What Happens on the Cruise… (Sync & Andi)

Sync

Sync

Corporate Drone
Supporter
Joined
Dec 29, 2011
Location
Australia
Day Three of my Caribbean Cruise. Woke up this morning and had to remind myself – again – where the actual fuck I am. I’m in cabin 12614, deck 12 of the Allure of the Ocean. Ocean View room with a balcony looking out. Got the two beds converted to a Royal King. It’s only me here for the next three weeks, so I’ll be damned if I’m going to slum it by sleeping in a measly twin bed. Thanks to the boss I’m here instead of working, but he’s kicked in for this vacation, so I’m stuck here. Walked around the ship a bit yesterday, once I’d gotten my head about it. I’ll give it this much – these Oasis-class cruise ships are fucking huge. Plenty to do, including nothing. You bastard, Jason – how the fuck am I supposed to manage for three weeks in a cruise ship when you’ve locked up my logins?

Yeah…that’s the sort of shit I’d write in my Diary if I actually kept one.

Brett McAlister wasn’t normally grumpy and annoyed, but he had reason to be – or so he’d tell anyone who’d bothered to listen…which, admittedly, wasn’t a large number of people. This day – Friday; he’d boarded the cruise liner in Miami on the Wednesday – was technically the last day of his first week off work. He wasn’t happy about it, but his boss, Jason Grant, had told him two weeks ago that he, Brett, was going to be taking time off work even if he had to be forced. At the time, Brett hadn’t given much thought to it and replied with what largely amounted to lip-service, but the next week Brett discovered that his holidays were approved by HR, and the IT team were preparing to close his access for the six weeks that had been approved.

Brett worked for a small-ish, but very successful, architectural firm called “KDR Designs” – Jason was the business owner, and the firm had about thirty staff all up. After high school, Brett had gone on to university to study architecture and designs, and graduated top of his class. He’d done his internship, gotten good reviews and references, and his work soon had him in high demand in the industry. He was not quite a perfectionist and was quite happy putting in extra hours to make sure his clients got exactly what they were after, or the best alternative if their wants were not attainable. He also happily worked ten-hour, sometimes twelve-hour days, and was not averse to working six-day weeks, and sometimes on Sundays as well.

He didn’t mind his self-imposed workload. He had no family of his own. He was single, as good a bachelor if there ever was one, and well-off financially for his work and single life. He had a spacious apartment in Fort Lauderdale, worked in Miramar, proudly drove his silver Porsche 918 Spyder to and from work. He dated occasionally, but nothing came of it – he was often guilty of putting work first, and the girls he dated didn’t like it; he understood that, but he wasn’t going to change who he was. The only family he had were his ageing parents, his older brother, and his younger sister – but he only really saw them at important family events, such as birthdays, Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

He was an attractive man, too. At forty-three years of age, he stood a respectable 5-feet-eleven tall, was slim to the point of being wiry, had expressive brown eyes over a strong nose, had medium-brown hair that was starting to grey a little, and wore thin glasses for reading. His thin frame was largely due to diet than exercise – he often ate light and sparsely, although his nutritional intake was good, and he wasn’t much of an alcohol drinker. His exercise consisted mainly of walks around the neighbourhood. He tended to dress well enough – given he spent most of his time working, he didn’t have a lot in the way of casual clothes, and most of his wardrobe was smart casual or semi-professional. He had his mobile phone with him, but it was largely useless given work email wasn’t coming through to him. He had his laptop, but it was largely for web browsing and not actual work. A few books and subscription magazines accompanied him for this trip as well; odds were pretty good they’d get read during the cruise.

The cruise had been Jason’s idea. After the bombshell that Brett was going to be taking six weeks off work come hell or high water, Jason had suggested the cruise to really get away from it all. Jason was worried that Brett was going to burn out, and it wasn’t going to be pretty if it happened. Jason had wanted to head off that possibility, so had told Brett to book a long cruise, and Jason would kick in a quarter of the cost. That had pretty much decided it. After a few days of surfing, Brett had decided on the Caribbean cruise. Expensive, but long enough that even Brett knew would make for a good break. He made the booking, paid for it all with Jason’s contribution, worked out luggage and stuff…eventually travelled with a couple of suitcases and a shoulder-bag. Brett knew the liner was large, but nothing had prepared him for actually boarding it: it was like a fucking small city – well, not really, but it felt like it. He found his cabin, unpacked, settled, got the room set up how he wanted it…but the fact that this ship was his home for the next three weeks still didn’t fully hit him until the ship set sail. He spent the first day moping in his cabin, only venturing out for dinner. At least meals on the ship, plus activities and facilities, were covered in his ticket; entertainment and shops were out of his own pocket. He could live with that…as if he now had a choice.

Thursday he was a bit more adventurous – he left his room, walked around the ship, explored a little. He had no-one with him, so didn’t have to work to anyone’s timetable but his own. Families were everywhere, some older, some younger; couples on a “romantic getaway” could be seen as well, and elderly couples probably on their bucket list. It didn’t matter much to Brett; so long as he got to be left in peace, others could do what they liked for the next three weeks.

That brought him to today – Friday. Mid-morning. Breakfast was done. Maybe he’d check out the rear of the ship, see what activities were on offer there. If nothing, he could go up, see the sun desk, have a drink by the pool…at least the annoyance had largely faded, to be replaced more by a “now what?” feeling. He sighed softly, got up from the breakfast table at the Park Café on Deck Eight (he was sure as hell in no hurry), thanked the service staff for their attention, and headed out to the Central Park walk. He headed towards the rear elevators…the Pool Bar was on Deck Fourteen. This was a good a time as any to check it out.
 
Day Three. Is it just day 3? Feels more like 10. The first day or so was fine. It was more than fine. It was everything I hoped it would be. Partying, drinking, drinking, dancing, meeting new people. It was everything that I wanted. Well, it was everything I thought I wanted. Now I find myself trying to sneak away from them just so I can hear myself think. I literally contemplated trying to sleep by the pool because they're so loud when they come into the room, and the volume doesn't go down at all once they enter either. Consideration for others is clearly impeded when alcohol is involved. Of course, I should have known it would be like this. Staterooms are beyond crowded and tiny. I'm not complaining mind you. It's just that it's hard not to rub people the wrong way when you literally have no room. With two of us in the bed and two of us on the pull-out sofa, we're cramped in here. Truth be told, it's all the room we need really. Our parents did the best they could booking us this cruise to celebrate the end of an era, yes the end of high school. I can't help but sigh as I write that. It was an incredible time in my life, a very life-forming time, and now it's over. People have been telling me that one day I'll look back on my time in high school and wish I could back. I am already there.

Closing the cover to her pink diary, Sam tucked the book back underneath her pillow. She knew her rowdy roommates would soon be piling in from their excursions last night about the ship. It was the perfect time to take a shower and head out. That way they could sleep, and she could explore a bit more besides the places she had already seen. Truth be told, she had no idea how enormous the ship actually was until she was onboard. Deck 11 didn't register the sheer gravity of the size
when her parents had gotten together with the others to book this trip for them. The ship was its own world afloat, and she intended to see every bit of it. showering wasn't easy by any means. Large showers onboard were meant simply for the more luxurious suites. She envied the thought of those staying in those rooms having more room to enjoy a hot shower. 'College graduation,' she thought. 'When I graduate college, I will book a luxury suite and see how they cruise.' The thought drew a giggle before she plunged her head beneath the water to wash away the soap and the peaceful night she had just enjoyed.

Dressing, she was leaving just as her roommates returned. They were completely trashed, but she expected nothing less. The times they had gone out on the weekends before they enjoyed drinking far too much. Oh, she was one to have a drink as well, but Sam knew her limits. They urged to come back inside, to talk to them, to sing to them, to tell them a story to help them go to sleep. She simply shook her head no and bid them goodnight. 'Tell them a story,' she thought, shaking her head. 'Indeed they are drunk. They'll laugh about this when I tell them at dinner....if I see them at dinner. They won't remember it.' That was something she never understood about going past your limits with drinking. Why drink to the point where you don't remember the fun you had? Isn't the point of having fun to remember it? Perhaps her mind was far too analyitical in that regard.

She sighed as she stepped up towards the deck where the pool lay. People were starting to filter in for the day. Towels were laid upon chairs, saving them for a guest that was never too far away. Her eyes scanned the rows of chairs, looking for one close to the water, close to the railing perhaps, but certainly one far away from any loud people. She knew people were here to enjoy themselves, but she was included in that group as well. As so why shouldn't she have her peace and quiet? She found a chair that was inviting enough. Sitting her bag on the decking, she withdrew her large, plush towel and proceed to place it exactly how she wanted to. Satisfied with her work, she took her seat. Taking in a deep breath, she reveled in the warmth from the sun. The people were nothing more than a soft, white noise in the background. 'Perfect,' she thought as her eyes slowly closed. The sounds of the boat, the people, both disappeared into a blur as the moment became relaxing. She nestled further into the towel, keeping her eyes closed. This was the trip she wanted. This was her reward for all the hard work she had put in to get to this moment. "Perfect," she whispered as she opened her eyes slowly, staring upward to a cloudless sky. "They have no idea what they're missing. This..is..the life." Her hand lazily fumbled with the bag until she felt the hardcover of the book she had placed inside. Withdrawing, her fingers traced the bookmark as she opened it to the page she had left the characters and their world, in which she was about to become emerged in. A smile spread across her lips as she sank into a world unknown.
 
The elevator stopped on Deck Twelve first, allowing Brett to get out and head to his room. He had magazines and books there that could make for passable company and/or entertainment while he was stuck on this ship. He had to remind himself that he had agreed to the cruise, even though actually taking a holiday hadn’t been his idea. Sure, the ship would stop off at a few ports over the next three weeks to let passengers off and on, pick up fresh supplies, top up fuel, and stuff like that, but for the most part, he – other than maybe getting off and wandering the streets of other towns when they docked – wasn’t getting off the boat until it returned to Miami. Besides…he had to concede that the chance of him actually appreciating the cruise by its end was not zero.

He grabbed a couple of architectural magazines, tucked his sunglasses into the V of his shirt, stuffed his sunscreen into one of the pockets of his shorts, threw a large and soft towel over his shoulder, then stepped out of his room, narrowly avoiding being mowed down by a couple of kids who were running along the corridor. A choice comment or two flashed into his mind, but he decided against letting them leave his lips. Instead, he shook his head, sighed with a hint of annoyance, and headed back towards the rear elevators. A few minutes later, and he was on the Pool Deck, near what the signs marked as the Sports Pool. He’d got it wrong, too – Deck Fifteen was the Pool Deck, not Fourteen. Oh, well. And he was not at all surprised to discover that the deck was filling quickly. At least others appreciated the value of relaxing and being left alone.

His eyes scanned the deck, trying to find a place he could sit and read. Grab a deck chair first…then grab a drink. Maybe the two events didn’t need to be tightly packed together, either. He made his way through the loosely-spaced tables and chairs until he found a chair in the sun that wasn’t occupied. There was a small table next to it, and a young girl on the other side of the table, reading a book, minding her own business, and apparently content to keep it that way. She was pretty enough, he supposed, but he wasn’t here to get laid; he was on the boat because his options were limited, and when your boss chips in a quarter of the price tag, you take it.

His shadow fell over the girl briefly as he manoeuvred to the empty deckchair and placed his magazines on the table; then he flicked his towel over the chair and smoothed the towel down, put his tube of sunscreen on the table, then all-but rolled heavily into the chair. He heard himself groan softly as the chair took his weight, leaving himself with nothing to do but lie down. He flicked a glance over to the girl, made a half-arsed attempt to nod a greeting at her – if she was even looking – then he pulled one of his magazines off the table and opened the front cover. If he was going to be here not working, he’d spend the time keeping up on the latest news instead.
 
Shadows cast, and no one bats an eye. This shadow cast, and for some unexplained reason, she looked up. A man. He wasn't the average man she had encountered on this ship. Most were one of two types. Type one was with his family. He was the dad, doing dad things, with a dad's wife. He dressed like a dad, talked like a dad, and even treated his interactions with her like a dad. Yes, there no escaping the dad side of their personality for them. Type two was the wild party boys. The word boys was not used loosely to describe these creatures. This particular species seemed to be nocturnal, opting to spend their nights hopping from one party scene to the next, until they ultimately ended up in the nest of sorts from the female species. Yes, the party boys were not the ones that she chose to spend her time around. This man was clearly different. Magazines and they didn't appear to have a half-naked woman on the cover or the newest stars from a kid's tv show. Different indeed. A tube of sunscreen. Okay, so there was some dad-like behavior from him. Then again, perhaps he is just conscious of taking care of his body. Nothing wrong with that. In fact, he did appear to be in good shape. Even as she watched him roll into his chair, groaning as he went, she couldn't help but notice his body. A smile played on her lips as she stifled a laugh. Had the unfortunate circumstances arisen that the chair broke, she would not have been able to control her laughter. He nodded, and she returned the nod. Her eyes didn't rest on his long. She didn't want him to think her gaze was lingering. The fact was, it was, but still, that was not something she wanted to blatantly obvious to him. Her eyes fell on the magazines. Architectural. Again, different. Different indeed. Perhaps he was some well-known architect, who made millions, designing homes for the rich and famous. Perhaps he designed malls and skyscrapers that reached high towards the sky. He probably wore a business suit to work and carried a briefcase. Chances are he drives a sportscar. Red. Convertible. He looks like a man that would enjoy the top-down driving through the city, loving the lingering stares from scantily clad women. He probably went to nightclubs with a beautiful woman on his arm, a different one every weekend perhaps. His shoes were probably so shiny you could see your reflection in them. They were the sort that made a soft clicking sound as he walked down hallways of important business or as he made his way to his office. Button-up shirts, cufflinks, even a tuxedo were all part of his wardrobe. A big house, a swimming pool was a given. She glanced over to him once more, this mental picture of what his life must be like painted and defined in her mind.

"May I ask you a question, if you don't mind," she asked, breaking the silence that had only been punctuated by the sounds of the ship. "I don't mean to bother you, but do you by any chance having a swimming pool at your home?" She blushed deeply, immediately embarrassed by her own question. "I'm sorry. REally. It's just that, your magazines," she gestured. "You're an architect? That's so fascinating. I imagine your home, among other things, and I can't help but wonder if you have a swimming pool. I know it's silly. You know what? Nevermind. I'm sorry I bothered you. Forgive me. You probably want rest as much as I do. Forgive me please." She shook her head slightly, her face still burning red, before looking up to the sky and closing her eyes, wishing she could just disappear and feeling terrible for having disturbed him.
 
Brett didn’t even know that his table “companion” had even noticed his presence until she spoke…and it took him a few seconds to realise that she was addressing him. Kind-of. It took him a few seconds longer to lift his head from his magazine, mainly because it provided some sort of solitude; if not solitude, then a sort-of barrier between himself and idiots who couldn’t appreciate the fact that he wanted to be…ah, who was he kidding. Only five minutes ago he’d been thinking that others on the deck appeared to understand the value of being left alone, and this girl with her book had looked to be one of those…clearly not.

His first instinct was to snap off some dark reply, but he held that back with a slow intake of breath, which he let out equally slowly…by the time he’d finished releasing the breath, she’d finished speaking. That was a small mercy, at least. He lowered his magazine to his lap and swivelled his head to look at her. She was looking up, her eyes closed, and her cheeks…were they flushed? No, it had been her that had been addressing him, and while he’d rather she hadn’t, he wasn’t about to be rude to her; not when the chances were at least reasonable that they’d run into each other again during the cruise.

He sighed softly. “No…no pool,” he replied curtly. “My home is an apartment – large and well-furnished, but no pool. The building has one, but not me.” He sucked in a quick breath through his nose and snorted it out. “And thank you for recognising that I just want to be left alone.” That last came out with a bit more heat and intensity than he might have intended, and he snapped his magazine up with every intention of leaving the conversation, such as it was, right there.

Except some part of him wouldn’t leave it at that. For several seconds he sat in silence, looking at the page without reading it. That hadn’t been terribly nice, and he knew it. As the anger and frustration rapidly faded from him, he lowered the magazine gradually and sighed again, this time slowly and heavily.

“Sorry…that was unfair of me,” he offered apologetically, his voice quieter and a little deeper. “I didn’t need to slam you for an innocent query. I’m…annoyed, yes, but not with you, or with anything you’ve said or done. So…my apologies for snapping at you.” He didn’t realise until he’d finished speaking that his head had kind-of mirrored hers: eyes closed, looking up to the sky, cheeks slightly flushed. He opened his eyes, at least, enough so that he could see her movements without appearing to be looking at her…peripheral vision was handy at times.
 
It was clear he wasn't too happy with her interrupting what he had planned on being a quiet retreat. Personally, she couldn't blame him. As he spoke, she realized it was rather rude of her to intrude as it was. Still, the words had left her mouth. It was too late to take them back. She wanted to let him know she wouldn't bother him anymore, but that literally seemed to be an oxymoron, pointless. So she listened to his words, almost able to feel his tone burning into her shoulder. Though her eyes were still closed, she could envision the look that had to be on his face, blazing angrily. 'Very well,' she thought. 'I get it.' The sound of the magazine rustling as his reaction was about to become clear replayed in her mind. She imagined him nearly snarling at her, a look of disgust on his face. 'Fine,' she thought. Maybe he rolled his eyes as well. Now his nose was probably buried in his magazine once again, as he tried to seclude himself from the rest of the world. 'I get it,' she thought. The sun seemed to warm her face even more so. Perhaps it was her own anger burning a bit. Even if it was, no matter. She wouldn't express it. He was entitled to his own reaction. 'We all are,' she thought. 'I get it.' No pool. Still, he had made a point of mentioning it was a large apartment that was well-furnished. 'Show off. Maybe that's what's wrong. He's some kind of uptight, rich ass. Yeah. That's the word to describe him. Ass. He's an ass. An arrogant ass. A smart ass. A mean ass. A rude ass. Just an ass all around.' The thoughts brought a slight smile to her lips. 'Yeah. He's an ass, and what do you with an ass? You wipe them.' She swallowed the laugh down. Laughing might antagonize him. She certainly didn't want to do that. After all, it was clear he only wanted to be left alone.

Just as she had resolved to that, he spoke again, surprising her. She listened to him quietly, motionless. It was as if she were afraid moving would make him stop, and he seemed comfortable enough to speak without the angry undertones blaring through. The more he talked, the more she could understand him. She waited until he was finished. All those angry thoughts she had just a moment ago, now made her feel small. She had judged him, and it wasn't fair of her to do so. She took a deep breath and sighed. Keeping her eyes closed and her face pointed upwards she said, "I'm sorry." The words were out before she had a second thought. "You want to be left alone, and I just barged in on your alone time. I'm sorry. For the record, I do understand how that is. Roommates that do not understand life is not a constant party." She realized she was about to go off on some tangent about her own woes with this trip to a man that wanted to be left alone. Take a few seconds, she reeled back in her thoughts before they exploded from her mouth like a runaway train. "Just..I'm sorry. I won't bother you anymore. Alone time is precious. Maybe I can buy your lunch or something later to make it up to you."
 
For a moment he thought he’d gotten away with it. He’d had his say, stuffed it up, made his apology…and she was silent. With any luck she’d accept the apology wordlessly and leave him be. Then they’d be able to bump into each other without any tension, there’d be no need to try and avoid her – which would be tricky, even on a boat this size – they’d be able to be at the same table at the pool if it transpired that way…

But, again, luck deserted him. She spoke…and was apologising to him? What the hell for? Couldn’t she just shut up and leave him in peace? Was that asking too much? Thanks a-fucking lot, God. But there was more – she found herself in a similar predicament to him, if she was being truthful – she wanted peace, but wasn’t getting it. Her roommates were partying types, he heard from her mouth. That probably meant that she was wanting to relax and sleep when her friends were out partying, and that her friends were likely sleeping right now and wasting the day. To each their own, he knew. And if she understood that alone time was precious, why the hell was she intent on ruining his? Still…

“No,” he blurted out, perhaps a little too hastily, as his head turned so he could actually look at her properly for the first time since he’d flopped onto the lounge. She was pretty, he realised – young, firm, and pretty. Young enough that she could almost be the daughter he’d never had. “I mean…you don’t need to buy me anything. Have lunch with you, or a coffee, or something, sure, but you’re not paying for me.” He was probably better-off than her, anyway, and he didn’t particularly want to feel indebted to her in any way – but both of those thoughts remained in his head. “If anything…” He paused, then sighed softly, his shoulders sagging slightly at the same time, as if in defeat.

“Hi,” he began after a few seconds of silence. “My name’s Brett, and by way of apology for my earlier rudeness, can I get you a drink from the bar?” For the moment, at least, he felt he was being kind-of genuine.
 
No. The word came fast and harsh. Whether he intended for it to be that way or not, it certainly came across that way. His refusal to allow her to pay actually made her feel as though he perceived himself as being better than her, at first. Then she began to wonder if it was simply because she was younger than he was. Either way, the vibe was coming across clear as glass that he wasn't interested in spending any time around her, nor did he care to chat. She realized she was becoming too annoying party friends she was bunking with.

Just when she coming to terms with those thoughts and the silence, he continued. Brett. He wasn't a complete jerk who placed himself on a pedestal above her. He was reaching back. She smiled before giggling softly. "You don't have to do that. I know I've annoyed you enough, and believe me I know how important quiet time is." She didn't want to be harsh with him. His reaction had left an impression on her that let her know how that felt. "She took a deep breath. Sam. I'm here as a graduation gift. See the world. Spread your wings. Spend time with friends before going away for college. I just didn't realize how much flying my friends would do once they were out of the nest. Guess I'm just an adult at heart," she teased. The sounds on deck were slowly starting to come alive. More and more people were starting to filter from their staterooms to enjoy the beauty of the day and the ship. She could almost sense him starting to relax. Good. Everyone on board deserved to be able to do that, to enjoy the ship at their own leisure. Still, she couldn't help it. Words just kept coming to mind, and before she knew, her mouth spewed them. "A drink huh? I'm underage, but this is international waters. I could have one. What do you suggest?"
 
“Well…” he started, then stopped, thought the better of what he might have said, changed tack. “Okay, so…you’re underage.” She hadn’t needed to tell him that, really, but it was said. “I’m going to guess you’re not a heavy alcohol drinker, so I might suggest something light while you’re getting used to it. And…I wasn’t going to suggest anything alcoholic at this time of day, anyway.” He smiled faintly. “I’m not big on alcohol myself, just so’s you know.” He closed is magazine and set it on the table between them, then pushed himself out of the lounge. “You…stay there. I’ll get us a drink each and be back soon.”

Brett was half-way to the bar when it occurred to him that he had no idea what she even liked in a drink, soft or otherwise. He could be about to make a huge mistake – was quite likely to do so, in fact. Social graces had never been his strong suit. The bar was relatively empty when he got there, but he guessed it wouldn’t be long before people started arriving for drinks and snacks like he was now. He picked up a drinks menu and scanned it…and his eyes lit up when he spied something he hadn’t seen for ages. A kid’s drink, sure, but still…

“Can I help you, sir?” A young woman asked him. A quick glance at her uniform and nametag told Brett he was speaking with Alisa, who was a well-presented, slim, dark-skinned girl of maybe twenty years, her shoulder-length black hair tied back neatly in a pony-tail.

“Yes, Alisa,” Brett replied graciously. “Two lemonade spiders, please. One lime, one raspberry. Charge to room twelve-six-fourteen.”

“Yes, sir,” Alisa replied politely as she rang up the order. “Will you be waiting for them or did you want them brought to you?”

“I’ll wait, thanks.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll be a couple of minutes.” Brett had little else to do, really, but watch the girl as she made the drinks up – two tall milkshake glasses, one with raspberry syrup, one with lime syrup, a large scoop of vanilla ice-cream in each, fill with plain lemonade…and watch the carbonated liquid slowly turn the ice-cream into a thick froth. A straw and spoon was put in each glass, and the glasses were placed on the counter in front of him.

“There you go, sir,” the girl informed in, as if it wasn’t obvious enough already.

“Thank you, Alisa.”

“My pleasure,” the girl told him, waiting just long enough to be polite before turning to attend to her next customer. Brett took the glasses carefully and slowly made his way back to the table…and hoping like hell that Sam – she’d told him that was her name, right? – liked old-fashioned spiders like he did.

“Right, here we are,” he declared, placing the raspberry drink on the table next to her, then setting the lime drink near his chair before he sank back into it. “And now I’m hoping like hell you actually like it, given I didn’t think to even ask before I got up.” He sighed as he let the chair take his weight once more. “So…graduated with what ideas in mind?” It was pretty obvious she’d graduated from high school, but what were her plans …?
 
She wanted to tell him no, that she was sorry for bothering him in the first place, and that he should go back to relaxing, but before she could, he was out of his lounge and heading towards the bar. She smiled faintly watching him as he was clearly ordering. This man, this kind man, was ordering a drink for her despite the fact that she had clearly interrupted his day, his alone time. Sam knew better than anyone how important that was, and here she was, taking it away from him, being as rude as her own roommates were. Certainly, after this, she would have to leave him be to get the peace and quiet he deserved.

The breeze picked up, cooling her skin slightly and drawing a sigh from her. It felt wonderful. Every so often, she wagered a glance in his direction to see how things were going. Her eyes lit up as she realized what he had ordered. She had not had one in such a long time. When her entire family got together, something that had not happened in a long time, this was a treat they gave the younger ones. She remembered slurping them, tasting whatever fruity flavor she ended up with. Just seeing it brought back memories of backyard barbeques. The smell of the grill, all the chatter, sitting at a picnic table, all of her cousins around, running through the grass that was on the verge of needing to be cut, jumping into the pool, and being totally exhausted by the end of the day. They were all happy memories, and this stranger had unknowingly brought them back to her.

"Oh I do," she told him, picking up the glass, not wasting any time. The memories grew stronger the second the taste hit her tongue. "Oh my gosh. You have no idea how good this is. I haven't had one of these in ages," she told him between gulps. Not wanting a brain freeze, she set the glass down on the table between them at his question. "Well," she began, "my family wanted me to go into the family business, but that's not what I want. My parents own this small hardware store. They do well. We do well, but it's not what I want. On the weekends I help out, and I can cook the books for them, but it's not what I want. I like numbers. Doing the math for them is fun, it's relaxing. I have applied to a pretty good college, and I was accepted. My parents aren't happy about it all though." She sighed, knowing that could not have made any sense, and it had to sound strange. "The school is out of state, and they're not happy that I'm going to school so far away. You see, that's part of the attraction of this school though. I want to get away from family, be on my own, make my own way. I love my family, but it's time. So I will be taking classes to help me with software development. There are jobs to be had in that field, and I'm going to get mine. My small town I live in is out in left field when it comes to this sort of stuff. We're lucky to have internet there. I want more. So I'm going for it. They'll understand someday. I hope," she finished, picking up the glass and having another taste. "So what about you? What's your story," she asked, pulling the glass away and giving him a faint smile before diving back into the cool goodness he had given her.
 
At least the drink was appreciated…and with memories, too, apparently. Hearing her express her enjoyment of his selected beverage for her brought a small smile to Brett’s lips, although he kept it hidden from her – or at least he thought he did. Then he thought he might relax into a bit of silence as she gave him the short, executive summary of her schooling…except she didn’t. She gave him the short version of her life story. What the fuck for? Okay, sure, he’d asked the question to be polite, really, but was there any need for her to take him up on it, especially when she knew he just wanted to be left alone? He kept his expression neutral as he slowly sucked on his drink while she talked.

Then she asked about him. Oh, god. He took another sip from his drink, then sighed softly as he set his glass on the table.

“My story…?” he repeated slowly. He pursed his lips for a second, trying to work out how little he could tell without seeming to be rude. “Pretty straight, really. Finished high school with a good head for numbers and design, and straight into university. I knew what I wanted from the outset. Studied hard, worked hard, graduated with a raft of honours and distinctions, top of my class. Got snapped up pretty quickly by a small architect firm, worked there for a few years before moving to where I am now. Been working there for…what, fifteen years or so, now…? Something like that. Been good, overall.” He paused to take another sip from his drink.

“This cruise, though…? Not my idea. Well, the cruise itself is my idea, but the vacation is not. So many things I could be doing – accounts to design for, buildings to draw up, specs to review – but my boss wants me here, on holiday. He’s worried I’m going to burn out.” He snorted softly. “Not fucking likely. I get the rest I need.” Brett stopped again, then wondered just why he’d told her that. She didn’t need to know that he was on holiday virtually against his will, although it might help her understand his grumpiness. He sighed again.

“Chase your dream, is my advice,” he offered finally. “No point doing something if it’s not fulfilling you. You sound you know what you want. Go for it, I say.”
 
Chase your dream, is my advice. No point doing something if it’s not fulfilling you.”

That was probably the best advice she had ever been given. She sat there, the straw still between her lips, literally zoned out replaying those words over and over in her mind. He seemed to have it so together. Here she was, on the precipice of her life starting, her future laid out, and she scared to death on the inside to take a step forward. There was no guarantee the ground wouldn't collapse under her feet and she would fall flat on her face. There were no guarantees of anything really. That scared her, but this man had already walked on that same uncertain, shaky ground. She had to admit she envied him for that. People always thought the grass was greener on the other side. Perhaps he felt that way about her. Maybe he envied the fact she still had her life, full of choices and the thrill of being 'picked up' by an employer before her. It sounded so silly once she thought about it. Why would he envy that. He was were he wanted to be. Well, not literally. Clearly he didn't want to be on this cruise. At least now she understood why he seemed extra cranky. Of course her constant bothering someone who only wanted peace and quiet could have a lot more to do with that than being on this cruise.

She shook her head slightly, shaking herself from the depths of her thoughts. "Thanks for the drink," she told him, holding it up as if she were saying cheers. Before placing it on the table next to her, she took one more sip. Settling into the creaking lounge, she was left with her thoughts that she knew were going to eat her alive. This cruise was suppose to be about relaxing and celebrating. Right now she felt less like doing either one. She wished her room was empty so that she could rush to it and try to begin planning her new life. There was so much to get set up. She was going to a new college. There was so much to prepare for with just that. Her mind raced as her eyes darted about. Somehow resting here in this lounge, looking up at the clouds was not the relaxing retreat she wanted or needed.
 
Yeah, she was thanking him for the drink, but there was something else. Instinct, perhaps, told him that. He had no idea what it was, but there was something else in the way she’d offered her thanks…she was holding back. Or holding on. Or something like that. In truth, he didn’t really care. Well…maybe he did, just a little. She was young enough to be his daughter, for fuck’s sake. She’d just finished high school, seemed like she had a level head on her shoulders, and…what? Did she really know what she wanted from life? He knew that to be a lie for most people. Brett knew he’d been lucky that way, but most people weren’t that lucky. He picked up his magazine, opened it, stared at it for a few seconds without seeing it.

Then he took a slow breath and spoke to her again without lowering the magazine.

“If you’re open for pearls of wisdom – such as they are – then here’s another one for you,” he offered quietly. “Don’t rush into the next stage. You’ve just finished twelve, thirteen years of school. Take a break and regroup. Live a little before you dive into tying yourself down for the rest of your life. Experience a bit of the real world before you go to university.” Was he talking to her, or addressing a deep, dark regret of his own? He didn’t know. He forged on.

“You can start by making good on that lunch date you offered, even though I’m paying.”
 
She laughed, not scoffing really, but more of an amused laugh. He was still insisting on paying for dinner. She began to think about what he had said, his pearls of wisdom. So much time and effort had been poured into her academic career, and while it wasn't over by any means, she was in the midst of a break from it. Sure she could forge onward, blazing her path in this world, accomplishing all her goals until she was finally met with precious time to reflect and enjoy her life. Then again, she could do as he mentioned. She did have the rest of her life to make her mark on this world, to finish out her academic studies, and claim the life she wanted. There was no real rush, no urgency. The only clock she was racing was the one she had set, and all clocks came with this incredible invention, this wonderful, little button.

"Snooze," she said, a smile spreading across her face. "I can hit the snooze button." She turned her gaze towards him. "You're absolutely right. I can hit the snooze button and not rush into the next phase of my life. University will be there. Life will be there, but what good is all that if I don't take some time to enjoy it? Roses are beautiful, but you have to smell them once in a while in order to properly appreciate them." She wanted so much to see a hint of a smile on his face, something that let her know she wasn't completely bothering him, but just as she wished for such a sign, a thought crept into her mind. "But what about you? You don't have to rush back to work, back to the daily grind, back to a life that sent you here for a vacation that it thought you needed. Perhaps you need to stop and smell the roses too. A man with such pearls of wisdom certainly should know that and be able to recognize when it's time to do so." She hoped she wasn't being too forward, too cheeky, with him. "So lunch does sound good, and I know, you're paying, but if you're paying, then I get to pick the place. I like the smells from that place that serves spaghetti. I can't remember exactly what deck it's on, but the smell filters to my room. So are you up for some Italian later? Is that an acceptable choice?"
 
The laugh was…interesting. And almost engaging. She was kind-of understanding what he meant, a thought supported by her words. She understood that she could take a break and not rush head-long and blind into the rest of her life. And he’d be damned if she didn’t turn around and stab him with his own words. She wasn’t being malicious with it, he knew that from the tone of her voice, but it still stung a little. She’d hurt him…and he couldn’t be mad at her for it. Well, he could be, he supposed, could snap at her for her observation, but that wouldn’t be fair. Instead he took a mouthful from his glass, enjoyed the flavours of soft drink and ice cream sliding down his throat.

“Italian for lunch sounds just fine,” he agreed quietly, once the ice ream had finished chilling his throat. “It’s probably not all they have on the menu, of course, but I can do Italian with you. I prefer to do a heavier lunch and a lighter dinner anyway. I also tend to put a little gym-time after lunch to help it settle, burn a bit of it off.” He snorted softly. “Might be tricky getting that in here, though. Gym’s not that big, I think. Haven’t checked it out properly to be sure, though, so It’s entirely possible I could be wrong about that.”

He sat back in his lunge chair and fell silent for a moment, his head facing upwards so he could look at the clouds. He might have been lost in thought to an observer, but there wasn’t a lot of thought bouncing around his head…which was a minor miracle in itself. After a few seconds of quiet, he sighed loudly.

“I’m trying to decide whether to be annoyed with you or not,” he offered candidly. “You’re quite right, I don’t take my own advice to slow down occasionally. And that’s put me where I am right now. But…that’s how I like to live – always on the go.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and deliberately. “Well…that’s what I believed, anyway. And here I am.” He stopped, snorted, turned his head to regard his table companion.

“Anyway…Italian for lunch. Shall I meet you somewhere near your cabin and then just follow your nose, or did you want to work it out ahead of time?”
 
Something he said struck a nerve with her. It made her feel as though they were kindred spirits in a sense. Always on the go. She could relate to those words. Literally from the time she rolled out of bed, she was on the go. It was school, study groups, projects for school, after school activities, family affairs, volunteering, working out. There was never a dull moment or a spare second. Her calendar was on her computer desk at home. Every square for a day filled to capacity. It was the best way to keep her family informed of where she would be at what time. Now it just like a daunting rock hanging over her head, ready to crush her at any moment. She scoffed thinking, 'it already is crushing me.'

She eyed him as she spoke of how he should be annoyed with her. It was refreshing that he wasn't. Honestly, she felt as though she had been annoying him, and if she had, she understood. Her roommates had annoyed her from the first night they were aboard. That was never her intention here. When he asked about meeting her at her cabin, her first reaction was to say no. She didn't want to risk him running into them, but in all honesty, she would be there getting ready for lunch. After baking in this sun, she would want to freshen up. Hopefully, they wouldn't awaken with her stirring about. Hopefully. She shared her cabin number with him, telling him, "That would be fine to meet me there. Shall we say noon?" That would give her plenty of time to be prepared.

"By the way, they do have a gym here, but I've found in the early morning hours when the strangers are coming in from the clubs and partying, you can jog around the decks here. There's nothing like it really. The sun coming up over the ocean, illuminating everything it touches, the cool breeze in your face, the smell of the ocean, and hearing the ship slowly coming to life. It's peaceful at first, but you can hear everything waking up. I usually end that with a trip to this great place on one of the upper decks. Some juice, some fruit, a light breakfast, and then it's back to the cabin to freshen up. Wakes you up. Invigorates you." Feeling as though she was rambling on and on, and certain she was, she blushed. "I'll shut up now. I promise. In fact, maybe I'll take in a stroll along the decks. See what the ship is like this time of day." She stood up and picked up the remainder of her drink. "Thanks for this by the way, and for listening to me. I'm sorry for taking your peace and quiet. I know how important that is. I'll see you at noon then," she said, raising her glass as if she were toasting him before walking away, finally taking in a deep breath.
 
“Noon,” Brett agreed candidly, raising his glass slightly to Sam as she turned and walked away. He was aware of his eyes following her as she walked off…but wasn’t sure why. She was young and pretty, yes, and someone he might have gone after if he’d been twenty years younger, but now…? He sighed to himself as he sat his glass on the table. A companion, maybe, and only for the duration of the cruise – nothing more. Once she’d disappeared from sight he looked at his watch and realised he had a couple of hours to go before the lunch date he hadn’t planned on making. He pursed his lips slightly, grabbed his glass, took a long mouthful, set the glass back, and grabbed a magazine with the intention of reading it.

He got as far as opening it to the page he’d been on when Sam had sat next to him. His eyes saw the text on the page, but he wasn’t really reading. He was thinking. Of course, he knew next to nothing about her other than her name and what she’d thought about doing with her life…yet there was something about her that made him look at himself. Had he changed her life with that short conversation? What would he have done twenty years ago if someone had given him the advice he’d just given her? Would he have paused to take stock, or told the other person to fuck off and butt out of his life? He suspected he’d have done the latter…no, he knew he’d have done the latter, and without thinking about it. And in just five minutes Sam had told him how wrong he would have been. It made him wonder what his drive might have cost him…but nothing he could do about that now.

For now…all he could do was take a deep breath, sigh heavily, lean back in the lounge with his magazine on his chest as he looked up at the cloudless sky…close his eyes briefly…

Brett started slightly as a couple of pairs of footsteps thundered past him. Had he been napping? Two boys, maybe in their mid-teens, had just run past his chair, and they hadn’t been quiet about it. How long had he been napping? Close to an hour. For a moment his brain struggled to put things together; napping wasn’t something he was accustomed to doing, and he was struggling to get his bearings. Right – cruise ship, sun deck, glass with melted ice-cream in it, magazine still on his chest…lunch…? Oh, shit – meet with Sam near her cabin, have lunch with her. He was paying. Now it was coming back to him. He groaned as one hand rubbed life back into his face. He grabbed the glass, took a long swallow, then another, then another to drain it. He pushed himself out of the lounge and to his feet, grabbed the now-empty glass and magazines, then made his way to the bar. He put the glass on the counter, nodded politely to the staff member behind the bar, then headed towards the elevators.

A few minutes later Brett was inside his own cabin. Staff had been through it and tidied up, which was good of them but not entirely necessary. He’d have to get into the practice of leaving the “Do Not Disturb” sign up…if he could find it. He’d look later. He walked into the bathroom, took stock of himself in the mirror. Not bad. A little bleary from the nap, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed up. Maybe a change of shirt, then freshen up a little. He looked out the cabin window, then pulled the balcony doors open and stepped through onto the balcony. It was…refreshing, he supposed – clean air was harder to come by back home. And sea air was as clean as it got. A gentle breeze blew around him, accentuating the coolness of the shadows he was in. It was…pleasant. Who knew, he might actually get to like slowing down occasionally.

After about five minutes on the balcony he stepped back into his cabin and closed the doors. Into the bathroom to freshen up, make himself look vaguely human. Back into the main room, change of shirt, check his pockets for his cabin pass – all good. He adjusted his glasses on his nose, then stepped out into the passageway. Ten minutes to get to Sam’s cabin – no, near her cabin, that was the implied instruction. Probably it had something to do with Sam not wanting to deal with all sorts of questions from her friends, and he could understand that. Hell, it wasn’t as if they were going on a date-date; they were just a couple of people having lunch together. But gossip was gossip…

Five minutes later he was near Sam’s cabin and waiting patiently. She was right: he could smell the aromas of decent Italian cooking from not too far away. All she had to do now was arrive…
 
She found her cabin filled with the snores of a thousand sleeps. They were scattered about, still clothed in the attire they had worn when they left. It was a minefield of bodies and limbs that she had to traverse to get to her things and then to the bathroom. Once she was inside, she slowly closed the door behind her, careful to not make a sound. Once she was satisfied she was cut off from them, she took a deep breath. Even now, she knew she couldn't make much noise, but she honestly wondered in their current state would any of them even stir if she did. It was a risk she wasn't willing to take. It wasn't the questions that bothered her the most. It would be them wanting to intrude, wanting to force their way in so that they could meet him. The idea of sticking together had worked fine when it was the weekend, and it was some random guy that she would be meeting at a local fast food place. It wasn't safe, at best, and at that time in her life, it was expected that her friends were part of the deal, the package of sorts when it came to dating her. So she couldn't help but wonder why she was willing to meet this total stranger without them present? Why did it bother her so much that they would try to horde in on her personal time so much this time? Granted there was nowhere for him to go if things went wrong, but as she stepped into the small shower and lowered her head under the water, Sam realized she wasn't worried about anything like that happening. Her only fear was waking up the sleeping giants in the next room.

She took care of everything in the tiny confines of the bathroom, stopping every time she heard the slightest noise coming from the room next to her. It was pretty often, and she feared it would make her late. They seemed to roll over, snore, and even talk in their sleep quite a bit. Once she was certain she heard one of them pass gas. It had taken everything she had not to laugh to the point of being discovered at that point. Opening the bathroom door, she once again began the dance to get to the door. Each step was careful, like a ballet dancer performing a well-rehearsed routine. When she reached the door, she looked back at them and smiled. They were none the wiser that she had come and gone. Her mission was a success.

With time to spare, she simply wandered along the decks, taking in the beautiful scenery. The ocean was vast. She already knew this, but there was something about being surrounded by nothing but water that really put that into perspective. "We are but a blip," she mumbled, her hands on the railing. "Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink." It was something she had learned in school, but exactly where escaped her mind at the time. Earlier she had felt like she was drowning in her own life, and now she could see she was doing more than treading water. She was actually above it, not just on the ship but in her own life. It had been because of their conversation. She had choices, and she could use those to make her life bend to her will instead of the other way around. There was no rush. There was time, and right now it was time to go meet him.

The smells of the restaurant were growing stronger now, as the ocean breeze tossed them about. Inhaling deeply, he came into view. "What did I tell you," she asked, her arms spreading wide. "Smells divine. This is something I've been wanting to do since the first day we boarded. Thank you," she told him. "You're helping me cross something off my cruise bucket list. Shall we?"
 
How long had he been waiting? Five minutes? Didn’t really matter, he supposed. Brett had seen people coming and going through that time, and they all largely ignored him beyond the occasional nod and greeting, which he politely returned. So why, then, was he near-impatient for Sam to show up? It wasn’t as if he was anxious or excited or overly-eager for their lunch together, but he couldn’t shake the sensation that he wanted it to happen. Maybe he just wanted this done so he could go back to being alone. He believed that was it…but some part of him wasn’t so convinced. Then she showed, looking much as she had earlier – youthful, pretty, dressed in the same as she had been at the pool.

He gave her a half-smile as she spoke. The arms-wide greeting – which he hadn’t interpreted as a request for a hug, so he didn’t give her one – accentuated her figure and chest slightly, and the thought ran through his head again: If I was twenty years younger… But the thought remained where it was – in his head – and went no further. Instead he snorted softly as he replied with a lightly-sarcastic and humorous tone.

“What am I helping you cross off? The ‘eat Italian’ item, or the ‘have a meal with a random stranger’ item?” His lips curled up into a slight smirk as he fell into step beside her. “If you’re lucky, maybe both…?”

She was right, at least, as they ambled along at a casual pace: they could just follow their nose to the restaurant she’d been referring to. At least it was early enough that a lot of people were still not ready for lunch, Brett could see that from the number of people moving around them…and they didn’t have to walk too far to get to the place, either. Another benefit of being on a self-contained suburb like this ship.

“Did your friends give you any grief, or were they still lost to the world?” He was genuinely curious, and wasn’t sure if it was out of politeness or real interest.
 
She couldn’t help but laugh softly at the mention of her friends giving her grief. “That would imply that they moved, or heard me, or were even aware they were on this ship,” she joked. “They were sleeping the sleep of a thousand sleeps and apparently passing the gas that goes along with it,” she added, her voice falling in volume just a bit. “I was in and out like a cat burglar, quiet, sneaky, and stealth-like.” She realized she was rambling on, and suddenly wanted to change the subject. “You look great,” she told him, instantly blushing. “Of course you could make as much noise as you wanted when you went back to your room. You do look nice.” Again she felt her check burn just slightly at her own words. He did look nice. He looked like he belonged on this cruise, with all the wealthy people who were able to buy their own tickets. In fact, he looked like he could have been in a brochure for a luxury cruise, leaning against the railing, a big smile on his face, while the wind blew his hair. Yeah, he would certainly fit in there. She was the one who felt like a fish out of water. Wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

The closer they got to the restaurant, the stronger the aroma became. “Mia Amora,” she exclaimed as if she actually knew Italian. “That’s a spicy meatball,” she joked, using her best fake accent, and even that was atrocious. “I’m trying here,” she said, laughing at her own horrible impression. The place was decorated much the same as the other places to eat at aboard the ship. The gold accents were in place, reflecting back at the passengers. It captured the light well, no doubt the reason they used them. There were statues that looked like they would be more at home in a garden perhaps in certain places within the restaurant. No doubt the intent was to make one have some false sense of being in an Italian eatery., and yet it came across as rather cheesy. The hues of green were probably to help one immerse in all the seasoning and herbs that would probably be used on the food. Vines with grapes were painted on the walls. The wine selection was clearly visible. A criss-cross wine rack laid home to the bottle, while the glasses hung from above. It was everything she thought it would be, and she couldn’t be happier.



“You’re helping me cross off eating at this place. You’re helping me to more adventurous. Now I’m not going to ask you to go snorkeling or bungee jumping with me off the side of the ship. That would be far too much, but a conversation with someone you barely know? Now that’s living on the edge, don’t you think,” she teased. “And I couldn’t be any happier with the person I’ll be having that conversation with.” A waitress came and seated them by the full glass panels, giving them a spectacular view of the ocean. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? So vast, so much a mystery still. It can be calm, and it can be destructive. A lot like life I suppose.” She turned her gaze towards him. “So please, tell me more about you? I’m all ears, and I can’t wait to hear anything you would be willing to share, but first,” she told him, placing her hands flat on the table. “I wanna say thank you for earlier. You really did help put things into perspective for me. You gave me a new outlook on life and the choices I have. You reminded me I actually have choices. I’m not a slave to my own life. I am not a tiny boat tossing about in the ocean. I am a mighty ship about to chart my own path. Thank you for that.”
 
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She…talked. A lot. Oh, it was engaging chatter, he supposed, and he listened dutifully and politely, but she talked. She talked like she was a lot to say but wasn’t sure what she actually wanted to let out. It was…almost charming. Okay, maybe borderline between charming and annoying. If she wasn’t so young and easy on the eye, her chatter might have tipped to annoying, but there was something about her that wouldn’t let him go that way at her. Brett had already recognised what it was in her that he saw: she was a bit like himself when he’d been her age. The difference was that she’d heeded his advice, or at least appeared to, and looked to be ready to slow down a little. He hadn’t done that; no-one had been around to suggest it to him, anyway. He found he was going back to that in his head.

He was smiling, too, as they sat down. Sam was being playful, light…things he should have been but wasn’t. He found he was paying attention to what she was saying, even though he still had thoughts randomly streak through his mind. He paused when she finally stopped, almost as if he was expecting her to start up again, but she didn’t. Somehow he’d taken in a lot of the restaurant, and the décor was a rustic style, a gentle country setting, good for the wholesome meals it served. He turned his head to look out the window at the vast smoothness of ocean that surrounded them, and he smiled warmly. She wanted to know about him. That wasn’t a long story, and he’d already given her the short version. His head dipped, his chin almost touching his chest, as he worked out how to reply.

“Tell you about myself,” he repeated thoughtfully. “To be honest, there’s not a lot to tell. You’ve figured out I’m an architect, you know I live in a large apartment in a complex that has its own pool. I was a lot like you are now, maybe more so: driven, focussed, knowing what I wanted and not letting anything get in my way. I’ve worked hard, pushed myself to get where I am. I’m good at what I do, in demand and well-regarded. I’ve got a good portfolio of designs. I’ve got a lot of things in my home, I drive a flashy car, and when I’m not working, I’m working out, or sleeping.”

He sighed softly. “I told you that me being on vacation wasn’t my idea, that I was virtually ordered to take time off. I’m here, on this boat, because my boss paid a quarter of the costs to make sure I got on board. I spent the first couple of days resenting being here. But…now that I’ve actually started to slow down…” He stopped for a second, let his gaze return to the window.

“Now…I know there’s a lot I’ve missed.” He stopped, snorted softly, then continued. “If you think my advice valuable, then I’m glad. Drive and ambition are good when they push you to succeed, but don’t forget to live while you’re at it.” He put on a friendly smile as he turned back to regard his lunch-time companion.

“I suppose having a room to myself does have certain advantages,” he noted, deliberately changing the subject. “I don’t have to tip-toe around other people, I’m not answerable to others, I don’t have to report in or give debriefings…and if I choose to be a slob then the only person affected is me.” He grinned. “And I’m not fighting with anyone for the sheets or the bathroom.”
 
He didn't realize. The things he was saying were telling more than the words he spoke. The things he was telling her, were telling her exactly what she wanted to know. He drove a flashy car. Why? Was he trying to be flashy? Was he trying to impress someone, and if so, who, why? Maybe it was simply a point of something he had always wanted, and now that he was able to afford he, he went for it. He owned it. Nothing wrong with that really. It didn't fit to her though. A flashy car while living in an apartment? Why not go for the big, expensive house as well? Why not indulge in the vast, empty space? It would be mostly empty. It had to be. Everything about him that she knew up to this point led her to believe that. He didn't really seem like someone who enjoyed conversation that much. He didn't seem to like to be around people, and he certainly appeared to spend most of his time at work. Work. That was the key. He was in demand and well-regarded. Yes, he worked a lot. So perhaps that was why there was no house and an apartment. He wouldn't be spending much time there, but a car? A car he would use. It would not only transport him, but when he arrived, it would make a statement. Working out? No house means likely no personal gym. So he wasn't afraid to occupy the same space as everyone else. He just chose not to. He preferred being alone when time allowed him the luxury. Working out was an outlet. It allowed him a chance to tune the rest of the world out and find his own little space. He was taking care of himself, both mentally and physically. Did he think highly of himself, or did the rest of the word? So far she was of the mind that is was the rest of the world. After all, he was sought after him for his talents. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that. In fact, that was the ambition of most.

She erupted into laughter at his comments about having the room to himself. Still, his words had made an impression. It was okay to go after what you wanted. Just take the time to slow down and enjoy life. After all, what good was having everything you wanted if you didn't take the time to enjoy it? "Your advice has helped. Really, it has, and I'm grateful. After all, I did interrupt your peace and quiet, but now I don't feel so bad about it," she told him, tilting her head slightly. "Since you have that room all to yourself and all," she teased. "You can have peace and quiet then. Don't get wrong. I get it to myself at night. Well, for most of the night. They get ready and head out, partying until all hours. So I'm never sure what hour of the morning they're going to wake me. If it's a slow night, then two is a good number, but it has been as late as six." She cringed at the memories of the different hours they have piled into the room, tripping over each over, drunk, only to lose whatever they had consumed that night into the trash can. "I know we're all the same age and all, but somehow I'm feeling less and less like I fit in with them. Maybe it's because when we were in school we had the distractions we had to keep me from noticing it so much. I don't know. They say you really get to know someone when you live with them. So I guess I'm really..getting..to..know..them, and I feel sorry for whomever they marry." As much as she tried to keep a straight face, it was impossible. Her own humor had gotten the better of her.

"Noodles," she told him, randomly changing the subject. "I think I want noodles of some kind. Covered in a nice red sauce with..some..meatballs. Yeah. Spaghetti. I love Spaghetti. Any idea what you're in the mood for?"
 
She listened almost intently as he spoke, like she was weighing his words and judging him, or trying to figure him out. Maybe he was telling her more than his words were letting on. It didn’t really matter to him. They’d have lunch together, maybe keep bumping into each other through the remainder of the cruise, probably chat a bit on occasion…then go their separate ways when they disembarked. He’d finally be able to get back to work – he’d be rested, refreshed, loaded with more drive and ambition.

Her burst of laughter threw him briefly, although he recovered quickly. But then…he could understand why she might find it humorous. Her friends were coming back at six in the morning already, and the cruise had only just started…? They were going to be run down by the end. For Sam’s benefit, he hoped her friends grew out of that nightlife mindset quickly. Sam’s cruise was going to go to hell if they didn’t, Brett was pretty sure of that.

“Ravioli,” he replied after a moment of thought. “Those little balls of meat wrapped inside a layer of pasta…can’t go past them. With a carbonara sauce, I think.” He looked around, got the attention of one of the staff, picked up the wine list as the young man walked over to their table. Adam, his nametag said.

“You ready to place an order, sir?” Adam asked. Brett nodded quickly.

“Yes, thank you. The young lady will have spaghetti, meatballs and a bolognaise sauce. I’ll have ravioli with a carbonara sauce. And for drink…a bottle of the Penfolds Merlot twenty-eighteen.” He looked quickly at Sam, then back to Adam. “For starter, though, we’ll share a serve of herb bread. Charge to room twelve-six-fourteen.”

“Got it,” Adam acknowledged, checking his small notepad. “Herb bread for two to start, spaghetti with meatballs and bolognaise sauce for the lady, ravioli with carbonara sauce for yourself, and a bottle of Penfolds Merlot twenty-eighteen. Be right back.” The young man folded his notepad up and walked over to a counter to place their order, and Brett turned his attention back to Sam, a smug grin on his face.

“Right…now that there’s no chance of you trying to work your way into covering something of lunch…why don’t you explain to me exactly how you don’t feel bad about interrupting my peace and quiet…?” There was no menace in his voice, just a gentle teasing that he hoped she picked up on…
 
"Merlot," she said. "Impressive. Blends nicely with the sauces. It's an acquired taste though, or so I've found. The way the bitterness hits the pallet is not for everyone. Personally, I've found it grows on me. After the first sip, I find myself wanting more and more of it, unable to stop thinking about it. It's crazy, makes no sense to everyone else I know, but it's the truth." She realized it might be odd considering legally she wasn't of drinking age. "My parents let me indulge on special occasions. They know I'm not driving, and they know I'm a responsible girl. Plus, they don't really know my friends that well." Her smile spread across her lips as a thought crept into her mind. 'Why was I not afraid for him to know I have a drink before?' Normally it was something she kept close to her chest, but with him, she had let her guard down. Hopefully, he wouldn't be too put off by it and think she was just as bad as her friends.

"Herb bread. I'll have to be careful not to fill up on it." The table already had some seasonings on it with bottles of oils. She poured some on the green flecks that were sprinkled all over one of the smaller dishes. "It gives it a little more kick to me, a little pop of flavor. I hope you indulge as well. It's actually quite tasty. You know, during this trip I'll have to try the chicken Noche soup. When it's done right, the blend of carrots, celery, and spinach is quite nice against the backdrop of your basic chicken and dumpling." She rested her fingers laced together loosely on the table before her. "My parents don't skimp on dining out. I learned at an early age to enjoy the finer things when it came to food. My mom is an excellent cook, and my dad is a seasoned eater." A small laugh as she glanced out towards the open ocean. "Most of the time I would have rather had a hamburger or a pizza, but mom always insisted that we indulge in just one thing. Money was always an issue, but she made sure we had the funds to be able to splurge on the weekends and special occasions. She always said, 'that way if you end up being able to live this way, you'll fit in.'" Sam rolled her eyes. "I would have much rather sat down to pizza, a movie, and soda, but mom, she....she....well she had other plans. I didn't want to disappoint her or let her down. So it was easier to just go along with it." She shrugged.

Sam realized once again she was babbling. Wanting to turn the conversation more towards him, she cleared her throat. "Now that you've slowed down, you're starting to be glad you're here," she asked, raising her eyebrows before smiling softly. "I can understand why you resented your boss. You're a grown man, and if you want to continue to be in the fast lane, not slowing down, building up your name and reputation, creating future structures that will house whatever they're needed for, then you should be allowed to. How dare someone else tell you what to do?" She sighed her gaze to him. "But it sounds like your boss really cares for you. It sounds like he cares about your mental state, physical well-being, just....you....as a person. How dare he do that," she asked, furrowing her brows as her tone dripped of sarcasm. "How dare he break the typical stereotype of a boss who could care less about the employees. He is supposed to simply care about the bottom line, the money, the cash, keeping the dollars flowing. The gall of that man to actually care that you slow down and take some time for yourself. You're an excellent worker I imagine. Still, he's probably going to try and replace you while you're here. So what if you've made the company a lot of money. Who cares if you've helped make him rich. You can be replaced. Right," she asked, nodding as if to affirm her own words, before allowing her face to break out into laughter. "I know you know better than that. You're lucky actually. I only hope that when I'm employed someday, that my boss is as kind as yours."

The waiter returned with the bottle, glasses, and of course the bread. It smelled every bit as heavenly as it did when it danced down the halls to her nose. She inhaled deeply, allowing it to fill her senses. "Now remember," she began. "You're going to try this oil and seasoning. You have to." She could see the waiter smile as he uncorked the bottle for them. Turning her gaze, she watched him pour just a sip into one of the glasses. He offered to Brett, and she waited, nearly holding her breath. "Well go ahead. Try it. This cruise is about trying new things. Relaxing. Time away from work. What have you got to lose?"
 
Oh, how she rambled. Somewhere in the person across the table form him was an Off switch, or at least a Speed control, that could be used to get her to slow down and enjoy simple things. He’d never find it. Three weeks, and they’d be on their separate ways, never to meet again. He’d then have another couple of weeks to do fuck all before he could go back to work, and she…would go back to the life she’d planned. As it was meant to be. Okay, maybe he’d feel better – refreshed, recharged – when he finally got back to work; he might even grudgingly admit it to Jason. Maybe.

And yet there was some sense to what she was saying. Yes, Brett had the right to work himself to an early grave if he wanted to; but then she correctly pointed out that Jason was actually exercising a duty of care for his employee. A lot of bosses only paid lip-service to that idea, but Jason had actively used it. Sam had pegged Jason right, at least; and she was right in voicing her hope that she’d be lucky to find a boss as considerate as Jason. The odds weren’t exactly in Sam’s favour, there.

Brett held his hands up defensively as the waiter returned, placed their herb bread on the table, then poured a sip of the Merlot and offered it to him to sample. “Okay, I get it,” he agreed, a note of false defeat creeping into his reply. “New things.” He took the glass from the waiter, sniffed quickly then took the mouthful…and nodded his approval as the flavour of the wine drifted through his senses. The waiter – Adam – nodded once, then filled Brett’s glass first followed by Sam’s glass, set the bottle on the table and walked off. Brett paused, then grinned slightly as he reached for a slice of the herb bread – there were four lengthy cuts in the basket, nominally two each – and took it carefully. He grabbed one of the oil bottles and poured a little on his plate, returned the bottle to the table, then broke his slice in two to break the crust up and expose the flesh of the bread to dip into the oil.

“Now…” he pointed out slyly, but in good humour, as he dunked the bread into the seasoning oil. “I’ll try this, and you can go back to answering my question about how you don’t feel bad about interrupting my peace and quiet.” He looked into her eyes as he left the question hanging between them…she’d already ducked it once; would she try again?
 
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