Page 55 of Fire and Ice Cruise

Silas pushes back from the table, and Holland starts to rise with him, but he leans down and says something quiet that settles her back into her chair. Then he’s through the door and gone, and Holland stares at the empty seat beside her for just a beat too long before she picks her pen back up.

“This is about as confusing as a hog in a hammock,” Nettie says, examining her answer sheet.

“Just write something down,” Bess says.

“I am writing something down. It’s called creative guessing.”

Marina is still working the room, her professional demeanor never slipping, and Wes is still watching her with that expression that says he’s more than interested.

Tinsley looks relieved to have competent help and yet she’s not missing the way Wes is tracking Marina as if she were a shoplifter—a shoplifter who might just be stealing his heart.

Meanwhile the Second Act Society people are taking this game more seriously than most people take their careers.

And somewhere on this ship, Silas Rowen is standing alone, seemingly rattled by a conversation with a widow.

I need to talk to him.

Soon. Before he pulls himself back together and becomes impossible to read again.

“I think I need more coffee,” I say as I bounce to my feet.

“You haven’t touched the coffee you have,” Bess points out.

“That’s because I want a different coffee.”

“That’s not a thing,” Nettie says with a wink.

“It is now.”

I slip out of the lounge and into the corridor. The ship’s quiet here—most passengers are either at trivia or napping or hitting the buffet on the lido deck. The carpet muffles my footsteps as I head toward the forward observation lounge. It’s a guess, but people who need to think usually gravitate toward windows and water.

I round the corner and, sure enough, I spot him.

Silas stands alone at the floor-to-ceiling windows with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the endless gray-blue expanse of ocean. The light coming through the glass turns everything silver and cold.

He looks smaller here, somehow. Older. Less like the confident Nordic Hearth co-founder who laughed easily at the bon voyage party and more like someone who looks burdened by life.

Celeste materializes beside me in a shower of hot pink stars, looking every bit like the bombshell diva she is.

“Now,” she whispers. “Let’s shake this man down before he rebuilds his walls.”

I take a breath and start walking toward him.

It’s time to see what stories Silas Rowen has been so carefully keeping buried.

CHAPTER 18

Ireach Silas just as he shifts his weight, still staring out at Iceland’s coastline like it holds answers he’s been searching for.

The trivia event is still in full swing in the lounge behind us, and believe me, I’m still very much interested in getting a few questions answered.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I keep my voice light and friendly.

I can hear the faint buzz of competitive enthusiasm and Tinsley’s voice over the microphone. But I’m done playing games. I’ve got questions that need answering, and Silas Rowen looks like a man who might finally crack if I ask them in just the right way.

He turns, and for half a second, I catch something raw in his expression before it smooths into polite surprise. “Trixie. Taking a break from trivia?”

“I couldn’t handle the pressure.” I lean against the window frame, keeping a comfortable distance between us. “Besides, I’m terrible at pop culture questions. My brain basically stops at 1990.”