Page 1 of The Cruise Back to You

One

Robin

“I still can’t believe you talked me into this,” I say, staring at the tiny cabin that’s going to be home for the next seven days.

Jules drops his suitcase on the bed closest to the window—if you can even call that porthole a window—and grins at me. “You’re welcome.”

“That wasn’t a thank-you.”

“It was implied.” He unzips his bag and pulls out clothes, shoving them into the small cupboard above the bed like he’s done this a hundred times. “Come on, Robin. A week on an RNJ cruise? Ocean views, unlimited food, drinks with little umbrellas in them? This is exactly what you need.”

I set my own suitcase on the remaining bed and open it, but I don’t start unpacking. Instead, I stare at the neatly folded shirts and wonder for the hundredth time if closing the shop for a whole week was a mistake.

Darcy Patterson is supposed to pick up her custom wedding invitations on Thursday. I left a note on the door to say I left her order with Jo at the hairdresser next door, and sent her an email, but what if she doesn’t see either? What if she thinks I’ve abandoned her?

“You’re spiraling,” Jules says without looking at me. “I can hear it.”

“You can’t hear someone spiral.”

“Sure you can. Google it and you’ll see a photo of your face.” He pulls out a pair of swim shorts—bright orange, because Jules has never met a color he didn’t want to wear—and tosses them onto his bed. “Unpack. Change. We’re going to the pool.”

“Jules—”

“A week away is exactly what the doctor ordered.” He points at himself. “I should know. I’m a doctor.”

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. “You’re a general practitioner in a small-town clinic. You’re not my therapist.”

“I’m your best friend, which is basically the same thing except I don’t charge you.” He throws a pair of swim shorts at my head. My own, thankfully. “Pool. Now.”

I catch the shorts and sigh. There’s no winning with Jules when he gets like this, and honestly? The thought of umbrella drinks by the pool doesn’t sound too bad. Pine Ridge is beautiful, but it’s January, and I’ve been staring at snow for months. A little sunshine might actually be nice.

“Fine,” I say, and Jules pumps his fist in victory.

Twenty minutes later, we’re settled on loungers by the main pool, and I have to admit—this isn’t terrible. The sun is warm, the pool is a perfect crystalline blue, and the drink in my hand is some kind of rum concoction with a tiny paper umbrella sticking out of it. I make a mental note to see if I can find out where they source their cocktail umbrellas. Might be a fun addition to the party supply section.

“You’re thinking about work,” Jules says.

“I’m thinking about cocktail umbrellas.”

“Same thing.” He takes a sip of his own drink, something bright blue that matches the pool. “You need to learn how to turn your brain off.”

“My brain is my best feature.”

“Debatable.”

A shadow falls over my lounger, and I look up to find a cocktail server standing there. He’s young, maybe mid-twenties, with sun-bleached hair and a tan that suggests he spends most of his time on this deck.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asks, even though my glass is still half full.

“I’m good, thanks,” I say, offering a polite smile.

“Just wave if you need anything. I’ll … come right over.”

He lingers for a moment, like he’s waiting for me to say something else, but I just turn back to Jules. Eventually, he takes the hint and wanders off to check on other guests.

“He was cute,” Jules says.

“I guess.”