You're What?!. Anne Eames
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A moment later she pocketed her key and headed down the narrow hallway. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. The idea of cruising each deck in search of her fantasy man had already brought her hours of entertainment.
Now the game could actually begin.
She’d decided on blue eyes, dark hair, six-two or so, a rugged, tanned complexion and the body of an athlete. It might take her all week to find such a specimen, but hey, the looking would be half the fun.
Animated passengers swarmed around Le Bistro, plastic tumblers in one hand and paper plates in the other. Michelle pressed her way through the crowd, helped herself to a couple of tuna points, celery sticks and iced tea, then looked around for an empty seat. Finding none, she strolled back along the railing to the stairway and walked up a level. A quiet place where the sounds of the seas replaced the drum of the city was just what the doctor ordered. It was either that or go to her room and stand on her head in the corner. She’d heard some women actually did that to increase their chances…
Damn. She had to get her mind off this morning.
She turned to starboard and found a comfortable chaise longue. There she settled, placing her plate and tea on the table beside her.
With a celery stick between her lips, she took in the endless blue-green horizon, suddenly feeling very small, and that life’s little foibles were insignificant. She finished her snack, her eyes never leaving the gently rolling waters. It was so hypnotic she felt her lids grow heavier and heavier, until finally she leaned back and closed her eyes.
A cool breeze stirred the salty air. Waves slapped steadily against the hull far below, each one by measure stripping away layers of tension, leaving her limbs languid, her mind afloat. Her last waking thought was that she might never leave this spot.
* * *
HOOOHHHNNN…HOOOHHHNNN…
The nasal blast reverberated through the ship and Michelle sat up with a start. Looking left and right, she didn’t see a soul. Disoriented, she blinked rapidly, then remembered where she was.
She pulled herself awake and followed the hoopla coming from the other side, half expecting the ship to list—like in that coffee commercial she’d seen. She smiled at her own private joke as she rounded the comer. The elbow-to-elbow crowd was covered with confetti and streamers tossed from above. At first glance, the scene seemed too contrived for her tastes. It reminded her of plastic leis at backyard luaus. But apparently her attitude wasn’t shared.
She scanned the noisy crowd until she spotted the only other uninvolved figure. He was leaning on his forearms, looking like a poised cat amid a field of scurrying mice. In contrast to the riotous tourist garb that surrounded him, he wore a light blue button-down shirt and darker blue Dockers pants. His thick chestnut hair was cropped short, a breeze lifting a few strands from his pale forehead. While he was lean, he didn’t have the look of an athlete, and he certainly wasn’t someone who spent much time outdoors.
Below, the mighty engines toiled and vibrated as the ship pulled slowly from the dock.
Still, the man didn’t move.
And neither did Michelle.
She noticed the older couple to his right were still waving toward shore, smiling and chatting among themselves. The young couple on his left wrapped their arms around each other and hugged. The man in the middle looked like an island unto himself, staring, straight ahead, his posture not encouraging conversation. He didn’t fit the profile of her fantasy man, but nonetheless, something held her attention.
He straightened and turned his back to the railing and Michelle continued her assessment. About six feet tall, around forty, square jaw, dark eyes—though at this distance she couldn’t be sure of their color. She squinted and tried harder to see. Suddenly there was a dimple between his brows and he folded his arms across his chest.
Oh, God. He was looking right at her. She’d been caught—ogling him like a woman on the prowl. Heat crept up her neck and she spun on her heel. As quickly as she could, she walked back the way she’d come and out of sight before exhaling the breath she’d been holding.
Whew! She’d have to be more discreet in the future, she lectured herself, heading for the stairway. But for now, she’d give up the game and unpack. Then she’d take a shower and change for dinner. Later, she’d take a stroll and resume her search.
Kevin stood there and stared. He watched the sun play on the woman’s copper ponytail until it sashayed out of sight.
Now what was that all about? he wondered, turning and walking in the opposite direction. Was this what he was in for all week? Single women looking for unattached males? Or maybe that one had just watched too many reruns of “Love Boat.” Either way, he’d keep to himself and watch what he said. One thing was certain. He wouldn’t let on he was a doctor. Why women found that a turn-on, he’d never understand. How many birthday dinners or concerts or parties had he been dragged away from for a patient’s needs? Unless it was the money, he couldn’t imagine what attracted them.
He stopped and looked down at the water churning below. He’d thought Jessica understood the long hours and constant interruptions. Apparently, she hadn’t.
Jessica. She’d always wanted to take a cruise, but he’d forever been too busy. Damn. When was he going to stop beating himself up over the past? He walked on, staring blindly at his loafers. Maybe this trip had been a mistake.
After changing her mind three times, Michelle settled on a silk pantsuit. The pants were cut full, the top long. The watercolor fabric in soft shades of fern green complemented her burnished hair, which she wore down tonight, the blunt-cut ends brushing her shoulders.
She stood back from the mirror behind the door and made a final inspection. Even with low-heeled pumps, she thought she looked taller than her five feet five inches. The fact that she’d lost ten pounds since Christmas added to the long, clean lines of her outfit. Months of swimming and water aerobics had paid off. Without thinking, her hand moved over her flat stomach. She could probably get away with clothes like this for several months.
She jerked her hand away and turned from the mirror. It was too soon to think this way. It was one thing to think positive, but if she continued to assume it was a done deal, she could be setting herself up for a major disappointment.
She looked at the small clutch purse on the bed, then decided to leave it behind. There was no need for money, and if her lipstick wore off, oh, well.
The Windward Dining Room was midship, two levels down. Michelle sauntered along the halls and stairway, marveling at the architectural splendor—teak rails, hand-laid tile mosaics, marble statuary, art deco murals. A person could get used to this. At the entrance to the dining room, Michelle retrieved her seat assignment card from her pants pocket and handed it to the tuxedo-clad maître d’.
She followed him up the right side, weaving her way through the lively crowd, losing sight of him toward the end. She kept moving and found him again, standing behind an empty chair at a rectangular table for six. On the side facing her she saw a young couple who had the starry-eyed look of honeymooners, seated next to a kind-faced, blue-haired woman of about seventy. Across from her she could see the back of another woman about the same age who looked as if she’d visited the same beautician. Next to her was a man. In the few seconds it took to reach her seat, she couldn’t figure out where he fit in.
Michelle’s chair was no sooner pushed in than the young man in front of her extended his hand across the table.
“Welcome aboard. I’m Mark, and this is my beautiful bride, Kathy.”
Kathy elbowed her husband and giggled before lowering her lashes. “We just got married last night,” she said shyly.
“Congratulations!” Enjoy it while you can, she wanted to add but didn’t. “I’m Michelle.” She clasped each of their hands in turn.
The older woman spoke next, her gaze lingering on the new