oh my God,” I murmur.

“And those are just the responses from our table,” says Doug.

How much money did we raise? If the other tables were half as engaged as this one, tonight proves my idea is gold. Wild laughter edges up my esophagus, but I shove it down. Cackling like a madwoman and jigging on the spot isn’t exactly the most professional response. A tendril of guilt creeps into my heart then. If this lands me the promotion, Graeme stays in Michigan. Alone.

I can’t think about that right now. I won’t.

“I’m so happy your conservation work resonated with our guests,” I say.

“You have no idea how much this means to me—to us. And to the finches. Thank you.” Doug shakes my hand with both of his. “Maybe we can do it again on some other cruise?”

“I hope so.” If everything works out according to plan, we’ll be doing it on every cruise.

Doug and Analisa depart with a final wave. Before I can turn around, however, Nikolai appears in front of me.