Seeking Solace

by Ari McKay

  “The last one was obviously an idiot of enormous proportions,” Devin said, an edge of contempt to his tone. “Anyone one with eyes in their head can see you’re special. You’re well rid of someone who doesn’t value you for what you are.”

  “You’re right,” Paul said simply. “I guess he was scared? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, really. He assumed I wouldn’t be able to do all the things we’d always done together, and he didn’t give me a chance to try. I don’t need anyone like that.”

  “No, you don’t.” Devin drew in a deep breath. “Wow. I don’t get angry often, but I feel like I could punch your ex in the nose.” He smiled crookedly. “Are you ready to watch the preps in the kitchen now?”

  If Jack ever showed up on Paul’s doorstep again, Paul thought he might punch Jack himself, which was new. But he’d been dejected long enough; he was overdue to move on to the anger phase.

  “Definitely,” Paul said. He was looking forward to getting a sneak preview of all the dishes that would be served at the buffet. “Do you think I can talk the chef into letting me try the shrimp or scallops early if I promise to give a glowing report?”

  Devin chuckled. “Who knows? Chef Michel isn’t a soft touch, but if you widen those eyes at him, he might take pity on you. I know I would.”

  They entered the big main kitchen, which was a scene of organized mayhem. Paul had been in them before, of course, when Devin had given him a tour of the ship. Then, the area had been frenetic with activity for dinner service, but it was nothing like it was now. There were carts and trays of food in various stages of completion covering every flat surface, and white-jacketed sous chefs were rushing about in every direction. But even though the place resembled a madhouse, it was obvious that everyone knew exactly what they were doing, and there was a lot less noise than Paul expected.

  “I suspect Chef Michel is overseeing the meats and seafood,” Devin murmured, his lips close to Paul’s ear. “Those are the hardest things to get perfect, given the time frame they have to work in.”

  Devin’s warm breath ghosted along Paul’s skin, and he had to repress a shiver. Apparently his dormant libido was waking up, which didn’t bode well.

  “Are we in the way?” Paul asked. Everything seemed to be running smoothly, and he didn’t want to mess that up.

  “We’re fine. I really want you to see how the pastries are made. Those are by far the most impressive things on the buffet, and the chefs are true artists.” Devin linked his arm with Paul’s, giving him a playful grin. “Come on, this way to the goodies.”

  “How can you be an artist with pastries?” Paul asked as he let himself be led away. Pastries seemed pretty straightforward to him.

  “You’ll see,” Devin promised.

  They made their way to a less frantic part of the kitchen, where large trays covered the stainless steel work tables. The pastry chefs were busy with bags of fillings: chocolate, vanilla, and various pastel colors Paul couldn’t begin to guess the flavor of. Others held knives and were rendering strawberries into flowers or sculpting roses and orchids out of colored icing.

  One chef placed a tray of small brown baskets on one of the tables, and when he looked closer, Paul realized the baskets were made of layers of flakey pastry. The chef filled the baskets with whipped cream, while another chef followed along behind him, garnishing the cream with the frosting flowers.

  “Do you get it now?” Devin asked. “When they’re done, it will be hard to distinguish the edible flowers from real ones. But that’s not even the best part. The head pastry chef, Marco Santos, is a wizard with chocolate and fondant. He’s making a cake that’s an exact replica of the Pearl complete with tiny guests and crew.”

  Paul watched the pastry chefs, fascinated by how detailed and beautiful their work was. His experience with pastries was limited to the neighborhood bakery, and they never had anything he’d consider as artistic as these baskets. “How can anyone stand to cut it?”

  “You’d be surprised how quickly the buffet will be demolished, since it all tastes as good as it looks.” Devin pointed out other chefs who were pouring molten colored sugar into molds, and one who was painstakingly piping hundreds of tiny rosebuds onto a sheet cake. The air was full of sweet scents that could have been cloying if it weren’t for the added tang of citrus fruit.

  They continued through the kitchen and spent some time watching the chefs working on vegetable trays, their own creations just as impressive as those of the bakers. There were also savories, and while the sandwiches and meat pasties weren’t quite as artistic as the sweets, they were impressive in the sheer number and variety.

  Paul wasn’t aware of how much time had passed until the chefs started carrying the trays toward the dining room. Devin led him out of the kitchen, and they watched the buffet being constructed. At one end stood the massive chocolate fountain and at the other an equally huge one for champagne, which was made almost entirely of crystal that cast rainbows on the ceiling and walls wherever the light struck it.

  The last thing added was the cake Devin had promised, which was almost six feet long and two feet high. It was incredibly detailed, and the chef had even reproduced the pool sculpture in chocolate.

  “What do you think?” Devin asked as the finishing touches were being put in place. The chefs were standing back to critique their own work, making finicky adjustments to get everything as perfect as possible.

  “It’s amazing,” Paul said, moving closer so he could get a better look at the details. He had a brief impulse to snatch up the chocolate sculpture and bite its head off, but then he’d have to explain why he didn’t like the statue in the pool.

  Instead, he complimented the chefs on their hard work and artistry and asked them to share his praise with the rest of the kitchen staff. He was pleased to know so many Triton employees took such pride and care in their work, and when he took over, he planned to make sure they knew the company appreciated their efforts.

  “I couldn’t be the one to make the first cut,” he said when he returned to Devin. Then his stomach let out a loud growl, and he smiled sheepishly. “My stomach disagrees, however.”

  Devin chuckled. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to.” He glanced at his watch. “If you want to take any pictures, you should do it before they let the guests in. It will be a madhouse when those doors open.”

  “Good idea.” Paul drew his smartphone out of his pocket and made a slow circle of the table, taking photos from different angles of all the dishes that were set out, and he took several close-up shots of the cake, zooming in to capture details like the pool and the metallic-looking rails. When he’d gotten as many pictures as he wanted, he tucked his phone away and went back to Devin. “This means we get to sample, right?” He was joking, but if anyone so much as hinted he could snag a shrimp early, he would take them up on it.

  Devin’s expression was pure mischief. “Let me see what I can do.”

  He left Paul standing against the wall and approached one of the chefs, who was adjusting a tray of seafood, apparently not pleased with the balance between the shrimp, scallops, and crab puffs. Devin murmured something in the chef’s ear, and the man looked up at Devin, eyes wide with surprise. Then he glanced at Paul before returning his attention to Devin. A few more words were exchanged, and then the chef removed some items from the tray and piled them on a small plate, which he then passed to Devin. Devin returned to Paul’s side and handed him the plate with a small bow.

  “I hope this will help you survive until the buffet opens,” Devin drawled.

  “I’m in your debt,” Paul said as he eyed the little seafood sampler. The chef had been generous enough to give him two each of the shrimp, scallops, and crab puffs, and he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to try first. Finally, he decided to start with the crab, thinking it would be his least favorite of the three, but the delicate pastry and exquisite seasoning made him reconsider. “Mm…. So good.”

  Devin’s eyes widened as he watched Paul eat
, and then he glanced away. Paul thought there might be a hint of a blush on Devin’s cheeks. “I’m glad you like them.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Paul said as he polished off the scallops next. “I’m glad the ship serves food this good, but I’m afraid it means I’m going to weigh ten or twenty pounds more by the time the cruise is over.”

  “You just have to walk a lot. Either up on the Promenade deck or while we’re in port.” Devin glanced back at Paul, looking him over slowly from his feet upward until he met Paul’s eyes. “You look great, you know. Being the height we are, ten pounds doesn’t show all that much.”

  “Thanks.” Paul tried to ignore the pleasure that squirmed in the pit of his stomach at Devin’s frank appraisal. “I haven’t gotten back into the things I used to do before the accident, but I do hit the gym regularly.”

  “Whatever you’re doing, it works,” Devin replied. He seemed about to say something else, but the maître d’ stepped forward, clapping his hands and shooing the chefs back into the kitchen.

  “Time!” he called out, and the waiters who had been stationed at the big double entrance doors opened them, letting in the passengers.

  It seemed like almost everyone on the ship tried to crowd into the dining room, and there were flashes as dozens of cameras snapped photos of the buffet. The staff had put up a series of posts and plush ropes to keep the crowd from getting too close or sampling before the photograph taking was done. As soon as the maître d’ welcomed everyone and the ropes were moved, the crowd swarmed the buffet like a school of piranha. Paul’s reluctance to disturb the display wasn’t shared by many of the passengers, and in short order the cake ship was missing its bow, and slices were carved out of the pool area.

  “If you want more, you’d better get in line,” Devin told him. “In thirty minutes, there won’t be much left except celery sticks and crumbs.”

  “What about you?” Paul asked, reluctant to partake of the buffet without Devin. “I don’t want to be rude and eat in front of you.” He glanced down at the now-empty sampler plate. “Snacking doesn’t count.”

  Devin took the plate from Paul and put it on a bus table close by. Then he clasped Paul’s hand and pulled him toward the line. “Come on, then, we might as well sin together, right?”

  Paul’s imagination betrayed him with images of ways he and Devin could sin together that didn’t involve food, and he found himself tightening his fingers around Devin’s hand just to enjoy the warmth of skin to skin contact.

  “Right,” he said huskily.

  The two of them towered above most of the other passengers, and Devin used his height to advantage, reaching across to pluck delicacies from the parts of the display others couldn’t reach. He pointed out some of the choicest morsels to Paul, and when their plates were full, Devin gave his to Paul and gestured toward an empty table. “If you’ll get the table, I’ll bring the champagne.”

  Putting his long legs to good use, Paul strode over to claim the table before anyone else could, and he waited patiently for Devin to join him. It only took Devin a couple of minutes to return, bearing two glasses of the sparkling wine, and he placed one down at each place.

  “This is from the bottle, not the fountain,” Devin explained as he sat in the empty chair across from Paul. “It looks pretty, but you don’t want to drink from it, because it goes flat so quickly.”

  “So people don’t really drink from the fountain?” Paul asked. “Or are they not aware that it goes flat?”

  “Some people like what’s in the fountain, because they’re not as fond of the sparkling wines to begin with, but I’m a purist,” Devin replied. He picked up his glass, raising it to Paul. “Should we drink a toast to your first decadent midnight buffet?”

  “The first, but I hope not the last,” Paul said as he touched his glass against Devin’s.

  “I hope so too.” Devin replied. He took a sip from the glass. “Mm. I like champagne. I’m glad I’m off duty so I can enjoy it. And enjoy watching you.”

  “I didn’t realize I provided that much entertainment,” Paul said, keeping his tone light as he turned his attention to his plate.

  “I like seeing your delight in new experiences,” Devin said. “I remember how it was for me on my first cruise, and I like reliving that through you. I hope you don’t mind. I don’t mean it as something condescending or superior. I suppose it’s just part of my personality. I’m happiest when those around me are happy.”

  “No, I understand,” Paul said, sternly reminding himself that it was irrational for him to be disappointed that Devin hadn’t meant the remark flirtatiously when he knew damned well he had no business flirting with Devin in the first place. “I like making people happy too. That’s why I work for Triton. It’s satisfying to know we can make people happy while they’re on board and give them a respite from everyday life for a week or so.”

  “I agree,” Devin replied. He nibbled at the items on his plate, then glanced at the dance floor as the band began to play. “Tonight is big band and jazz. The next buffet will have classic rock, I’ve heard. They try to mix it up so people don’t get tired of the same thing.”

  Paul glanced wistfully at the dance floor. “I used to enjoy dancing.”

  “Used to?” Devin asked. “You can still dance, you know.”

  “I know,” Paul said quietly. Dancing—like all the other activities he used to enjoy—had been relegated to the past. “Intellectually, at least. I’ve avoided a lot of things, including dancing. I tell myself it’s because I’ve been busy trying to get my career back on track, but I think some part of me is afraid Jack was right—that I wouldn’t be able to do any of it again.”

  “Ha!” Devin’s tone was chastising. “We agreed Jack was an idiot. You, however, are not, and neither am I. You can do anything you want. Anything, Paul. You have nothing to be afraid of. Even if you have to learn a different way of doing what you used to do, you won’t fail.”

  “Maybe after the cruise, I’ll pick something I used to do and try it again,” Paul said, and for the first time, he didn’t feel dread at the thought. Apprehension, sure, but also a new eagerness as if something in him was starting to emerge from the cocoon he’d wrapped himself in since Jack’s departure.

  “That’s the spirit.” Devin nodded in approval, then changed the subject. “So now that you’ve gotten to sample more, what’s your favorite thing from the buffet?”

  Paul looked down at his plate and shook his head. “I can’t choose. Everything was delicious, but my sweet tooth might come out more in favor of the cake. I’m just glad it was pretty well decimated by the time I got a piece because I still don’t think I could have made myself mess it up.”

  “I know what you mean.” Devin glanced toward the buffet. “It’s going down faster than the Titanic. If you want another piece, I can go get it for you.”

  “Thanks, but I’m good.” Paul realized Devin had been waiting on him all evening, and he wondered if Devin felt like he had to because Paul was higher up on the Triton ladder. “Kate made you my guide, not my butler,” he said, smiling slightly to take any sting out of his words. “You don’t have to wait on me.”

  Devin was obviously taken aback, and he shook his head. “I haven’t been waiting on you,” he said, then glanced away. “I like taking care of people. Sorry if I’ve been too pushy.”

  “No, you haven’t been pushy,” Paul said, reaching across the table to touch Devin’s hand lightly. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to fetch and carry for me just because Kate assigned you to work with me.” He leaned back and smiled wryly. “Plus I’m not accustomed to having a handsome man wait on me. I’m pretty self-sufficient.”

  Not to mention, he’d had a quite different dynamic with Jack, but he didn’t say so aloud since Devin seemed to dislike Jack more than enough already.

  Devin relaxed and smiled slightly, seeming pleased with the compliment. “I know you’re self-sufficient, so I was afraid I’d overstepped. I’m g
lad I didn’t.” He leaned back in his chair. “If you don’t want anything else, I have a suggestion. Would you like to see my favorite place on the ship?”

  “Sure,” Paul said, curious about where that might be. Obviously not the Lido deck or the lounge, since Paul had already seen both of those places.

  “Great!” Devin rose and removed his backpack from the back of his chair where he’d placed it. “It’s not far, actually, but not many people know about it.”

  Paul followed Devin out of the dining room, and then they rode the elevator up to the sports deck, which was at the top of the ship. Since it was well after midnight, there was no one around, but Devin didn’t stop there. He took a key ring out of his pocket to unlock a door next to the stand where people could borrow basketballs or putters and balls for the minigolf course. There was a spiral stairway inside, and Devin led him upward to a small deck, no more than twenty feet square, that was completely deserted. But the view of the sky and the moonlit sea was beautiful, and the band in the dining room was clearly audible.

  “When they built the ship, they’d planned to have skeet shooting up here,” Devin explained. He took off his backpack and placed it near the door. “But there was something about insurance and liability problems, so the idea was abandoned. One of the ventilation shafts for the dining room comes out on the sports deck, which is why you can hear the music.” He walked over to the railing where the deck overlooked the water at the aft of the ship. “I love to come up here at night.”

  Paul approached the railing and gazed out at the ocean. The water looked forbidding—black and infinite—but the reflection of the moon on the surface gave it an unearthly allure. Overhead, countless stars glittered, bright pinpoints of light in the inky velvet of the night sky, and Paul was entranced by the view.

  “I can see why,” he said, leaning on his forearms against the sturdy metal rail.

  “They sometimes have small, private cocktail parties up here, which is why I have a key,” Devin said. He turned his back to the water, leaned against the rail, and looked at Paul. “So, Mr. Bailey… we’re all alone, no one can see… would you care to dance?”