A ballroom on the fifth floor with a huge sign planted in front of it caught her attention. “There’s No Such Thing at TOO Many Chances at Love!” it read. The sign had been covered in red hearts punctured with arrows, and a woman in a pink t-shirt stood next to it, grinning at everyone who walked by.
“Hi!” she said cheerfully, waving at Julia. The woman appeared to be Julia’s age. “Are you one of our second chancers?”
Julia stood in front of the sign, debating whether to admit that she was or to shake her head, keep walking, and find the lecture on gems and precious metals that was taking place in a conference room near the coffee bar. “Um, okay. Yes. I guess so,” she said, curiosity getting the better of her. “I’m here on the cruise because I won a radio competition and my husband passed away and—“ She stopped herself and took a deep breath. “Yes. I am a second chancer.”
The woman smiled kindly and held out a hand. “Come on in,” she said. “I can tell by your hesitation that you haven’t gotten fully registered yet.”
“I checked in when I boarded the ship.”
“Totally different,” the woman said. “I’m Sharon, by the way.” She pointed at the name tag pinned to her pink shirt. “I’m with the company that arranges the ‘second chance at love’ cruises.”
“Oh.” Julia blinked a few times. She had no clue that this particular type of cruise was a recurring thing. “I’m Julia Delmonico.”
“We’re thrilled to have you here, Julia. Let’s get you registered.” Sharon led her to a table where a dapper man in his thirties was shuffling and straightening notecards. His blonde hair was slicked into an immaculate pompadour, and his eyebrows and nails were so groomed that Julia felt self-conscious about her own beauty routine.
“And who do we have here?” he asked, eyeing her carefully.
“I’m Julia Delmonico.”
The man lifted one perfect eyebrow and flipped through the stack of cards on the table in front of him. “Mmmm,” he said, searching for her name. “I see. Julia…” He stopped flipping and glanced up at her. “Delmonico? Found you.”
Julia cleared her throat and smiled in a way that felt hopeful. “Yep. That’s me.”
The man stood up and fanned himself with her card. “Okay, follow me, darling.”
Julia glanced back at Sharon, who waved her away. “Go, go,” Sharon whispered.
The man turned to regard Julia as he walked across the ballroom. “I’m Blaine,” he said, touching his chest gently with the palm of his hand. “I’ll be your cupid for the remainder of this trip.”
“Excuse me?” Julia nearly stopped walking. “My cupid?”
Blaine halted his forward stride and spun around. “Julia,” he said, taking her by the arm. He searched her face imploringly before glancing down at her card in his hand. “You’re nearly forty-five years old.” His eyes flicked up and scanned her face, ostensibly for signs of aging or other blemishes that would detract from her ability to find love on this cruise. “Desirable men in your age range aren’t exactly swinging from trees, honey. This is serious business.”
“Oh,” Julia breathed out, stunned by the insistence in his tone. “I see.” But she didn’t—not really. Up until she’d won this trip, having a second chance at love was maybe the furthest thing from her mind. In fact, she’d never really concerned herself with it at all, instead throwing herself into work and into Christina’s life at college and…well, not much else, to be perfectly truthful.
“My darling,” Blaine said, stepping close enough for her to smell the minty toothpaste he’d used that morning. He held up the card and narrowed his eyes, skimming her details once more. “This is a matter of dire concern. The next decade will slip by you, and before you know it, instead of writing things like ‘running, reading mysteries, and cooking’ as your hobbies, you’ll be writing ‘gameshows, crosswords, and naps’ on a card like this.” He held her notecard disdainfully between his first and middle fingers like a cigarette that was burning his skin.
“As in, I’d better act now, or I have a better chance of being struck by lightning?” Julia quipped. “I’ve heard that one before—I have other single friends, you know.”
Blaine made a sad face like someone had just told him a story about puppies being abandoned in the snow. “You should have brought them with you, Julia. Every girl needs a cupid.”
Julia watched as a leggy brunette about half her age walked by in a romper outfit that barely fell beneath her sculpted butt cheeks. “I bet she doesn’t need a cupid.”
Again, Blaine arched an eyebrow and paused for effect, watching the brunette stroll past. “She’s here, isn’t she?”
Julia tipped her head from side to side. “Point taken.”
“Good.” Blaine grabbed her hand and tugged. “Now come on. We have work to do.”
“We do?” Julia stumbled a little bit as she tried to keep up with Blaine.
“Girl, we most definitely do.”
Forty-five minutes later, Julia had filled out a long questionnaire on a laptop with Blaine at her side, and had answered questions like: What age range do you prefer? Do you mind a man with significant disabilities? Preferred education level? as well as other questions regarding her desires for a man’s physical appearance, income level, and religious leanings.
Before she left with a printed list of “Second Chance at Love Suggested Activities,” Blaine had made Julia an appointment at the on-board salon for twelve-thirty and suggested both a new hairstyle and a different color palette.
“Trust me,” he assured her, pulling her close for a hug that smelled slightly of cinnamon and fresh oranges, “this cupid is going to help you all the way.”
“Thanks, Blaine,” she said, taking hold of the folder of printed materials he’d made for her. “I’ll see you at the dance this evening.”
“You’d better.” He wagged a finger at her, and she knew that it would be in her best interest to at least make an appearance.
The salon was on the ninth floor, and the moment Julia walked through the doors, a bevy of women surrounded her, ready to attend to all her needs.
“Blaine called,” said a tiny woman with a sharp Eastern European accent. “He has everything planned. You just relax honey, okay?”
“Okay.” Julia let the woman lead her to a quiet locker room filled with potted orchids and baskets of warm towels. A pyramid of bottled water sat on one counter. “Should I change?”
“Yes, honey,” the woman opened a locker and handed Julia the key. “In here. Robe and slippers and nothing else, okay?”
Julia nodded and waited for her to leave. Alone in the locker room, she took her time changing and pulling her blonde hair into a topknot. She gave her list of activities one last look, skimming the events for that afternoon and evening to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. After her spa afternoon, she had a class on making jewelry out of shells at five o’clock, dinner at a sushi restaurant with seven other people Blaine had insisted that she meet, and then the dance at nine o’clock in a bar on the seventh floor. She locked everything away and padded out of the locker room to wait for someone to take her to her first appointment.
Following a relaxing facial and massage, Julia was led to a chair in a bright room with windows that looked out over the water. A statuesque beauty with long, thick black hair waited for her, holding the back of the swiveling chair.
“Julia?” she asked, face open and welcoming. “Come, sit. I’m Emily.”
“Hi,” Julia sat down and was immediately spun to face the mirror. “Oh, wow.” She leaned in toward the mirror and put a hand to her cheek. “My skin looks great.”
“It does,” Emily agreed. “Now, I’ve been instructed to make the rest of you look amazing too, so if we can just decide on a hairstyle, I’ll get to work.”
Julia ran both hands over her wavy hair. “I just had my highlights touched up before I came,” she said, turning her head around so that she could look at what Emily had to work with. “I’m hon
estly pretty happy with the color.”
“Let’s just give it some shape, shall we?” The woman set her hands on Julia’s shoulders gently and tipped her head at a young man waiting quietly by the shampoo bowl. “I’ll have Edgar give you a scalp massage and a banana hair mask, and then I think we’ll work with this natural wave to bring up the length just a bit and give you some body. Does that sound good?”
Emily had her at “scalp massage,” so she completely gave herself over to the process and emerged two hours later with hair so soft and well-behaved that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anything so lovely on her own head.
“Is this really my hair?” she asked with a self-conscious laugh. “I didn’t even see you take a curling iron to my head.”
“There was no need,” Emily said, walking her to the front desk. “Your natural wave was being pulled down by the length of your hair, so these layers lightened everything up and now your hair frames your face so beautifully. I just love it.” Emily put her hands together as she admired her own creation.
“Well, thank you. I feel so good right now.”
Everyone who had worked on her at the spa stood around the front desk when she emerged from the locker room in her sundress, and they each reached out a hand or offered a hug and a good wish.
“Go out and find the man of your dreams!” Emily called after her, waving as she walked back out into the hallway and toward the elevator. She had just enough time to put on some makeup and make it to the seashell jewelry class, and thanks to Blaine’s guidance and Arthur’s heartfelt pep-talk, she was feeling much more positive about the trip ahead.
The elevator doors slid open and Julia stepped in. It was entirely mirrored on all sides, and the image of Daisy Schwartz with a straw bag over one shoulder was reflected back at her.
“Oh, hello there,” Julia said, smiling.
“Hello.” Daisy looked at her suspiciously, lips pursed as if she’d just inadvertently bitten into a lemon wedge. She punched the button on the elevator’s panel again, despite the fact that it was still lit up. “Where’s Arthur?”
Julia held her smile in place and tried not to look at her own bare-faced reflection in the mirror. “I have no idea,” she said, hoping to disarm the older woman, who was currently shooting daggers at Julia with her eyes. “But he’s my next door neighbor, so we do keep bumping into one another.”
“Isn’t that convenient,” Daisy said, punching the button again with fervor, her lacquered nails glinting under the lights.
Julia gave a laugh that was full of disbelief. “He’s old enough to be my grandfather,” she said defensively. Daisy turned her head and shot Julia an incredulous look, as if she’d just said something totally offensive. Julia held up a hand. “Not to be rude—I think Arthur is a lovely man—but we’re just friends. In case that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I have no interest in Arthur Goldman,” she sniffed. “I just don’t want to see him be taken advantage of, if you know what I mean.” Daisy turned her head and looked up at the numbers as they changed with each passing floor.
“Okay,” Julia said simply. “But you don’t have to worry about him—he’s doing just fine. And although we just met yesterday, I can assure you we’re nothing more than friends and neighbors.”
The elevator stopped on Daisy’s floor and she straightened her shoulders and faced Julia before getting off. “I may not be interested in Arthur myself, but I am a woman of a certain age, young lady, and when you get to this point, the number of able-bodied men who are even mildly interesting narrows considerably. There just aren’t enough of them to go around.” Her gaze softened just a bit. “So…you know.”
Julia had no idea she was about to do it, but she reached out and put a hand on Daisy’s liver-spotted forearm and gave her a knowing smile. “Sister,” she said wryly, “believe me—I know.”
7
By the third day at sea, Julia had nearly forgotten her embarrassing departure from the bar after her dance with Martin. She had not, however, forgotten him, so when they turned a corner at the same time and nearly ran smack into one another, she was less shocked and more pleasantly surprised.
“Oh! Martin,” Julia said, holding out a hand to steady herself. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to be sorry—unless you were purposely trying to rearrange my face,” Martin finished his thought, but his eyes were busy scanning Julia’s face and hair. “Wait, what’s different?”
Julia reached up to touch the ends of her hair. “I got a haircut,” she said. “My cupid insisted that I make myself more presentable.”
“Your cupid?” Martin laughed. “Someone thought you didn’t look perfect before?”
“Blaine said I needed a ‘fresh update’ if I was going to meet an eligible suitor on this cruise.”
“Your cupid is named Blaine?” Martin squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, putting the fingers of both hands to his temples as if a headache were pulsing there. “Wait, wait—I have so many questions. The person who ran you through the computer questions found you so aesthetically offensive that he—this is a he, right?” Julia nodded to confirm. “He insisted you go and get a haircut…to look prettier or something?”
“It seems like I’m always leaving you with questions.” Julia smiled at Martin’s face; he seemed genuinely puzzled by this and that warmed her heart toward him in ways she couldn’t describe. “But that pretty much sums it up.”
Martin glanced around and then leaned in to her. “I’m just wondering here, but does Blaine perhaps prefer the company of gentlemen? Because you, my friend, already looked fabulous.”
Julia’s cheeks went hot. “Number one, yes, I think Blaine would rather date you than me.” She gave an unexpected bark of laughter and covered her mouth with one hand. “And number two, thank you. That’s very sweet.” Julia couldn’t help it—she felt so flustered in the face of his compliment that she looked away and couldn’t bring her gaze back to his face.
“I do like this too, though,” Martin said, reaching out a hand and touching the soft waves of her hair. He pulled his hand back. “Sorry. That was weird.”
“No weirder than me bolting from the bar the other night without explanation and without even finishing my drink.”
“No worries, Julia. Honestly.” Martin gave her a warm smile. “Ukulele Dave and I finished them off together. We had a lovely evening and he gave me his number.”
“You did not,” Julia scoffed. She could hardly picture Ukulele Dave moving his large body down off the small stage and onto her chair at the tiny round table, and she definitely couldn’t imagine him sipping at her leftover daiquiri.
“I had you thinking about it though, didn’t I?” Martin nodded and pointed a finger at her. “I’ve been accused of having an overactive imagination,” he said. “I’d apologize for it, but it’s kept me amused for the past fifty years, so I’m not that sorry.”
Suddenly, Julia realized that they were standing in the middle of a hallway.
“Where are you headed?” she asked, pulling the day’s itinerary from her striped bag.
“I’m going to a cooking class that starts in ten minutes,” Martin said, consulting the watch on his wrist. “How about you?”
“I was thinking of going to the lecture on deep sea diving at ten o’clock. But I’m kind of hungry—cooking sounds fun.”
“Then come with.” Martin did everything so nonchalantly that it completely put Julia at ease. She had a million things she wanted to ask him, but she always felt like everything would come in good time—like there was no need to rush the question and answer sessions. “We’re making coconut pancakes with a mango compote, and I’m sure they’ll somehow incorporate pineapple or macadamia nuts,” he said. “Just come on—we’ll eat whatever they throw at us.”
Julia shoved her itinerary back into her bag and followed Martin gleefully, feeling like a teenager who was skipping class to join a friend in a class that had a substitute.
The kitchen was only partially full when they arrived, and the chef had everyone leave their bags in a separate room, then stand in line to wash their hands thoroughly before they were sent to their work stations.
“You cute lovebirds over there,” the man in the chef’s hat said, pointing at Martin and Julia, “I want you two to start peeling mangoes.”
Julia opened her mouth to protest—not about the assigned task, but about her and Martin being lovebirds—but when she caught a glimpse of the look on Martin’s face she clamped her mouth shut. He was examining the bowl of fruit in front of him, but Julia could see the tiniest hint of a pleased smirk and she felt flattered.
“How the heck do you peel a mango?” Martin asked her theatrically out of one side of his mouth. He picked up the fruit with its red and yellow ombre skin and tossed it lightly into the air, catching it the way you would catch a baseball.
“Watch it, Babe Ruth. Those mangoes are for our breakfast,” the chef admonished from the other side of the kitchen.
“How did he even see that?” Martin watched him, amazed. “He was looking the other way.”
“Chefs are like teachers,” Julia said. “They have to know what’s going on in every corner of the room at all times, or something could catch on fire.”
“Fair enough.” Martin set the mango on the counter. “Doctor,” he said in a deeper voice than the one he normally used, “I think our patient is going to need immediate surgery. Scalpel.” He held out a hand, keeping his eyes on the mango. Julia picked up a paring knife and set it in his hand with a giggle. Martin’s personality was definitely a plus in her book—she hadn’t spent a single boring minute with him so far on this ship.
They set to work peeling mangoes and making small talk with the other amateur chefs, and by the time the full breakfast was prepared, Julia had met a woman named Kate from New Jersey, and two guys from Chicago. The chef came around and inspected everyone’s work, pausing in front of Julia and Martin’s station.
“Gorgeous work here, you two,” he said, picking up a clean spoon and sampling their mango sauce. “I can tell this was made with love.” He gave Julia a conspiratorial wink and moved on.
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