Page 5 of Fire and Ice Cruise

“Darn tootin’,” Nettie doubles down. “In fact, I’d buy it in three colors.”

“Geez, Nettie.” Bess doesn’t even look over as she continues to greet the passengers with a wave. “Let the woman live.”

“I’d love to,” Nettie shoots back. “But considering her track record, it’s debatable if she will.”

A flash of crimson catches my eye near the gangway—elegant luggage, a jade green dress, and oh my word, it’s Marina. She’s actually here. She actually got on the ship.

I wave frantically, probably looking deranged.

“Marina! Over here!” I hop up and down in an effort to garner her attention.

She spots me and her face brightens as she navigates through the sea of passengers with her suitcase in tow. She’s swapped the tan boots she had on earlier for a pair of ballet flats, and her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail that makes her cheekbones do things most cheekbones can’t legally do.

She looks less shell-shocked than she did in that bar in Copenhagen, which is saying something, because the last time I saw her, she was trying her best to dissolve into a cocktail napkin.

“I’m so glad you made it through boarding!” I pull her into a hug before she can protest. “How was customs?”

“Surprisingly painless.” She glances at Wes, and a faint smile crosses her face. “Thanks to the good captain.”

“Please,” Wes’s dimples make an appearance, “call me Wes.”

There’s a flicker on his face that I can’t quite read… then a thought hits me and I gasp a little.

I catch Ransom’s eye, and he raises one eyebrow in that silent communication we’ve perfected over the past year. Something’s happening there. I raise one right back. He nods. I know. I saw it myself.

It’s basically married telepathy. It’s very efficient. No voice or stamps required.

“Marina!” Bess practically tackles her with enthusiasm. “Come meet everyone properly. You’ve already met Wes, but this is Tinsley, our cruise director⁠—”

“The one who doesn’t want any dead bodies,” Tinsley interrupts, extending a hand.

Marina takes a moment to cringe. “I’ll do my best,” she says solemnly.

“And this is Elodie,” Bess continues. “She runs the ship’s mall and has connections to every designer outlet within a hundred-mile radius of any port.”

“I like her already,” Marina gives a warm laugh.

Elodie grins. “Stick with me, honey. I’ll have you looking fabulous and broke by the end of this cruise.”

“In that order,” I add helpfully.

“Every time.” Elodie nods with satisfaction.

Another wave of passengers floods through the atrium entrance—easily forty to fifty people, all talking and laughing with the animated energy of folks who’ve clearly bonded already. Wes straightens, his captain’s face sliding into place.

“Ah, here comes the Second Act Society.”

“The what?” I ask.

“It’s a group that will be sailing with us this voyage. They’re all about reinventing life after fifty.” He gestures to the approaching crowd. “New careers, new adventures, new everything.”

“Please tell me there’s a group discount on reinvention,” Marina mutters. “I could use one.”

I’m about to probe her a little, honestly, none of us have any idea what sent her to that bar with nothing but her suitcase and a glass full of tears, when Bess points my way.

“Speaking of fifty—someone’s fiftieth is coming up hot in exactly nine days,” she reminds me, as if I could forget.

“Oh hush,” I say.