Page 6 of Captain's Orders
"I won't repeat what Lindsay said. Not in polite company." Dani kicked off her loafers. "But she made a second portion that was somehow less lamby—I don't know how, I don't ask questions—and Sarah pronounced it acceptable."
"And the grandparents?"
"Oh, they're delightful. Genuinely lovely." Dani sank onto the edge of the pull-out bed. "But it's fine. I've dealt with much worse."
"I don't think I could stay calm the way you do," Jordan said. "Smiling through all of that."
Dani looked up. "You? Please. You're the calmest person I've ever met. Nothing rattles you."
"That's what you think?"
"That's what everyone thinks. Jordan Hayes, unflappable captain. Cool under pressure. Steady as a rock." Dani chuckled. "I've seen you navigate through a storm without breaking a sweat. I've seen you handle a medical emergency with the Coast Guard on the radio and six panicking guests behind you. You're always in control."
Jordan set her book down on the small shelf beside her berth. "That's the bridge. That's the job I trained for. Give me a crisis at sea and I know exactly what to do. Every decision has a right answer, and if you've done the work, you know what it is." She paused. "But what you do—handling people, their emotions, their unreasonable demands—that's different. There's no manual for that."
"You're good with people."
Jordan actually laughed, and it surprised Dani. "I appear to be good with people. There's a difference." She gestured vaguely toward the bridge. "I'd rather hide up here. And between you and me? The Captain's dinners?"
"What about them?"
"I hate them."
Dani laughed as she stood, stretching her arms above her head. Her shirt rode up, revealing a strip of tanned skin above her waistband, and Jordan looked away quickly, fixing her gaze on the window.
"I should shower," Dani said. "I smell like children and anxiety."
"The towels are on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe."
Dani paused mid-stretch. "I know."
"Right. Of course you do."
"Captain..." Dani's voice was gently teasing now. "Who do you think puts them there? Who do you think makes your bed and cleans your cabin?" She was grinning widely now, enjoying Jordan's discomfort. "I probably know this room better than you do."
She grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later Jordan heard the shower start and she lay still in her berth, staring at the closed bathroom door.
Four years. Four years of Dani moving through this space, touching her things, making her bed. Four years of Daniknowing the intimate details of how she lived, what she read, how she refolded her clothes after Dani had put them away.
The shower ran on, a steady white noise.
Jordan looked at the pull-out bed where Dani would sleep tonight. At her duffel bag underneath it and the book on her pillow.
The shower shut off and Jordan moved without thinking. She set her book on the shelf, switched off the reading lamp, and turned onto her side, away from the pull-out bed. Eyes closed. Pretending to sleep.
She knew it was cowardice but the alternative—being awake when Dani emerged, watching Dani dress for bed, making awkward conversation—felt like more than she could handle right now.
The bathroom door opened. Soft footsteps on the floor. A slight creak as Dani settled onto the pull-out bed.
Silence.
Then, very quietly: "Goodnight, Jordan."
Jordan didn't respond, and she heard Dani shift, getting comfortable. The whisper of sheets being pulled up. A soft sigh. And then nothing. Just the two of them, lying in the dark, three feet apart.
Jordan had shared berthing with dozens of women during her Navy years. She'd learned to sleep through snoring, through conversations, through the constant movements of people existing in close quarters. It had never been a problem.
So what was it about Dani that kept her wide awake?
