Across the dining room, Graeme scoops a bite of food into his mouth and gazes out at the shifting view of Española as the ship drifts at anchor. His jaw muscles work as he chews.

I squeeze the dinner plate I’m holding and swallow hard.

I’ve been unfair.

Graeme’s right—I don’t know him well. I’ve assumed a lot about him based on interactions in a single setting: work. And not even daily office interactions—mostly digital ones.

Maybe he’s actually a nice guy? My calves itch to run away even as I take another step. I need to start with an apology and some sincere gratitude, since there’s no getting around the fact that he did me a solid today. I’ve never liked the taste of crow, but I’ll just have to suck it up and eat it.

Catching sight of Nikolai eyeing me with obvious interest, I kick my muscles into action and cross the final distance to Graeme. When he looks up, his flinty expression stops me in my tracks. I halt a few feet short of his table.

Forcing some iron into my spine, I lift my chin. “I’m sorry,” I say before I lose my nerve. “I should have confronted you about the viral video last year instead of jumping to conclusions. And I’m sorry for blowing up at you on the beach earlier. That was uncalled for. Thank you for teaching me how to snorkel, by the way. And thanks for not being a massive dick about the whole puking thing.”

I haven’t received any chiding emails from James yet, so I’m assuming Graeme never told him what happened. And for all his threats to go to human resources, I haven’t heard from them either.

Graeme just stares at me, jaw set. Cocking his head to the side, he taps his fingers against the arm of his chair in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

I shift my weight. “Look, I haven’t treated you very well on this cruise. I’ve been suspicious and salty and you’ve been nothing but nice to me. Again, I’m sorry.”

Just as I turn to walk away, he cups his hand behind his ear. “Can you speak into my good ear, please? Repeat what you just said—the last part.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat in an exaggerated shout.

His full lips curl into a grin. “Words I never thought I’d hear you say.”

He nods at the chair facing him in silent invitation. Sliding into the empty chair, I accept.

A waiter bustles over to fill my water glass and ask if I’d like the cocktail of the night—a mojito. I would. Graeme orders one as well.

“It’s not like you’re such a fountain of gratitude either,” I say to Graeme once the waiter leaves.

He furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”