I press a soft, courtly kiss to the inside of his wrist. “Oh, we’ve been making a big impression all over this ship.”
This is pure fact. You wouldn’t think there’s much novelty to be had on your hundredth ferry ride, but I underestimated how many rules I was following without even thinking about it.
We started our sail in the dining room, feeding each other everything that caught our eye—hot chocolate with whipped cream, fries, donuts, even the eerie fruit cup. Everyone stared—wistful, disapproving, horrified. All the staring subtypes.
“People’s opinions of us are none of our business,” Tobin announced, dipping the cherry from his fruit cup into the rapidly melting cream, then holding it to my lips.
“Nothing to see here,” I agreed, dunking a donut, fastening it between my teeth, and leaning forward for him to take a bite.
After lunch, Tobin pulled a huge bag of change from his pocket, laughed when I was disappointed the lump in his pants was only money, and bought me all the overpriced vending machine treats I wasn’t allowed to have as a kid.
It was when we ended up scampering all over the ship to escape one particularly judgmental passenger (who followed us around arms akimbo, demonstrating her distaste for our antics by continuing to watch them) that we realized we were more or less Jack and Rose inTitanic. Or, since I get to pick the roles now, Jackie and Ross.
We caused a serious traffic jam on the observation deck—half-naked Ross did, anyway. Ferry employees slow-walk past us, certain we’re about to pull another senseless stunt.
They’re not wrong.
For our last mission, Tobin and I join hands and sneak off to press against the curved section of railing at the bow.
“I want to show you something, Ross,” I murmur, cuddling upbehind him to slide my arms under his, my wedding ring chiming against the metal railing. “Close your eyes.”
“Do you know all the lines by heart, Jackie?” His voice has the indulgent curl of a lover who’s only pretending to tease.
“Of course not. That movie is like seven hours long. Three and a half, if you fast-forward through the tragic parts.” My comparatively short arms squish him against the railing. I can’t see a thing with my face smushed between his shoulder blades, but I feel his silent laughter.
Warmth blooms down low. It is a true, true shame this ship has no privacy. Although I bet people have found a way. What do you call the seafaring version of the mile-high club? Whatever it is, Jackie’s halfway to daring Ross to join it with her.
I slide my hands up his sides and over his shoulders, caressing down to his hands to lift them into a flying position. I’m rewarded with goose bumps that pop up on the slices of his wrists visible below his sleeves.
“Jackie.” His voice is a wish and a warning, filled with the same ripples that cover his skin.
“Okay. Open your—”
Someone clears their throat right in my ear.
“Excuse me. Ma’am. Sir. Come with me, please.”
The ferry employee is straight out ofThe Simpsons—complete with logoed polo shirt, shock of upstanding hair, and wavering voice.
Tobin and I spring apart guiltily. Or rather, I jump away and he stays plastered against the railing, for reasons I’m pretty sure aren’t a sack of quarters.
“We weren’t doing anything wrong.” It’s true; the only rules we’re breaking are our own. I have no desire to do actual crimes and get banned from the ferry system.
He beckons me and Tobin with a friendly two-fingered motionthat is still quite angry when deployed correctly. “I’d appreciate a moment of your time,” he says. He’s very stern for someone who looks like the world’s oldest awkward teen. His name tag says “Pauly.” He is totally a Pauly, never a Paul.
I can’t be confrontational with someone named Pauly, even if I’m right. I doubt he’d accept my explanation that we’re in the middle of something important, and we’ve got to get it done this time.
Pauly ushers us down two flights of stairs and through a door marked “CREW ONLY.” His radio crackles. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
The door is not quite closed when Tobin remarks, “So this is third class.” He looks around like we’ve arrived at the belowdecks shindig and he’s a sheltered scion of the upper class.
“Stop it,” I whisper, smacking his arm.
“If we get thrown off the ship—I meanliterallythrown off, I’ll share my flotsam with you.”
I haven’t seen him this happy in forever. He wraps his arms around me from behind, tucking his chin into my neck, the flutter of lashes behind my ear telling me he’s closed his eyes to breathe me in.
“That was a very sad moment and you should not be laughing,” I inform him.
