Page 14 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seb placing a hand on Roy’s shoulder. I could just barely hear him over the hiss of my pot. “It’s fine, Roy.”
Gio ducked his head in from the crew lounge and spotted Roy and Seb. “Guys, time to go.”
Roy raised his voice. “See you tomorrow, Marce.”
“Have fun, boys,” I called out over my shoulder. I scooped out the last mussel and looked back. Seb caught my eye and held it, just for a moment, as he rounded the corner.
* * *
The next morning,I was up before Roy, who was moving a little slower after his night out. I sat in the corner of the crew lounge, working on next week’s provisioning order, when Roy came in to get started on breakfast. I was about to shout out a good morning when the door opened again and someone else came in.
“Sorry, man,” Roy said.
“You apologize every morning, but I’m used to getting up with you now. It’s good for me.” Seb’s voice still carried the gentle timbre of sleep. I couldn’t see them, nor could they see me, since I was tucked into the corner of the booth.
I thought about saying something. I really did, but they started chatting before I could.
“Crazy night last night, eh, mate?”
Seb grunted.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go home with one of those birds.”
Birds?I hated the way Roy said it, slyly, like he was in on something. Of course two single guys would meet people last night. Maybe they even hooked up. Locals, single travelers...who were these birds?
After a moment’s hesitation, Seb said, “They weren’t my type.”
Another pause.
“Shit, you make piss-poor coffee, man.”
“I know, I know. But with all this British crew, you’re the only coffee addict. You could go wake Marcella up and ask her to make that orgasm-inducing coffee for you.”
“No, thanks.” The words were sharp and bitter. When I first met Seb, he was the only one onOdysseydrinking espresso. One morning, I’d whipped him up an Italian coffee withcremina,sugar whipped with the first few drops of espresso from a moka pot. Seb had teared up in pleasure.
“Marcella’s pretty,” Roy said, and Seb snorted. The sound pierced my heart and made my hands clench in anger.
“For a woman . . . if you’re into that,” Roy continued.
“Marcella’s not pretty,” Seb stated. “She’s gorgeous. And she makes better coffee than you.” I heard him take a sip, and the quiet hung in the air. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Is there something you want to tell me about Marcella?” Roy probed.
Seb was silent. In the absence of their conversation, I could hear the snick of a blade cutting through something soft and moist; Roy was doing prep work.
Roy continued into Seb’s silence. “Or can I just assume that one night you won’t come back to our cabin, and I’ll know where to find you if I need to?”
“It’s not like that,” Seb said. “She seems to hate me now.”
Roy hummed in understanding.
“How’s it going here, anyway?” Seb asked. “Do you like working for Marcella?”
A pang of guilt hit me. I shouldn’t be listening in on conversations about me, especially when they crossed from personal to professional. But I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt or leave. They’d both know I’d been here listening and intruding on a private conversation.
Fortunately, I was saved by a crackle on the radio. “Roy? Delivery’s here.”
“That’s the fishmonger. Come help me?”
