by Amber Crewes
Jack said nothing and continued driving on the highway. “Jack? The exit is coming up,” Meghan warned him. “It’s right there.”
They drove past it, and Meghan was filled with confusion. “Babe? You missed the exit. Aren’t we flying out here? What’s going on?”
Jack looked at her. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”
Her dark eyes widened. “Figured what out?”
He laughed. “Thank goodness,” he said. “I was worried your mom or sisters gave away the surprise.”
“What surprise?”
He winked at her. “You’ll find out soon enough, my love.”
They passed a mile marker, and Meghan gasped. “Babe, we’re almost out of the state. Where are we going?”
“Seattle,” he told her.
“We’re doing our honeymoon in Seattle?” she cried in excitement.
“Nope.”
“Then why are we driving to Seattle, honey?”
An hour later, she knew the answer when Jack drove to a massive dock. Outside, enormous ships were in the harbor, and Meghan spotted a cruise ship. “We’re going on a cruise, aren’t we?”
Jack’s smile stretched across his entire face. “What do you think?”
She clapped her hands and batted her eyelashes at her new husband. “Babe, are you serious?”
“We’re going on a cruise,” he confirmed. “To Mexico, Hawaii, and Alaska. What do you think?”
She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I think you are the best husband in the world. How did you get away with this?”
“Your Mama helped me,” he told her. “She connected me with her travel agent, and the travel agent suggested this itinerary. Your Mama also told me that you went on a cruise as a little girl and had the best time, and I thought it would be fun to do it again.”
Meghan felt happy tears brim in her eyes. “You are so thoughtful,” she praised as he pulled up at a small check-in station. “Babe? Don’t we have to park the car?”
His eyes shone with pride. “Nope,” he told her. “I ordered valet parking. We’ll get out, they’ll take our bags to the ship, and we’ll get our passports stamped and tickets here.”
Her eyes widened. “Bags,” she muttered. “Babe, I packed for the Ozarks.”
He winked. “Your Mama packed a special bag for you before we left Texas,” he explained. “It’s in the trunk. She and your sisters went out and bought new clothes and accessories for you to have during our trip. They had so much fun doing it, and they even showed me a few things. You’ll love the dresses and the swimsuits they chose... I know I certainly did.”
Meghan shook her head. “You thought of everything,” she commented in amazement. “My amazing husband.”
They walked into the office and began the check-in process. Jack told the customer service representative that they were on their honeymoon, and they were quickly upgraded to a VIP Suite.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Meghan whispered to Jack as they were handed their tickets. “VIP?! For us?”
“It’s our honeymoon, baby,” he reassured her. “This week, we ARE VIPs!”
The ticket agent escorted them to a long hallway that stretched up to the deck of the ship. “Simply follow this hallway as far as it goes, and at the top, you will be onboard the ship. Enjoy your stay.”
They set off, hand-in-hand, and as they finally boarded the ship, they were greeted by a tall Hispanic man with warm eyes and a thick mustache. “Hello,” he greeted them as they stepped onto the deck. “My name is Hugo Gomez, and I’ll be your personal butler for the duration of your stay.”
Jack extended his hand to shake Hugo’s. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Gomez,” he greeted him. “This is my wife, Meghan.”
Meghan smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gomez.”
“Please, call me Hugo,” he insisted kindly. “We’ll get to know each other very well;
I’m here to serve your every need, including laundry, providing snacks and drinks, and any other task that will make your time with us more pleasant. Now, let me lead you to your rooms.”
“Rooms?” Meghan whispered to Jack.
“We really are VIPs,” he grinned at her.
Hugo led them across the impressive open-air deck; the floors were a polished wood with matching railings, and everything was spotless. There were lounge chairs positioned in small clusters, and a large circular stage was raised in the middle of the deck. They turned a corner and Hugo opened a door leading to a wide red-carpeted hallway. “This is the way to the VIP section,” he informed them. “Your rooms are just down this hallway.”
Hugo escorted them to a set of tall white double doors. “Ta da,” he sang as he threw them open to reveal their suite.
“This is where we get to stay?” Meghan gasped as they walked inside. The entryway was dripping with luxury; with floor-to-ceiling windows, it offered unmatched views of the Seattle harbor. A chandelier hanging above the white grand piano which was displayed in the center of the room, and a large circular leather couch was right beside it. Each surface had a vase with white roses, and a bottle of champagne was waiting for them on the kitchen counter.
“Will this do?” Hugo asked as Jack and Meghan nodded. “This is our best suite; I heard it was your honeymoon, so I told your private chef to prepare some appetizers for happy hour. They’ll be ready shortly, and I’ll serve them to you in the sitting room.”
“Sitting room?”
“It is right down the hall,” Hugo informed them. “Your bedroom is down the other hallway, and your bathroom is attached. Down the last hallway is the guest room and bathroom, the library, and the dining room.”
Meghan shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”
Hugo smiled. “Believe it, Ma’am. You two are about to have the time of your lives.”
3
The next afternoon, Meghan and Jack were lounging in the Palmer Room, a luxury dining hall on the fifth-floor deck of the ship. The Palmer Room offered a variety of international dishes made by foreign chefs on the ship, and Meghan had already enjoyed naan from the Indian station, saganaki from the Greek station, and ghormeh sabzi from the Persian station.
“I could get used to eating like this,” Meghan sighed as she spooned rich, salmon-colored pâté onto her gold-rimmed plate. “I can’t believe how many stations they have. I’ve never even heard of some of these countries before.”
“Get used to it, honey,” Jack grinned at her after taking a bite of his duck breast. “For the next week, we are living in the lap of luxury.”
Meghan opened a pamphlet she had picked up from the ship’s recreation office. “There are a bunch of activities I want to do while we’re on the ship,” she told him. “I know you picked out our excursions for our days on land, but I want to arrange our activities on the ship.”
“You pick whatever you want,” he assured her. “I’ll happily do anything with you, my love. What sounds fun? We could do a fitness class? They have anti-gravity treadmills here and classes with trampolines! Or we could do the trapeze class? I heard it’s fun; they put you on a rope over the pool on the lido deck, and you have to walk all the way across.”
Meghan shuddered. “That sounds like the opposite of fun,” she told her husband. “I was thinking we could try a cooking class together.”
“I’m shocked,” he joked, winking at her from across the round table. “What kind of class did you have in mind? French cooking? Italian pastries? Moroccan seafood? They have it all.”
She held up the pamphlet. “This is a crazy coincidence,” she began. “But one of my favorite celebrity chefs is onboard. He’s holding a workshop later today, and I thought we could go.”
“Who is it?” Jack asked.
“Oliver Winterburn,” she exclaimed, her face bright with excitement.
“Where is he from?”
“The UK.”
Jack wrinkled his nose. “The UK? I thought food from the UK was all pub food. Like Fre
nch fries and heavy soups. Why would you want to go to a cooking class with a chef from the UK?”
“Babe,” she chided him. “He’s so famous; he has over a million followers on social media, and he has a television show on a major channel. He started from almost nothing, and now he’s such a big deal. Besides, his workshop is about making the perfect tiramisu, and we had that at our wedding. It’s perfect for us.”
Jack nodded. “If that’s what you want to do, we’ll do it, babe.”
Later that day, they shuffled into a meeting room with around fifteen other couples. They were seated around an oval-shaped conference room table, and at one of the narrow ends, a small but elaborate cooking station had been constructed.
“We’re the only young ones here,” Jack whispered to Meghan as they took their seats next to an older Asian couple.
“Shhh,” she said as she held a finger to her lips. “This will be a good time, I promise.”
“Do we actually get to try the tiramisu?” Jack asked as he glanced around the room. “I don’t see plates or napkins. It just looks like he’ll be demonstrating cooking. I’ll be disappointed if we don’t get to try it.”
Meghan shot him a look. “If we don’t get to sample it, I’ll buy you a slice of tiramisu from our next port of call,” she said sternly. “For now, settle in and enjoy.”
Jack gave her a playful swat on the behind. “Look at you, Mrs. Irvin,” he teased as Meghan blushed, glancing around to make sure none of the other passengers saw. “Bossing your husband around! What would your mother say?”
Meghan stuck her tongue out at him. “My mother has been bossing my father around since the day they said I do,” she declared grandly. “Now, hush, my love; the presentation is about to begin.”
The lights suddenly went low, and the crowd gasped. “Do you think we lost electricity?” Jack whispered anxiously as Meghan reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Oliver has a theatrical streak,” she murmured. “I’m sure this is part of the class.”
A medley of rock hits began to play, and the lights flickered. A deep male voice came over the PA system in the room. “Ladies and gentleman, the moment you’ve been waiting for… the five-time winner of the Bijou Baptiste Baking Award… a four-time Hamilton Hambone Competition nominee... the author of fifteen critically acclaimed cookbooks... the host of the global television sensation Burn it Down… the man of the hour, OLIVER WINTERBURN!”
The lights flashed and changed from their standard yellow light to red and blue tones, and the crowd cheered as the double doors flew open to reveal Oliver Winterburn. Dressed in a slim-fit gray suit, his white-blonde hair was slicked up and meticulously styled. He flashed a bright grin to the crowd, waving as he strutted in. “Hello, ladies and gents,” he greeted as he strode around the table and the music faded.
“It’s really him,” Meghan squealed.
Oliver smiled as the crowd continued to cheer, and then he took a dramatic bow. “Thank you for joining me today,” he winked at the audience as he walked to his position at the kitchen station. “Today, we’ll be discussing one of my favorite desserts. This specialty item is one that many attempt, but few master.”
Oliver turned back to the double door and gestured. A tall auburn-haired man dashed through the door holding a tray of cooking supplies.
“My assistant, Reuben,” Oliver announced with a wide smile as Reuben shakily placed the tray in front of him.
Reuben’s entire body was quivering as he set the gold tray down; Meghan could tell the young man was nervous. His face was drawn, and the plates and metal spoons began to clatter as the tray slowly was lowered to the table.
“Reuben, leave it, please,” Oliver hissed impatiently to his assistant.
Reuben nodded, but then nearly dropped the platter. The contents of the bowls went splashing about, and Oliver sneered as Reuben’s eyes widened.
“Grace isn’t Reuben’s speciality,” he joked as Reuben’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. Oliver wiped a spot of spilled olive oil from his gray jacket and dismissed the young man. “It’s a good thing this man didn’t go into neurosurgery, or anything requiring balance, isn’t it?”
The crowd laughed good-naturedly, but Meghan could see the look of hurt on Reuben’s face. “He doesn’t have to humiliate him like that,” she thought to herself as Reuben hurriedly tried to clean up the small mess he had made. “It’s okay to joke about making mistakes, but not in a hurtful way. I would never do that to Trudy or Pamela…”
Oliver waved Reuben away. “Get out of here,” Meghan heard him order, and she cringed as Reuben scurried away.
“Poor guy,” Jack whispered to her. “He looked really embarrassed.”
“You noticed that too?” Meghan asked.
“I think everyone did,” Jack told her. “Look around.”
Meghan peered around the room filled with couples, and she saw they each had a confused expression on their faces.
Reuben left the room for good, and Oliver turned to the crowd. “I apologize for my assistant’s incompetence,” he announced. “It’s hard to find good help these days.”
Meghan shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Jack reached over and put his hand on her knee.
“Let’s continue the show. As I was saying, tiramisu is one of the most ravishing dishes, if done correctly. Most who attempt it, forget a crucial ingredient. Does anyone know what ingredient that is?”
“Sugar!” an elderly woman called out in a Canadian accent.
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “You think most people leave sugar out of a dessert?” he replied with a grin, though the condescension in his tone was glaringly apparent. “No. Anyone else?”
“Espresso beans?”
“Dark chocolate?”
“Clarified butter?”
He shook his head. “Not even close. Anyone else have an idea? Let me give you a hint: you won’t expect this.”
Meghan pursed her lips. “Salt?” she cried out.
Oliver’s face brightened. “No, no, no. You are all missing the point. The missing ingredient for most tiramisu recipes? Coffee liqueur.”
Meghan’s dark eyes bulged. “Coffee liquer? That’s not a surprise. I mean, I wouldn’t have thought to use it, but it’s not unusual…”
Oliver smirked. “No one thought of that, did they? It’s a little unconventional, yes, but it is the key ingredient in making a moist, delicious tiramisu.”
Meghan crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was less than impressed with Oliver’s treatment of his assistant, and now, his patronizing attitude toward the group was too much for her. She leaned over to her husband. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You want to leave?”
She nodded. “Get me out of here, honey. I would rather die than listen to another minute of this pretentious man speak!”
4
That evening, Jack had a surprise in store for Meghan.
“Babe?” he gently whispered into her ear. She was laying down for a nap, and she smiled dreamily as Jack rubbed her shoulder.
“Hi,” she yawned.
“Hi, sweetie. I have something for you.”
“For me?” she murmured sleepily as she slowly sat up in the giant California-king sized bed. “What’s it?”
Jack pulled two tickets out of his pocket. “Check it out.”
Meghan took the tickets and scanned the gold print. “Are these tickets for the talent show tonight? I thought our butler said it was at capacity. How did you get these?”
Jack winked. “I had to make my bride happy, and Hugo pulled a few strings.”
Meghan embraced her husband. “Thank you so much, babe. I heard this was the best show on the ship; they have different themes for each voyage, and tonight, it’s a bake-off talent show.”
“I know,” Jack laughed. “You’ve only mentioned it about a hundred times.”
She grinned. “I’m just so excited. What time does it start? I have to get ready.”
Jack bit his lip. “Well, Hugo just dropped the tickets off…”
“And?”
“And the show begins in thirty minutes.”
Meghan shrieked. “Babe! This is a high-class affair; some ladies I was chatting with this morning said that the talent show is one of the fanciest nights on the ship. I have to get ready.”
“I already showered, so the master bathroom is all yours.”
Meghan ran to the luxurious master bathroom and stared at herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She was still dressed in her outfit from the day, and her face had a funny imprint of the pillow from where she had slept. “I’m in rough shape,” she muttered as she turned to her peach linen makeup bag on the gray marble counter. “I need to get gussied-up fast.”
