Page 4 of The Cruise Back to You

I think about his face when I said those words. My ex. Like that’s all he ever was. Like five years meant nothing.

No matter how far I walk, there’s nowhere to go.

The ship hums beneath my feet, carrying me farther from shore, farther from any chance of escape.

Seven days.

This is going to be a disaster.

Three

Robin

How hard can it be to avoid one person on a ship that holds three thousand people?

So much harder than I thought.

First, I try the spa. A massage sounds perfect. Just the kind of relaxation I need after the ambush at the pool. I walk up to the reception desk, ready to book the first available slot, and there he is. Colter, standing at the counter, card in hand, turning at the sound of my footsteps.

We stare at each other for a beat.

I leave.

Fine. No massage. I’ll try the café instead. There’s one at the far end of the ship, as far from the spa as physically possible. I order a latte, find a quiet corner table, and pull out my phone to scroll through emails I can’t actually answer because I promised myself no work this week.

I’ve had approximately thirty minutes of peace when I hear laughter. I look up as a group of girls walk in. A few steps behind, distracted by his phone, Colter enters.

You have got to be kidding me.

I abandon my half-finished latte and slip out before he notices me.

Dinner is the next challenge. I’m avoiding the buffet because Jules will probably be there and I haven’t forgiven him yet. Setting me up for a vacation that was supposed to be relaxing and then pulling this? No. He can eat alone tonight. Tomorrow I’ll work on forgiveness. Tonight, I’m holding my grudge close.

I choose the ship’s Italian restaurant instead, which happens to have a last-minute spot available. It’s a nice restaurant with white tablecloths and candles. Surely Colter won’t come here. If anything, he’d be at the steakhouse restaurant. Surely I can eat one meal in peace.

I’m halfway through my appetizer when the sliding door opens and Colter walks in.

Of course he does.

I move to a different seat at my table, angling my chair so my back is to the entrance. I don’t look at him. I don’t let myself wonder if he’s looking at me. I just eat my chicken parmigiana as fast as humanly possible without choking and leave before the waiter can offer dessert.

New plan: the pool bar.

Goal? Drink enough to get a buzz and then have an early night. With any luck, I’ll fall asleep before Jules gets back to the cabin, and tomorrow I can start the process of forgiving my incredibly annoying best friend.

The bar is busy but not packed. I find an empty stool, order something with rum in it, and settle in. The night air is sticky, something I’ll have to get used to this week. The stars are out, and the deejay is playing good music. I can almost pretend this is the relaxing vacation I was promised.

“This seat taken?”

I look up. The guy standing next to me is maybe thirty, with sandy hair and an easy smile. He gestures at the empty stool beside me.

“All yours,” I say.

He sits down and orders a beer, then turns to me with a friendly expression. “I’m Thomas. You here alone?”

“On vacation with a friend.” I take a sip of my drink. “You?”

“Same. Well, friends, plural. But we have vastly different opinions on buffet food, so I left them to enjoy the scramble.” He grins. “I tried the steakhouse restaurant earlier. Totally recommend it if you haven’t been yet.”