Page 8 of The Cruise Back to You

“Where’s Jules?”

“No idea.” I close the door and lean against it. “I’ve been avoiding him all day. Wasn’t ready to forgive him for the whole setup thing.”

Colter sits down on Jules’s bed, running a hand through his hair. “What they did was out of line.”

“Completely.”

“Manipulative.”

“Absolutely.”

“But …” He pauses, looking up at me. “Now that we’re here and actually talking, I can’t bring myself to be completely angry.”

I want to argue. I want to hold onto my righteous anger a little longer. But the truth is, he’s right. If Jules and Marc hadn’t pulled this stunt, Colter and I would still be avoiding each other across Pine Ridge’s Main Street, pretending we don’t notice each other through the windows.

“Yeah,” I admit, sitting down on my own bed. “Me neither.”

We look at each other, and something in the air shifts. Not romantic—not exactly. Just … easier. Like we’ve finally stopped fighting against something inevitable.

“Want to watch a movie?” I ask.

Colter smiles. “Sure.”

I grab the remote and flip through the ship’s entertainment options until we settle on an action movie neither of us has seen. Colter stays on Jules’s bed, I stay on mine, and for a while it almost feels normal. Like we’re back in Pine Ridge, lazy Sunday nights spent watching terrible films and throwing popcorn at the screen.

I don’t remember falling asleep.

But when I open my eyes, sunlight is streaming through the porthole, and the TV is displaying a “Are you still watching?” message. I blink, disoriented, and turn my head to find Colter still on Jules’s bed, fast asleep, one arm hanging off the edge.

We fell asleep. We watched a movie and fell asleep like nothing ever happened between us.

Movement catches my eye, and I notice Jules curled up on the small couch, also asleep. He must have come in last night without waking us.

I sit up slowly, and the movement rouses Colter. He blinks awake, looks around in confusion, then sees me and relaxes.

“Morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning.”

Jules stirs on the couch, groaning as he stretches. When he opens his eyes and sees both of us watching him, he freezes. “Before you yell at me⁠—”

“I’m not going to yell at you.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “I’m still annoyed, but I’m not going to yell.”

Jules sits up carefully, wincing. “Really?”

“Really.” I sigh. “What you and Marc did was out of line. But Colter and I talked last night, and we’re … okay. We’re going to be friends.”

“Friends?” Jules looks between us, something flickering in his expression. Hope, maybe. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“Don’t push it.”

Colter pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Marc. Tell him to meet us for breakfast at the buffet.”

Twenty minutes later, the four of us are seated at a table, our plates loaded with eggs, bacon, fruit, and pastries. The conversation is stilted at first, but eventually we fall into an easy rhythm. Marc keeps shooting glances at Jules that make me a little uneasy. What else are they plotting?

“So,” Marc says, spearing a piece of melon with his fork, “what’s everyone doing today? It’s a port day.”

Jules winces. “Actually, I had a surprise planned. Snorkeling trip for me and Robin.” He rubs his temple. “But I’m nursing a killer headache. Too much alcohol last night, and that couch was not made for sleeping.”