Page 21 of Falling Overboard

If he had been anyone else, if we had been anywhere else, I would have assumed that he was coming up with things to ask me so that we would keep talking. But in this instance I knew it was that he really didn’t remember.

“The Carmines and their friends.” I told him each individual’s name but recognized that he might struggle with it. “I think it’ll be good enough if you remember the primaries’ names, and ‘Mr. and Mrs. Carmine’ will work. My sister uses visual images to recall stuff like this. So think of a car and mine. The kind you find in the ground.”

“Like a bomb?” he asked while the Carmines greeted François.

“Yes, but a mine. Please don’t call them the Carbombs.”

“I’ll do my best but I make no promises,” he said with a wink and my knees might have wobbled slightly.

Why, why, why was he so sexy?

Maybe it was the forbidden-fruit angle. I might not have been so attracted to him if I could have acted on it.

That wasn’t true. He would still be this hot even if I could have declared open season on him.

“Why are they all so wrinkled? Have they never heard of Botox?” Emilie muttered.

“Have you never heard of people being in their seventies?” I retorted and then told her to be quiet. The last thing we needed was one of our guests overhearing.

“Do you think she meant ‘boat-tox’?” Hunter asked me.

“That’s not funny.”

“Beg to differ.”

My mood shifted from vexed with Emilie to wanting to laugh. I’d only known him for a short time but he made my soul feel lighter.

This was concerning.

Then the Carmines were introducing themselves to Hunter, and Mrs. Carmine said, “Aren’t you a handsome one! I suppose you could rescue us if we sink.”

He really did have that I’ll-save-your-life vibe going on. It was probably the muscles.

“Absolutely,” he agreed, shaking her hand. “I hope your husband won’t mind, but I’ll be sure to rescue you first.”

Mrs. Carmine’s cheeks turned faintly pink and it reminded me that I didn’t know Hunter very well. A part of me had hoped that I was the only one he was saying possibly flirtatious things to but it turned out not to be true.

Nellie Fitzgerald, standing behind Mrs. Carmine, asked in an anxious voice, “Does that happen often? Yachts sinking?”

“It’s usually just the once,” Hunter quipped, and Mrs. Fitzgerald’s eyebrows shot up her forehead.

“He’s kidding!” I reassured her. “He’s such a jokester.” As if he and I were old colleagues who had done a thousand charters together. “I’m Lucky and I’m the chief stew. I will take you on a tour of the boat and the deckhands will bring your luggage on board for you.”

Then I would have to send Georgia and Emilie to unpack those suitcases and get the guests’ clothing put away, pressing and cleaning whatever needed to be taken care of. The Carmines and their friends would be with us for a week, and we would give them the highest level of service possible.

After I’d shown them the entire ship, I offered to take them back to the sundeck and get them some cocktails while they watched theMio Tesoropull away from the dock. The captain and the exterior crew got underway and headed toward the ocean. Our trip would end at Saint-Tropez with lots of stops along the way.

When I got into the main salon, I noticed that Emilie hadn’t done the pillows the way I’d asked her to. I stopped to fluff the throw pillows and put them in the correct position.

“What are you doing?” Hunter asked.

I glanced up at him. He was holding two suitcases, obviously on his way to deliver them to one of the guest cabins.

“They need to be evenly fluffed and the zippers have to be face down and placed at the correct angle.”

He lowered the suitcases to the lush carpet. “And what happens if the pillows aren’t done that way?”

That had me pausing for a second. “Nothing happens. This is just how things are done.” It was how Marika had taught me, how her chief stew had most likely taught her, and so on.

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