by Amber Crewes
Meghan studied her eyes. “Why?”
Celia huffed. “One of my major clients was arrested last night,” she whispered. “He was Oliver Winterburn’s assistant, and the security team thinks he was the one who killed Oliver.”
Meghan’s dark eyes widened, and she feigned ignorance as she continued the conversation. “What happened?”
Celia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I heard he was hauled out of the casino. I don’t know why they think Reuben did it; he’s a good guy, and Oliver was lucky to have him.”
Meghan nodded. “Did you know him well?”
“I trained him on and off for a few years,” Celia revealed. “Oliver was always a jerk to him; Reuben is the one with real talent, and Oliver took advantage of him. Reuben always had a hard time living under Oliver’s shadow, and I hoped Oliver’s death would let him rise up and shine his light into the world. Now, I guess that won’t happen.”
Meghan raised her eyebrows. “So... do you think he did it?”
Before Celia could reply, a call went out over the ship’s loudspeaker. There was crackling feedback, but she could hear her name, clear as day.
“Meghan Irvin, please report to the lower deck at once.”
19
She stared at Celia in horror. “I can’t go anywhere looking like this,” she cried, looking down at her sweat-covered body. “I look like a mess.”
Celia shrugged. “Why don’t you go shower in your suite? I’m sure whatever is happening on the lower deck can wait a few minutes.”
“Good idea.”
Meghan left the gym and ran upstairs to her suite. When she stepped inside, she was surprised to find the suite empty; Jack was nowhere to be found.
“Maybe he went for a jog,” she thought as she peeled her sweaty clothes off and dashed into the shower.
She quickly scrubbed her body and ran a handful of shampoo through her dark hair. Meghan applied conditioner, and when she rinsed her wavy locks, she tied a fluffy towel over her hair to dry it.
“Jack?” she called out as she exited the shower. No one answered, and she threw on her robe and slippers before rummaging through her closet for something to wear.
She chose a pair of comfortable beige paper bag pants and tucked a gray long-sleeve t-shirt into the waistband. As she slipped on her white sneakers, she heard a knock on her bedroom door.
“Babe?” Meghan was taken aback to find Hugo standing before her.
“Mrs. Irvin,” he greeted pleasantly. “They are waiting for you on the lower deck.”
She carefully unwound the towel from her head and let it fall to the floor. “Who is waiting for me?”
Hugo shifted awkwardly. “I was just told to let you know, Ma’am.”
She stared at him. “Who wants me to report downstairs? Is it the security office, Hugo? Where’s Jack?”
“Mr. Irvin isn’t in at the moment.”
She laughed. “Obviously. Hugo, please just tell me what’s going on. You are making me nervous. Where is my husband?”
He sighed. “I hate to say this,” he began nervously, his face fraught with worry. “And I would hate to dampen your experience on the ship.”
“Just tell me.”
“We need you,” he continued. “In the kitchen. Most of our kitchen staff and even some passengers have caught a nasty stomach bug. A lot of our sous chefs and pastry-chefs are out of commission, and our Chef, Zachary Tilley, is falling behind. Passengers need their meals, and we don’t have enough hands on deck to support our guests.”
Meghan’s eyes grew large. “What does this mean for me?”
Hugo nodded. “Well, our Captain remembered meeting you and Mr. Irvin, and he wondered if you could help support the kitchen staff. He knows it is a lot to ask; you are on your honeymoon, of course. The Captain would like to offer you a credit to use toward a future travel expense... whatever you would like! A hotel, a cruise, whatever you want... if you are willing to assist today.”
Meghan smiled, imagining she and Jack taking another trip together; he had mentioned a second honeymoon, and it would be lovely to take a trip for free.
“I’m in,” she said as Hugo sighed in relief. “Take me down to the lower deck.”
Hugo escorted Meghan to the kitchens, and she was pleasantly surprised to find her husband there. “There you are,” she greeted Jack as she stepped inside of the enormous industrial kitchen. “I was worried about you.”
“Did Hugo explain?” Jack asked.
“He did,” she confirmed.
“Mr. Irvin has also agreed to help in exchange for a credit,” Hugo told her.
“It seemed like a good deal in exchange for chopping a few carrots,” he grinned.
Hugo nodded. “Mr. Irvin, Mrs. Irvin, let me take you to our Chef.”
He led them through a pair of wide double doors, revealing a smaller kitchen. “This is where our finest entrees are created,” he announced proudly. “And that man over there is our Chef.”
He pointed to a tall, burly man dressed in a white smock and a tall chef’s hat. “Chef, these are our special guests, Mr. and Mrs. Irvin.”
“You can call us Jack and Meghan,” she chimed in as the Chef smiled warmly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he told them. “Thank you for stepping in today; we couldn’t be more appreciative. We don’t know what has taken out our crew; it sounds like some sort of a nasty virus, and obviously we cannot have sick folks making food. You two will be really saving us here.”
“Happy to help,” Jack added. “Though my wife is the one with the real talent; Meghan owns and operates a very successful bakery, and I know you’ll be blown away by her.”
She blushed, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m just excited to chip in,” she earnestly told the chef.
“I’ll have you mind the dessert station,” Chef told her. “And your husband will be nearby prepping some of the fruits for you to use. I’ve assigned an assistant to you, so Beverley will be at your disposal for the day.”
“That sounds great,” Meghan assured him. “How many pastries do you need?”
“Around sixteen,” he answered.
“I’ll have those turned around in about fifteen minutes,” she beamed. “No worries.”
The Chef laughed. “I meant sixteen-thousand,” he added. “Sixteen-thousand pastries by dinner tonight…”
Meghan felt her heart race, but she put on a happy face. “I had better get to work, then!”
Hugo left the kitchen, and the Chef led Meghan and Jack to the pastry room, a small space just off of the main kitchen. A young woman came in, and Meghan realized it was Beverley, the woman who had been featured in the bakeoff.
“I remember you,” Meghan greeted her kindly. “I’m Meghan, and this is my husband, Jack.”
Beverly stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you both.”
Meghan gestured at the dessert station. “What’s on the menu today?”
Beverly bit her lip. “If I remember correctly, we’re doing banana tarts, apple strudel, chocolate lava cakes, and cherry turnovers.”
Meghan smiled. “I know those desserts well. We’ll whip those up in no time. Jack? I want you to start prepping the fruit. Beverly, if you could start measuring out large amounts of flour and butter, I would appreciate it.”
Beverly scurried away, and Jack stared at his wife with a worried expression on his face. “How do I prep fruit?”
She laughed. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Babe, this is all new for me, remember?”
She looked around the room in search of fruit, and after opening a large pantry, she found the items she was looking for. Meghan arranged the fruits in groups, and pulled a knife and cutting board out of another closet.
“Okay, let’s start with the banana,” she told her husband. “I need you to cut each banana into small pieces. Can you do that?”
“No problem,” Jack said confidently, taking the knife and making dramatic strok
es into the first banana.
Meghan wrinkled her nose. “Those are too large, honey,” she said gently. “Smaller, please.”
He tried again, and the pieces were still too big. “Babe, hold the knife like this,” she said, showing him with a different knife, and before too long, Jack was cutting the banana into perfect pieces.
“Bravo,” she praised him. “You’ve got this!”
He grinned, his blue eyes shining with pride. “Maybe I’ll leave the Sandy Bay Police Department and come work for you,” he teased.
“Not so fast,” she cautioned him with a wink. “Let’s see how you do with the apples, and then, we can talk about a career change.”
Beverly reappeared with a cart brimming with bags of flour. One of the bags was half-opened, and before Meghan could warn her, the bag fell out of the cart and flour was flung all over the clean floor. “Oh no,” Beverly moaned. “I’m such a klutz.”
“It’s fine,” Meghan reassured her. “Accidents happen.”
“I’ll go get a mop,” Beverly moped as she steered the cart out of the dessert room. She returned moments later with a worn-out mop and a bucket of water. “Here we go…”
Meghan watched in horror as Beverly sloshed the water all over the floor, creating a sticky, doughy mess. “Beverly!”
The young woman turned around, her face red with shame. “Sorry.”
Jack shot Meghan a look. “Maybe I should clean up,” he suggested. “Beverly, you can prep the fruit…”
He came over and gently took the mop from her hands. Beverly walked to the fruit and began to cut the bananas into large pieces. “Could you make them smaller, please?” Meghan asked politely as she watched Beverly’s shaking hands.
“Sure,” Beverly agreed, but the pieces were still too big.
Meghan walked over and stood beside Beverly. “Are you okay?”
Beverly’s shoulders slumped. “What do you mean?”
Meghan put a hand on her back. “You don’t really seem like you want to be helping us... am I far off with that idea?”
Beverly hung her head. “You are right,” she agreed. “I wouldn’t be working here if it weren’t for my dad; he wants me to take over from him when he retires.”
“Who is your dad?” Jack asked.
“The head Chef.”
“Chef Tilley is your dad?” Meghan wondered.
Beverly nodded. “Yep. I’m Beverly Tilley, future Head Chef of this ship.”
“That’s exciting,” Meghan told her. “What a job you’ll have, and the training you are receiving now is incredible.”
Beverly scoffed. “I don’t even like cooking,” she explained. “I want to be a dancer someday; I used to take lessons on the ship until I turned fifteen. That’s when my dad insisted I start training in the kitchen. I was such a good dancer, Meghan; I can salsa, tango, tap, and waltz like no other. A talent agent was a passenger a few years ago, and when she saw me dancing in the ship’s gym, she offered me an audition for a dance company in San Francisco.”
“Why didn’t you go?” Meghan questioned. “If you love dancing so much?”
Beverly’s face darkened. “My father found out about the audition before we docked in San Francisco. He told me that if I left the ship, he would never speak to me again. It’s not enough that I grew up here, live here, and have spent my whole life here. He wants me to live and die on this ship, and apparently, that’s all I’ll ever be able to do.”
Jack frowned. “That’s terrible.”
“What’s worse is hating my job so much,” she continued. “I know a million chefs and sous-chefs would kill for my job; my dad is an artist in the kitchen, and I’m so amazed by his work. I wish I cared about it, but cooking just doesn’t speak to me the way dancing does.”
Meghan nodded. “It really stinks when you are working in a field that just isn’t working for you,” she agreed. “Before I started my bakery, I tried my hand at acting. I lived in LA, went to auditions, and even though I had fun, it never spoke to me the way baking does... the way dancing does for you.”
Beverly smiled softly. “You get it, don’t you?”
“I think I do,” Meghan agreed. “I think you’ve gotta follow your dreams, Beverly. Your dad’s dreams of you taking over from him are sweet, but if they aren’t what you want, you’ll never be happy.”
“She’s right,” Jack chimed in. “My dad wanted me to grow up and become a scientist. Sadly, science never came easily for me, but being bad at it helped me realize my talents in other areas. I became good at sports, and that led me to go away to a sports camp that offered training with police officers. After a few summers at that camp, I knew I was meant to be a law enforcement officer… not a scientist.”
Beverly sighed. “It sounds like you two ended up where you were meant to be.”
Jack slipped his hand into Meghan’s and squeezed. “I think we did.”
“And you will too,” Meghan added. “Think about what we said, Beverly. Your future is bright, and great things are waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” she told the couple. “That means a lot to me.”
Meghan grinned. “For now, though, you know what would mean a lot to me? Your help with these pastries. Come on, team! Let’s get to work.”
Three hours later, the trio emerged from the dessert room with filthy clothes, sweaty faces, and sixteen thousand fresh pastries. “I can’t believe we pulled this off,” Beverly remarked as they went to find the Chef. “Meghan, you are so talented; I don’t know anyone else who could’ve made this many pastries in three hours.”
“She’s the best,” Jack beamed.
They found the Chef frantically assembling pasta salads in the main kitchen. “Dad, we’re done,” Beverly told him as they walked up.
“Done? Like, you quit?” he asked in fear. “Oh no. I knew we shouldn’t have asked guests to help us... what a disaster.”
Meghan laughed. “No, we’re done making the pastries.”
His eyes bulged out of his head. “You’re telling me you baked sixteen thousand pastries in three hours? Impossible.”
Beverly handed her father a miniature apple strudel wrapped in a napkin. “Try it, dad,” she urged him. “It’s unlike anything you’ve ever had.”
The Chef took a small bite, closed his eyes, and grinned. “It is out of this world,” he praised as he took another bite. “Mrs. Irvin, you have saved our passengers from a night of no desserts.”
“Happy to help,” she told him. “Beverly was instrumental in pulling this off, of course.”
Beverly winked at Meghan. “It was truly sweet.”
The Chef stared at Meghan. “How can I ever repay you?” he asked. “I know they are issuing you a credit or something, but is there anything I can do for you?”
Meghan bit her lip. “Since you asked…”
“Anything!” he promised.
Meghan pointed at Beverly. “Your daughter tells me she wants to leave the ship and pursue a new career,” she began. “I want you to let her do what she wants. Beverly is a great person, and I think she deserves the chance to follow her dreams.”
The Chef’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Beverly nodded. “Dad, I want to be a dancer,” she told him earnestly. “And I told Meghan and Jack all about my dreams. They think it’s important to do what makes you happy, and I would be happiest following my dream of dancing.”
“But... but... but…” the Chef stammered.
Beverly put her hands on her hips. “You take some time to think about it,” she urged him. “But know that I’m done putting my dreams on hold. I want to follow my dreams and explore new places, and I’m not going to let anything or anyone stop me!”
20
Later that evening, Meghan and Jack were resting on the white leather couch; both were exhausted from the long morning of frantic baking, and they had decided to take the rest of the day to recuperate and spend some alone time together.
“We’re a great team, aren’t
we?” Meghan asked as Jack stroked her dark hair.
“I can’t believe how quickly your fingers move when you are braiding pastries,” he said in amazement. “It really is like watching an artist at work.”
She leaned over and rested her head on his chest. “Do you think Beverly’s dad is going to let her run off and become a dancer?”
