Page 21 of Cabin Fever

Chapter Eight

The pool deck at ten flashes with tanning oil and smells like pizza and synthetic coconut. Priya waves me over to a saved lounger where Dahlia's spread out, wearing her white BRIDE baseball cap. When I sit down next to her, she hands me half her muffin, and I take it without thinking, even though I just ate a full plate at the buffet.

Two loungers over, Marisol and Sadie are leaning in over one of their phones, giggling like school girls.

Perfect. So glad they’re here.

“We were just doing the dinner post-mortem.” Priya lowers her sunglasses, book tented on her stomach. “I gave it an 8.5. Points off for the slideshow jump-scare, points back for Bev tackling the projector like a ninja.”

Dahlia laughs. “She moved so fast. Seventy-one years old!”

“The salmon was a ten,” Priya continues. “The band was a seven.”

“What.” I give her a look. “At least an eight.”

“The song choices, though.” She reaches over and takes a sip from her frozen drink.

Dahlia chortles and throws her head back. “When they played Endless Love⁠—”

“EXACTLY!” Priya points with fire in her eyes.

Despite the late night, Dahlia looks at peace this morning. Sun-warmed, shoulders loose. Which is exactly why I decide to cast my line now.

I keep my eyes on the pool and my voice in full logistics-neutral. “Speaking of comparisons, you saw the rehearsal moved, right? We're in the aft lounge at four now. The one with the big windows.”

Dahlia’s head snaps up. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, I guess someone canceled the ballroom, but I think it's an upgrade⁠—“

“Wait, who?”

I watch her face, and there’s nothing but shock under the surface. So. Definitely not her.

“That,” I say, “is an excellent question.”

She just frowns at me in her sunglasses and says, “Okay, that's so weird. Did the ship mess up? Should I ask Theo to call?”

“Don't bug him with it,” I say. “It's handled, and seriously, the lounge is great. Pam’s taking care of the changes with the staff.”

“See, this is why I don't check my phone,” Dahlia tells Priya, resettling.

Priya snorts. “Mine’s in my safe. My brother once racked up a $500 cell phone bill on a cruise because he didn’t have WiFi.”

“Okay, have you guys seen these photos?”Marisol leans over, holding out her phone.

I lift my sunglasses and blink. “Is that⁠—”

“Finn. Yeah.” Dahlia doesn’t give it a second look. “He does those videos for his business. I think he had a few go viral.

I try not to gawk.

No. No, I had not seen those photos.

I didn’t think Finn had any sort of social media presence. At least, he didn’t when I went down a rabbit hole years ago. I'm not on the apps much anyway, and what algorithm I do have has been trained like a show dog. Only rabbit and duckling videos or cooking tutorials. Oh, and the bee lady.

But here he is with tens of thousands of followers. The reel autoplays. It's a before-and-after. Some sagging Denver bungalow with good bones, and there's Finn walking backward through the gutted living room, talking to the camera, sleeves rolled, explaining load-bearing walls to an audience of people who I promise are not there for the walls.

The girls narrate over it like sportscasters.