Page 8 of The Hitchhiker in Panama
Jonas calmly leaned back and drank his coffee. I leaned over to him. “What doesheksmean?”
“‘Witch.’”
When the sibling-like banter dissolved to hair pulling—on Eivind’s part—Jonas gently chided his brother.
Eivind straightened and grinned at me. “The most important point is, I am single.”
“Stop flirting with our new crew member, Eivind,” Jonas said.
Four
Eivind grinned and raised an eyebrow. I bit my lip. I opened my mouth to feed the fire, but then Jonas’s words sank in.
“Wait, I’m your new crew member? Really? Even if you don’t know me yet?”
Beside me, Jonas shrugged. “Marcella has been a crew member for two months. We accepted her after hanging out only a few times. You, you will be here for one night. We probably will not need you to do anything.”
“Oh. Well, that’s true.” Four linehandlers were required, but the position of the boat might mean only two of the linehandlers would be needed—or none. I told myself that wasn’t a bad thing. It meant I wouldn’t accidentally screw anything up and would still be able to transit the canal.
“We are lucky to have Marcella. She is overworked and underpaid,” Jonas said.
Marcella smiled at his teasing. “These boys would have starved without me.”
“I can cook!” Eivind protested.
“No.” Marcella slashed her hand in the air and laughed. “When I first came aboard, you had cans of Spam. When I threw them out, Elayna cried from relief.”
I wrinkled my nose. “What did you make with Spam?”
Eivind leaned forward. “I have this great recipe called—”
Marcella cut him off. “Spamaroni. Eivind, darling, it was Spam and cheese and pasta. Where are the vegetables?”
“But it was so tasty!”
“See, Lila, this is why this boat needs me. Without me, they will arrive in Polynesia with scurvy.”
I laughed and Eivind rolled his eyes. “Lila, I will make my Spamaroni for you. It will be the best dish you have ever put in your mouth. You will fall in love with me and declare my cooking much better than—oof!” Marcella jabbed Eivind with her elbow.
“I am sure the Spamaroni is tasty,” I assured Eivind. “But I think I’m with Marcella on the vegetables. It’ll take a little more greens to make me fall in love with you.”
“Noted.” Eivind winked again, and my stomach flipped.
“What did you do before joiningEik,then?” I asked Marcella. “You were a chef?”
“We met in Antigua, where I worked on a private yacht as a chef. I am from Italy, and the owners liked my cooking style, my dishes from Campania, where I grew up.” She shrugged modestly.
“Sounds like a dream job. Why did you leave that boat?”
“It sounds glamorous, yes, but in reality, the owners were rarely there. Most of the time we catered to charter clients. But on that yacht, we didn’t have many bookings, and I was only cooking for the crew. It was frustrating. When I left the restaurant industry, I envisioned quiet evenings making meals for the owners or for their small dinner parties while exploring the islands.” She shook her head sadly. “Toward the end, I didn’t feel like my food was appreciated.”
“We appreciate your food,” Eivind said.
“Yes, but you will eat anything I put in front of you.” She poked his stomach. “Your belly and I get along quite well. Plus,” she continued, turning back to me, “the big benefit was supposed to be traveling around the islands. We never left Antigua!”
“My stomach will like you just fine too,” I said.
“Don’t get your hopes up too much,” Jonas said. “Our budget is not even close to what Marcella worked with before.”
