Page 106 of A Perfect Disaster

And I obey, boy do I obey. I kiss her in front of everyone: in front of Gonzalo, who starts clapping as if we’d won the World Cup; in front of Nico, who shouts something about stars and planetary alignments; in front of Lara, who wipes a tear from her eye with her thumb, pretending she’s got something in her eye. I kiss her with all my pent-up desire, with gratitude, with forgiveness, and with the whole future ahead of us.

When we pull back a little, she rests her forehead against mine.

“You’re late, coordinator,” she whispers with a crooked smile, returning to her professional tone. “And this is going to have consequences.”

I smile against her lips, giving her one last playful kiss.

“Well, I’ll be ready for them.”

As the crew continues cheering in the background and the captain’s announcement blares over the Marine IV’s speakers that we’re starting engines to set sail, I understand with crystal clarity that dry land isn’t always in a port. Sometimes it has warm hands, shared fears, absurd lists, and an officer’s cap lying on the floor. Sometimes it’s named Helen. And this time, I’m absolutely certain I plan to stay on board forever.

As long as it’s with her.

Epilogue

Maika

Six months later.

If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be spending my Monday mornings stuck in a glass-walled office overlooking the harbor, surrounded by filing cabinets and computer screens, wearing a regular suit, I would’ve told them to cut the crap. Me, a woman of the deck, of the sea breeze, of organizing conga lines with two hundred sangria-fueled tourists and working up a sweat. But of course, life throws surprises your way, surprises bring love, and love… well, love puts a shore-based contract in front of you and ties you to the sexiest, most efficient, and most exasperating woman on the planet.

“Maika, please, tell me you haven’t gone back to using the color-coding system from the life jackets to organize the budgets for the Marine IV’s choreography.”

Helen’s voice comes from across the large double desk we share. I look up from my screen, where I’m struggling with a management program that has more buttons than a spaceship, and meet her gaze. She’s still as beautiful as the first day I saw her aboard a ship. Today she’s wearing a perfectly ironed sky-blue shirt, and she has that “I’m going to open a security file on you” look that, much to my chagrin, turns me on in every way.

“Come on, show some respect,” I reply, resting my elbows on the table and pointing my glitter pen at her. “Fuchsia is for the Caribbean night outfit, bright yellow for pool activities, and navy blue for boring meetings with the bosses. It’s a foolproof system. My mind works on visual cues, not numerical folders like yours.”

Helen sighs, but it’s that sigh of hers that hides a smile she’s trying to keep from me. She takes off her glasses and stares at me.

“Your foolproof system made the CFO think the budget for next week’s foam party was the fire contingency plan for Deck 7. He nearly had a heart attack when he read that it would take ‘three megaton cannons and two hunks dressed as sailors’ to put out the fire.”

I burst out laughing, a roar that echoes off the office walls.

“What a joke that finance guy is—the man has zero imagination. Well, listen, a good blast of foam at the right time will put out any fire, trust me.”

“Maika…” she warns me, narrowing those eyes that drive me crazy.

“Okay, okay, I’ll fix it right now,” I say, blowing her a kiss that she pretends to dodge, though I know she’s melting inside. “But admit it, since we’ve been here, this office has been so much more fun. Before, this place looked like a dentist’s office, and now, look, I’ve put a giant flamingo float in the corner!”

“The flamingo is blocking the path to the emergency exit in case of evacuation; I’ve already told you that three times,” Helen replies, putting her glasses back on.

“The flamingo gives the company its identity, Helen.”

This has been our daily routine for the past six months. When the shipping company decided to create a pioneering position at headquarters to coordinate the entertainment department with strict safety protocols—basically to prevent us entertainers from doing crazy things that would get on the crew’s nerves—our team has consistently stood out. Even the captain of the Marine IV said, “If these two women managed not to crash the ship while falling in love and yelling at each other in the hallways, they’re capable of running the entire company.” And he wasn’t wrong. We’re like oil and water, order and chaos, the Excel spreadsheet and the rumba. But when we work together, we’re absolutely perfect.

I get up from my chair, stretching my legs, and walk around the office, circling the desk. Helen is still typing on her tablet, focused, with that cute little wrinkle that forms between her eyebrows when she takes the world seriously. I stand behind her, rest my hands on her shoulders, and start massaging her neck. I feel her tense up for a second, but she immediately lets her head fall back, letting out a moan of relief.

“Oh my God…” I whisper, brushing her earlobe. “When are you going to stop treating Mondays like they’re a drill?”

“Someone has to do it,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and surrendering to my hands. “If I let you take charge, you’d end up swapping the officers’ uniforms for tank tops and linen pants.”

“Hey, the officers would actually benefit from that—linen is so cool for summer. Besides, you’d look fabulous in a tank top.”

Helen smiles. She grabs one of my hands, pulls it away from her shoulder, and kisses the back of it. Then she pulls me until I’m forced to go around the table and sit right on her lap.

“Maika, we’re on the clock, and the walls are glass,” she says, though her hands have already settled on my waist.

“That’s why God invented blinds,” I reply, reaching out to press the button on the wall. In five seconds, the slats close, leaving us in a beautiful twilight, illuminated only by the reflection of the sun seeping in through the edges.