Shut Up and Kiss Me

by Julie Cannon

  My heart raced at the memory of almost kissing her back on the trail. If Kendrick hadn’t come looking for us I would have, no doubt about it. The way Faith had been looking at me and when she licked her lips, I’m sure she would have kissed me back. The feel of her hand on my neck and the slight pressure pulling me toward her was showstopping. After watching her backside as she climbed the trail and the way her harness accentuated her breasts and hips, who knows what would have happened after that. I felt ridiculously like a teenager.

  I’ve dated a lot of women for a lot of years, and it had been a long, long time since I’d experienced the level of anticipation I felt with Faith. Her bare leg was inches from mine, and I wanted to touch it, feel her warmth, run my fingers up and down her skin. I wanted to feel her muscles react, quiver with desire and spasm in release. My right leg started to bounce up and down, something I do when I’m nervous. Faith looked at it, and I forced myself to stop.

  She had to know I was attracted to her. All the signals were there, the spark between us crackling. What was the point of denying it? Why fight it? We were two grown women. If we wanted the same thing, a pleasant way to pass the time, then why not? I’d always been the rational one, the one who looked at all sides thoughtfully and logically. Emotions rarely came into play because facts and common sense were much more reliable. I had three weeks, no, make that twenty days until I left the Escape and went back to Phoenix. Why waste time?

  “Faith,” I said, but she cut me off.

  “No.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” She looked at me like I was crazy. “Okay, you know what I was going to say,” I admitted, keeping my own voice down. The people around us didn’t need to hear our conversation or listen to me beg. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”

  “The answer would still be the same.”

  “But you didn’t hear me out.” God, I sounded desperate. But then again, wasn’t I?

  “No need for you to waste your time.”

  “But—”

  “But no. It’s not going to happen.”

  An image of “it” flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t give up. I was not a quitter. “May I ask why not? It’s obvious you’re attracted to me.” Duh, Ms. Obvious.

  “Entanglements with residents are seriously discouraged, if not prohibited.” She sounded like she was reading from a rule book.

  “It wouldn’t be an entanglement. I’m not a resident,” I said, seeing an opening and jumping on the word.

  “Then what exactly would it be?”

  Faith had an expectant expression as she waited for my definition of what “it” would be. How do I say casual, convenient, temporary without it sounding like a simple, unencumbered hookup? And when did I consider a hookup bad? I struggled to find the right words.

  “Do you have someone waiting at home?” God, that sounded corny.

  “No.”

  “Someone on the ship?”

  “No.”

  “Then it would just be two people enjoying each other’s company. I’m single and unattached, and you just said you were—”

  “And that means I’d be interested in being your vacation fling?”

  “I will admit, I have taken advantage of…what I’d call…local opportunities,” I said, finally finding the right word. “But that’s not my intent with you.”

  “Well, you sure know how to make a girl feel desired,” Faith said, half serious and half joking.

  “Wow, I really stepped into that one, didn’t I?” I said, shaking my head. “I mean, I did think about it, with you. What lesbian wouldn’t? I mean you’re gorgeous, funny, have a great smile.”

  “But?”

  “I, uh.” I stammered, not knowing what else to say.

  “Then what exactly?” Faith shifted in the small seat to fully look at me, her eyes bright and large. “What exactly do you want, Ms. Carter?”

  When Faith broke out the Ms. Carter, I knew I was in trouble. The moment on the trail was lost, and by the look on her face and the tone of her words, I seriously doubted I’d be getting another. I knew when to retreat and when to surrender. This was the former.

  “I apologize, Faith. My mistake. I want to simply enjoy my time away from the office, and my parents, and if some or all of it includes you, then that will make it a very nice trip.”

  Faith looked at me for several moments, her expression unreadable. My leg started to bounce again, and I put my hand on my knee to keep it in place. I wished I could read her mind. What was going on behind those dark, curious eyes? Was she weighing the pros and cons of me? The risk to her job? If I was stable and not a crazy lady who would make her life miserable? Worse yet, display serious PDAs on the ship in front of her boss?

  Before I could figure it out, she stood and lifted the microphone from the holder next to the driver, our conversation effectively over.

  But I wasn’t going to be deterred. I’d seen the look in her eyes, felt the slight tremor in her hand when she touched me. The heat between us was real, and I was not going to let her get away that easily. If fraternization was against the rules, then didn’t the price of my parents’ apartment carry some weight? I was going to find out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Day Four

  “Ladies and gentlemen, our first stop this morning is Salamanca Place, which is one of the most popular tourist attractions in Australia.” Faith was standing in the aisle, her microphone in her hand. Today she was wearing a pair of yellow shorts and a green and white tank top with the Escape logo. Her hair was in a ponytail, her sunglasses perched on top of her head.

  “Large warehouses have been converted into restaurants, craft shops, and galleries. You can stroll through the famous Salamanca Market, where vendors sell fresh and gourmet produce, arts, crafts, and handiwork from all over the country. Get your shopping in because the market is open only today. And a bit of Hobart trivia…” Faith hesitated to let the suspense build. “Salamanca Place is featured as a property in the Australian version of Monopoly.”

  Faith looked at her watch. “It’s now two fifteen, and the bus will leave from this spot at eight thirty. That’s eight thirty,” she repeated. “Please do not be late. We cannot and will not wait for you.” Faith returned to her seat beside me.

  “Have you ever left anyone behind?” I asked. I wanted to get the conversation between us going again.

  “I haven’t.”

  “What happens if not everyone is on time?” I knew the answer but asked it anyway.

  “All the residents are responsible for themselves. If they aren’t on board when we depart, we don’t wait. We can’t, because we have a schedule to keep. The ports where we dock are pretty busy, and we have an appointed time in and out. If we’re late, one way or the other, it has downstream effects.”

  “No pun intended,” I said. Faith looked at me blankly. I repeated my words, and when she frowned, I knew she had no idea what I was talking about. Even though Brits and Americans speak English, we sometimes don’t speak the same language. “Downstream effects. We’re on the water, the ocean, the ultimate stream destination.” She still wasn’t getting it. “Never mind,” I said. I changed the subject. “Have you ever been to the market?”

  “No, but if you can’t find what you’re looking for here, you probably can’t find it anywhere.”

  The bus pulled into a crowded parking lot. “Looking for anything special?”

  “Not really,” she said curtly. “If you’ll excuse me. Enjoy your day.”

  Faith resumed her duties, reminding the passengers of exactly when the bus would be leaving three more times, and had each of us repeat it as we stepped off the bus.

  I’m not one for shopping, but the crowds had an energy and excitement that was contagious. The vendors were lined neatly in rows displaying their goods on tables, racks, and sometimes on a blanket on the ground. Everything was handmade, with bright colors and interesting designs and quali
ty workmanship. The variety of goods was almost overwhelming, and the scent of fresh fruit was in the air.

  Sensing I needed to back off, I followed Faith as she strolled the aisles. She picked up a few things here and there, spoke to several more vendors, and stopped at a tea cart, where she bought a cup of tea. Then she sat on a nearby bench in a beautiful green grassy area, her face to the sun.

  ***

  “May I join you?”

  I wondered how long it would be before Lowe would approach me. She’d been following me for at least an hour.

  “Of course.” What was I going to do, tell her no? She was the number-one daughter of one of the richest residents on board. I knew better than that.

  I didn’t initiate conversation, even though I should have. It was my job, after all, to ensure that residents and their guests have the best possible experience. But I was still shaken by the almost-kiss yesterday and my reaction to it.

  I’d tossed and turned most of the night, reliving the moment I almost let her kiss me. No, that was a cop-out. I wanted it to happen. I was going to let it happen. Making excuses was just that, an excuse. I didn’t want to be responsible for my own actions, especially because I knew they were wrong. But how could something that felt so right be wrong? That sounded like a cliché, but it was true. We’d ended the day on what I would describe as an uncomfortable understanding that nothing was going to happen between us. If that was the case, why did I practically obsess over her all night?

  “What are you drinking?” Lowe asked, finally breaking the long minutes of thick silence between us.

  “Blueberry boost tea.”

  “Blueberry boost? A boost of what?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s made in Tasmania and is delicious.” I handed Lowe the package I’d bought, turning it around so she could see the ingredients.

  “It says it has spearmint leaves, raspberry and blueberry leaves, dried blueberries, hence the name, and cinnamon. Sounds delicious. It claims to balance albumin levels, whatever that is.” She looked at me skeptically, then said, “It will lower your blood sugar, increase insulin tolerance, and improve your sleep. Wow.” She handed me back the bag. “Delicious and good for you. Not many products can say that.”

  “If you’re a tea drinker, you’ll find a few stalls that sell different flavors, all made locally or from local ingredients,” I said, just being polite.

  The noise of the crowd and water from the fountain behind Lowe filled the silence between us. Tourists and locals strolled through the area, carrying bags of their purchases from the vendors. A toddler dressed in green shorts and a bright-orange T-shirt and sandals walked by, one hand holding his mother’s, the other clutching a large apple he was sinking his teeth into. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “That apple is almost bigger than he is.” I nodded in the direction of the boy. Sitting next to Lowe made me want to talk with her, share the experience.

  “He almost needs two hands to hang on to it,” Lowe replied, breaking into a big smile.

  Silence fell between us again, this time a bit more comfortable. I found myself enjoying her company, even if we were just sitting and watching the crowds move leisurely from shop to shop.

  “I apologize again for the other day. I was rude and presumptuous,” Lowe said quietly.

  She didn’t need to be specific. “There is no need. We clarified the expectation.”

  “I don’t want any tension between us.”

  “We’re fine,” I lied.

  Lowe studied me for quite some time, as if waiting for my veneer to crack. It wouldn’t, at least not in front of her. I had too much to lose. Finally, she looked away, and I started to breathe again.

  “Would you like a refill?” she asked when I finished my tea. “I’m going to try it, and I’ll be happy to save you the trip.”

  She looked at me so expectantly I couldn’t refuse. I didn’t want to either.

  “That would be nice, thanks.” She waved me off when I reached into my bag for my wallet.

  “That’s not—”

  “I know. You forget my mother drummed good manners into me.”

  My heart skipped when she flashed me a smile.

  By the time she returned with two very full drinks in her hands, I had regained some of my balance. How something as simple as a smile could knock the breath out of my lungs was frightening.

  “Would you like to wander around some more?” Lowe asked. “There’s a gallery a few shops down that Shirley was talking about last night at dinner.”

  I thought about saying no. I should have, but I found myself with absolutely no self-control. The last thing I needed was to spend a warm, sunny afternoon strolling through shops and galleries like lovers taking a break from loving.

  We stopped inside the shop, and I was immediately drawn to a large abstract painting on the far wall. Lowe followed me, and I sensed her behind my left shoulder. I lost interest in the painting, my focus completely on the energy between us. It was palpable, and I knew Lowe sensed it as well. She took a half step closer.

  “Lowe?”

  I jumped, startled. Lowe stepped back.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “If I’d known you were going to be here, we could have come together.”

  I noticed Victoria approaching. Mrs. Carter still hadn’t looked at me.

  “There are some exceptional pieces in the back. Come. I’ll show you,” she ordered her older daughter.

  I felt Lowe stiffen beside me.

  “Mother, you remember Faith Williams from the Escape?”

  I watched as Lowe’s mother searched her memory to find me in her contact list and saw the instant she recognized me.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, but she made no other move to acknowledge me. Victoria, however did.

  “You’re the waitress, aren’t you?” she said, knowing damn good and well I was. She was making a snotty point.

  “Among other things, yes.” My answer was clipped.

  “I’m here with Faith, Mother. I’m sure we’ll get to that part of the gallery. Thanks for mentioning it.”

  It was one of the smoothest shutdowns I’d ever heard. Mrs. Carter looked between me and Lowe several times. I knew she wanted to say more, but the expression in Lowe’s eyes must have stopped her.

  “Of course, dear. We’ll see you at dinner.”

  I wasn’t surprised when neither Lowe’s mother nor Victoria said good-bye to me as they walked away.

  “I’m—”

  I held my hand up, stopping Lowe from what I knew was another apology for her family.

  “No need,” I said honestly. “You’ve already unnecessarily apologized once. You don’t have to again.”

  “But—”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Let’s just move on, shall we?”

  We window-shopped and strolled in and out of the shops the rest of the afternoon. Lowe bought a few items for her staff, and I picked up a scarf for my mother and a crazy purse for Angelica. We snacked on ice cream in a bistro in the central square. The tension between us had dissipated, but the hum of desire followed us everywhere. If I had a normal life, this would be a picture-perfect day spent with my girlfriend. In a perfect world, one of us would be pushing a stroller occupied by a sleeping toddler. But I didn’t have a normal life, and the world was far from perfect.

  “We’d better be heading back,” Lowe said, breaking into my fantasy. We’d had dinner at a quiet restaurant a few blocks from the market. “I hear the concierge from the Escape is ruthless and will leave anyone behind if they’re late.”

  “I heard the same thing,” I said, continuing the teasing. “She’s a taskmaster and is solely responsible for ensuring that the ship departs on schedule.” We were still sharing our private joke when the tender arrived at the ship.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Day Five

  At sea

  Hobart to Milford Sound

  “It’s good to see you again, Ms. Carter.”

&nbs
p; A shadow floated over the tabletop, and I looked up into the smiling, friendly face of Captain Waverly. His uniform was gleaming white, and I shielded my eyes from the sun’s glare.

  “Thank you, Captain. Do you have time to join me for a cup of coffee?” I asked, indicating the empty chair across from me. I was enjoying my second cup of the delicious brew on the aft deck, my server hovering discreetly nearby.

  “That would be nice, thank you.”

  As Captain Waverly sat, a bus boy placed a delicate cup and saucer in front of him. An instant later it was full of hot, black coffee.

  “How have you been?” I asked. Captain Johan Waverly reminded me of the captain of the S.S. Titanic. His hair and beard were white and neatly trimmed, lines around his soft, caring eyes. I had never seen him in anything other than his immaculate white uniform. I had trouble keeping a pair of white shorts clean for more than an hour.

  I’d read somewhere that he had over ten years of sailing experience on large cruise ships after a distinguished career as a commander in the British navy. His hat sat squarely on his head, the brim keeping the early morning sun from his hazel-green eyes.

  “I’ve been well, thank you.”

  “And your granddaughters?” I asked.

  The familiar sparkle came to his eyes as he gave me the rundown on his son’s four daughters. We exchanged small talk for a few minutes when he asked about my trip so far and my excursions.

  “Outstanding as usual. I spent the day with Faith Williams yesterday.”

  “How was the Airwalk? It is probably my favorite place in Hobart.” He sat back and crossed his legs casually, his eyes scanning the deck for anything that needed his attention.

  “Awesome. I’d recommend it to anyone. Faith was a fabulous tour guide. I know that’s not her job, but she was very helpful and informative.”

  “I’ll pass the compliment on to her.”