Page 2 of Fire and Ice Cruise

We follow him through the cobblestone streets of Copenhagen’s harbor district as the afternoon sun does its best to pretend everything is fine despite the fact our lives just imploded.

The bar Wes leads us to is tucked between a fish market and a souvenir shop, its weathered sign reading “Havnekrogen” in faded letters.

Inside, the place has that comfortable dimness that all good drinking establishments possess—dark wood, brass fixtures, and the kind of worn leather booths that have absorbed decades of secrets and maybe a few decades of bad decisions, too. It’s almost noon, so the lunch crowd is just starting to trickle in, but we manage to snag a table near the bar.

Nettie wastes no time flagging down a server and proceeds to order what I’m pretty sure is half the appetizer menu. “Nachos, buffalo wings, mozzarella sticks, potato skins, and do you have fried pickles? No? Well, what about onion rings?”

“Nettie,” Bess hisses, “we’re in Denmark, not Wisconsin.”

“Food is food,” Nettie counters. “And stress eating is a valid coping mechanism.”

Wes leans toward Ransom, his captain’s authority softening into genuine concern. “Listen, this isn’t permanent. You’re not going anywhere. Trixie is an employee, which means you still have reasons to remain on the ship. I’m going to fight this with everything I’ve got.”

Ransom’s jaw tightens. “And if you can’t get me reinstated? I just had my last cruise as an employee myself.”

“Maybe the gift shop is hiring!” Nettie chirps.

Bess swats her arm. “I’m pretty sure he’s verboten from any staff position. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they yanked him from his living quarters, too.”

Actually, Ransom and I purchase our own cabin for each sailing because we prefer it to the employee quarters, but still.

I gasp, turning to Wes. “They can’t banish him from the ship, can they?”

Wes winces. “Well⁠—”

But he doesn’t finish. His eyes go wide, his lips parting slightly as his gaze locks onto something—or someone—at the bar.

Ransom and I follow his stare to where a redhead sits hunched over the counter, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs as she nurses what appears to be a very inadequate cocktail.

“Oh, that breaks my heart,” I say, placing my hand over my chest.

Ransom nods. “Poor thing seems to be all alone.”

I crane my neck to get a better look. She’s about my age—close to fifty—with long, glossy crimson hair that catches the light even in this dim bar. Slender figure, cheekbones that could touch heaven, and she’s wearing a jade green dress with tan heeled boots that scream I had plans today that did not include crying in a Danish bar.

“Is that a suitcase next to her?” I gasp. “Maybe I should go and⁠—”

Before I can finish, Wes is already on the move, settling onto the barstool beside her with the kind of effortless grace that comes from decades of command—and most likely dealing with emotional passengers, too.

Ransom and I scramble to catch up, positioning ourselves on the other side of her.

She looks up and appraises us all with her red, swollen eyes lingering a moment too long on Wes.

And just like that, I know whatever brought her to this bar with a suitcase and tears isn’t over.

It’s just beginning.

Marina

Through the veil of tears currently destroying what’s left of my mascara, I become aware of far too much company.

As if crying in a bar wasn’t bad enough, being surrounded by a group of concerned citizens feels that much worse.

A decidedly handsome man in a navy suit with enough brass buttons to outfit a marching band has materialized to my right. To my left, a beautiful blonde with concerned eyes stands next to a dark-haired man who looks like he could double as a movie star playing a cop, as the rugged, intense, and yet protective energy radiates off him in waves.

But my gaze sweeps back to the man in the navy suit. Dark hair peppered with just enough silver to make him look distinguished. He has dimples deep enough to lose your car keys in, and eyes so green they could double as emeralds.

My heart thumps unnaturally at the sight of him.