Oh god. Wine stain. The toilets with Jordan. She vaguely recalled it, but she couldn’t quite remember what she’d said. She just remembered there had been a lot of touching from her. Of Jordan’s face, Jordan’s hair.

Fuck.

She closed her eyes as nausea rose in her.

A glass of water would make her feel better. Perhaps two.

Abby slipped on her flip-flops and walked to the kitchen in the dark, trying to make as little noise as possible. She wasn’t sure she succeeded as she felt her way along the walls. She hit the kitchen spotlights over the dining table, and decided that was enough to illuminate the kitchen. She didn’t want too much light, and she was only getting a glass of water.

The detritus of their night was still covering the surfaces: glasses, empty wine bottles, some crisps and nuts still left in bowls. Abby’s stomach growled. They’d had a big dinner cooked for them by a visiting chef, but she could still eat. She opened the fridge and spied some fancy potatoes - were they called hasselbacks? Or was that the bloke who used to be in Baywatch? No, that was Hasselhoff. Were they Hasselhoff potatoes?

She shook her head, smiling at herself, and shoved a potato in her mouth. While she chomped, she opened a few cupboards, locating the glasses on the third try. She didn’t know where anything was in here. Princess Abby. She’d been waited on hand and foot all weekend. By her whole crew, ably led by Captain Jordan.

Those two words conjured up an image of Jordan in a sailor suit, all tight belts and pressed white fabric. Abby gulped. She focused on glugging the water. If she wasn’t so taken with Jordan, she might not have got so drunk. Then again, this was what a bride-to-be was meant to do on her hen weekend, wasn’t it? She was just following protocol. Just as she would have done if Jordan was in front of her in uniform and doling out the orders.

When she looked up, her heart caught in her chest and she almost stopped breathing. Jordan was standing in the kitchen doorway, although thankfully, not in a sailor suit. That would have been a little too much to handle. Instead, an orange singlet top and navy shorts adorned her sleepy form.

“What are you doing up?” Abby glanced at the clock. “It’s the middle of the night.” If anything, she looked even more appealing in the semi-darkness. As Abby walked towards her, she spied a sleep crease indented on Jordan’s cheek. Her skin was probably still hot to the touch.

“I’m aware.” Jordan went straight to the right cupboard. “Water,” she said, filling a glass. She drank some, before settling herself on the other side of the large white kitchen island.

A safe distance away.

“How’s your head?” Jordan squinted at Abby.