What Happens on a Cruise, Stays on the Cruise - Part 1

Fleeting Glance

The syrup draped the bacon like it had nowhere else to be.

Thick, it draped the perfectly crisped strip as Lemara lifted it to her mouth, the sweetness trailing like a ribbon before she bit down.

They certainly know how to do bacon here, she mused.

Chewing as she looked out the restaurant window.

The restaurant's second-floor view overlooked Fort Lauderdale International’s runway where planes glided in and out like huge metallic albatrosses. Inside, a full house and a buzzing zoo where hotel guests had apparently all set their alarms to the same time. Jet-lagged tourists in loud voices and louder prints, each out-shining the Florida sunshine, now filled the restaurant like London buses. None for ages, then all at once.

The air buzzed with that unmistakable American energy. Sharp, sunlit and just a touch too loud. Lemara had snagged a window seat only five minutes before. Her prize: coffee, bacon, golden Floridian rays and a bit of plane-spotting. It was a halcyon moment after a chaotic journey.

Last night’s flight had turned into a misadventure. Thanks to a tantrum-throwing storm chasing the Caribbean’s east coast, their plane was forced to detour to Philadelphia, where she’d spent more time in an airport lounge than asleep. Her bones still felt it.

Now, somewhere behind her, a woman squealed with delight. 'Oh my god—they match!' Apparently, one of her girlfriends had gifted her a pair of sandals identical to the glittery ones the others were wearing. Judging by the volume, the woman had mistaken the restaurant for a concert.

A pizazzy one, Lemara thought, lips quirking.

Moments later, a waitress, chipper and loud enough to rival the sandals crew, announced breakfast’s impending closure like she was calling out the final boarding gate. 'Last call for eggs and bacon, folks!'

Lemara chuckled to herself. However, on her way past Lemara’s table, the waitress was more Club Lounge, 'Can I get you anything else, ma’am?'

Lemara blinked up at her, mildly stunned by the soft concern, though she'd guessed why.

That’d be the jetlag face.

Another pot of coffee and some milk, please.

Although not sure why as she was still nursing her first. The hotel’s coffee had the subtlety of rocket fuel and the aroma of something brewed over cannon fire. Just inhaling it made her feel as if she could launch herself across the room.

Out on the runway, another aircraft roared to life and with it, her thoughts took flight too. She reached for her phone. Still dead.

Sighed. Of course. Plugged it in last night and forgot to flip the switch. Story of her life.

Technically, she should be in England right now. Cap and gown, smiling on a proud moment. But grief, the pull of a western Caribbean cruise, booked on impulse, had overridden everything. She and her sister had talked about it for years. Now it was just her. And a ship.

Her breath caught. A familiar ache returned, quiet but heavy.

The waitress appeared again, setting down the fresh pot of coffee with a comforting smile and, unexpectedly, a hand on Lemara’s shoulder.

I know, she said brightly. 'Everyone just off on holiday brings me to tears too.'

A giggle escaped Lemara before she could stop it. The waitress winked and tottered away.

Lemara wrapped her hands around the cup and took a slow sip. The coffee was no better the second time, but her gaze shifted to a figure seated a few tables away.

Sharp tailoring. Thom Browne. Hoodie-style sweater over broad shoulders. His eyes, half-hidden by the shadow of his lashes, were fixed on her.

Or maybe not on her. Maybe just in her direction.

But for a second, the attention felt real. Sticky, like static.

And then—gone.

A waiter stepped into view, blocked her line of sight. With her phone still lifeless and her coffee gone from rocket fuel to bitter swamp water, it was time to go.

I see we've crossed paths again! A voice from behind pointed out as she made her way to the lifts.

Knowing she hadn't crossed paths with anyone between the hotel and Fort Lauderdale's cruise port, at check in, boarding or on the flight over, she kept walking. And not recognising that voice veiled in its American accent, she continued on her course. But the same voice, said the same thing again and curiosity got the better, so she glanced back, found herself halting in her tracks.

Ohh! The little exclamation that left her mouth.

Her Thom Browne image from breakfast had materialised. Inexplicable, but a smile emanated across her face as if she was glad to see him. And she was; just wasn't sure why. Now upright, he stood about five feet, eleven inches, his hair wavy, dark. Not overly gorgeous, but neither bad looking. Enough to quote her interest the second time that day; gosh, he even made arm candy status.

It must be fate. His face lighting up as he caught up with her.

Is that so? Raising an eyebrow. Both now standing opposite each other outside the lifts.

There I was, desperately scribbling a message to pass to you. Then I looked up, discovered you'd left.

Maybe you shouldn't be scribbling messages to strangers in a restaurant. She teased.

Well, that's just it. I can't help but think, we've crossed paths before.

We did. Earlier this morning. In the hotel's restaurant, remember?

No, before that.

We've crossed paths before? Really? Where? When? Intrigue fired her questions.

That's just it. I've not been able to work it out.

Can I just say, Mr... . Drawing out the 'Mr' while her face tilted slowly sideways towards his.

Sorry, yes it's Harry. You can call me Harry.

Okay Harry, (she started again) can I just say, that that, is the weakest chat-up line I've ever come across.

Except it wasn't. I feel certain we've crossed paths before.

It was him now tilting his head sideways, eyes narrowing as he spoke.

Ookay, if you say so.

I do. But let's start again. I'm Harry from Maine. Extending his right arm to her. And I couldn't help noticing you in the restaurant this morning.

Let me guess. Was it the way I drank the coffee?

No. It was the way you held the cup! Mimicking her.

Both laughed out. Their laughter causing the congregation gathered for the lifts to look at them.

Another message blared through the ship's intercom.

Should we take the stairs? Looking at the crowd.

Their tete-a-tete had left them blissfully unaware of the congregation amassed around them.

If this gives me more one-on-one time with you, then yes. Extending his arm, ushering her towards the stairs.

Eyes locked, if only for a moment. She shook her head as if to shake her thoughts before starting up the stairs ahead of him.

So tell me, what is your name?

It's Lemara.

She heard his absent footsteps behind her and turned back to look at him. She still climbing the stairs, him stood still, arms stuffed in his pockets.

No, your name does not ring any bells. Walking up to catch her. Lovely name, though.

Thanks? Almost grinning.

Another two floors up and easy banter saw them arrive on deck seven.

So this is my floor.

Looking up and down the aisle for the direction of her room. Her-recognised-anywhere-white-luggage case, her unintentional beacon drawing attention to itself just outside her door.

And this is me. Pointing to room 7007 towards the back of the ship as they neared it.

Well, I'm on deck nine in room 9088. His key card and his hand going up in a decidedly flirty manner. And, nice to meet you again, Lemara.

They shook hands, a firm one before turning to walk away. Lips creased into a smile, she waved him off.

Have a safe journey! Jesting as he walked on.

Harry gave her another little wave, kept walking. Halfway down the ship's corridor, he stopped, turned around. The same time Lemara had quit fumbling with the key card to look back at him.

Listen. He quipped, swaggering back to her side. If you don't already have dinner plans for tonight, would you like to join me?

I may well do? Teasing, in her devil-may-care mood.

So that's dinner at eight; I'll come and get you. His statement more an affirmation than an invitation.

Lemara smiled. Liked how he had just called all the shots. He turned to leave but not before chivalrously opening her door and lifting her luggage into it. Hands brushed over hers, as he did so.

Well those hands of his certainly don't shuck any oysters or pot any lobsters back in Maine.

---

Closing the door behind her, eyes journeyed to the large window ahead, flooding her room with more of the golden sunshine she had paid to fly all the way to Florida for. On her left, a bathroom and wardrobe lined the room. A queen-sized bed, a desk and a chair filled the remainder of the space, and the window oversaw it all.

Out in the port, a ship's horn sounded and she walked to the window to have a look. And by the time she'd reached the window, four cruise ships' horns partied in the port. And when that party had finished, walked back to the bed, splashed herself face down across it.

Thoughts turned to what to wear to dinner with Mr Harry.

Something with a little sass is what Ms Hart always says. The reminder sombrering, she got up off the bed. Movements laboured, she picked up her phone, still uncharged, plugged it in and this time made sure to switch it on at the plug.

The update for her phone she'd been putting off, now forced itself through. TV on, she read the welcome message on the screen before flicking the channels. As it'd been a while since she'd had any decent sleep, she rested back onto the bed. It was now a toss-up between her and her phone as to which would power through. But the bed, having won over her jet-lagged body, wasn't interested in fighting her cause.

But what's a few minutes of shut-eye, eh?