

### Cruise to Destiny

### A Summer Loving Novella

Jerrica Knight-Catania

Smashwords Edition
This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the

author's imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to any event, locale or person,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cruise to Destiny

Copyright 2011 by Jerrica Knight-Catania

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any format.

Cover design by Jerrica Knight-Catania

For Eric—

In memory of our Bermuda engagement and our honeymoon cruise!

One

"Hold on to your panties!"

Melanie looked up from the cash register where she was making change for her customers, to find her best friend, Lisa, standing before her with a ridiculous smile on her face. "Lis, you made me lose count!"

"It doesn't matter." Lisa grabbed Melanie by the hands and swung her around. "This is way more important."

"More important than getting a good tip?"

"God, Melanie, will you just listen to me?"

Melanie glanced over her shoulder to make sure her customers weren't trying to flag her down, and then turned back to Lisa. "You have thirty seconds."

"Okay, well, pack your bags."

Melanie's eyes widened. "Any reason?"

"You, me and Shauna. Five days, six nights...on a cruise!"

Melanie wanted to be excited. No one needed a vacation more than she did at that moment, but it was usually the people who needed the vacations that couldn't afford to take them. "Thanks, Lis, but I highly doubt I could pay for a cruise right now. And I certainly couldn't pay for it and still feel good about taking six days off of work."

"Oh, come on, Mel!"

"Excuse me! Miss!"

Melanie looked over at her shoulder and smiled at the couple waiting for her to bring their change. "I gotta go, Lis."

"Can we talk about this later?"

"We can, but unless some aunt I don't know about dies and leaves me ten thousand dollars, I'm not going."

Melanie took off toward her table, feeling worse about her life than she usually did. She had come to New York three years ago with wide eyes and big dreams. None of which had worked out. Instead of starring on Broadway, she was stuck in holding rooms all day, waiting to sing her sixteen bars, and waiting tables at a diner at night. Not the glamorous life she had dreamed of.

"Is there something else I can get you?"

"Just the check, please."

"Sure." Melanie made her way back to the register, dodging her fellow waiters as she did. Lisa was still there, waiting for her. "Lis, I'm gonna get in trouble."

"Won't you hear me out, Mel? Come on. It would be so great! All three of us, relaxing by the pool, soaking up the sun for six days!"

"Melanie, your table is waiting on their check." Her boss eyed Lisa, and Melanie wanted to crawl into a hole. She knew Cliff would be on her tail if Lisa hung around too long.

"I'm on it, Boss," she said as the ticket rolled out from the little printer. Without even sparing a glance for Lisa, she ran the check back to the table, then greeted the new customers that had just sat down in her section. As she took their order, she prayed Lisa would be gone by the time she returned to the register. It wasn't so much that she was worried about what her boss would do, but she didn't want to hear anymore about the fabulous cruise that she couldn't afford to take. It was hard enough to say no without Lisa badgering her about it.

"Melanie," Cliff said as she approached the register. "This is a busy restaurant. You can't have your friends dropping in for a chat, is that understood?"

"Absolutely," Melanie agreed. "Won't happen again. I promise."

Cliff moved on and Melanie entered the new order before retrieving the check from her last table. Great. Ten percent tip on a meager meal.

Melanie stuffed the buck fifty into her apron and cleared away the table. It was going to take a lot of ten percent tips to get her on that cruise. At this rate, she'd get to go on vacation when she turned fifty-two.

***

Devon Matthews stared up at the giant cruise ship before him. Impressive was the only way to describe it. The massive structure made him feel as if he were about three inches tall. He could hardly believe he'd be spending the next three months aboard the floating metropolis.

But he needed a change of scenery. New York was getting old. The string of blind dates and one-night-stands were getting even older. Women only wanted him for his money. He was only okay looking—nothing to write home to Mama about—and girls barely gave him the time of day. Until they found out his name.

"Oh, my gawd! Didn't you create that game for the iPhone? Aren't you, like, a gajillionaire now?"

Not quite a gajillionaire but hundred-millionaire was probably close enough. Clearly, none of those women worked out long-term. Which was great for a while. But as Devon neared thirty, he was tiring of the fast-paced, meaningless life of a bachelor who earned his fortune at the ripe age of twenty-eight. He wanted to do something with his life, have a lasting relationship for once, and maybe, just maybe, even settle down.

Well, today was the first day of his new, meaningful life. He spent the last year in massage school, learning the trade part time while still maintaining his playboy lifestyle. He wasn't sure why massage appealed to him, but it was something to do–something new to try. It turned out he was pretty good at it.

He stared up at the cruise ship again. It wasn't like he needed the money, but he was hoping to get something else out of being on a ship for three months. He didn't know what, but at least he could get out of the rat race for a while.

His phone rang and he reached in his pocket to see who it was. Brody.

"Hey, man. What's up?"

"Dev, where are you? What is this note you left me?"

Devon cringed. He was hoping he'd already have set sail by the time Brody got back from the Hamptons. "Sorry about that, man. I just didn't want anyone to try to stop me."

"From going on a cruise?"

"I'm not just going on cruise, Brody. I'm...I accepted a job as a masseuse on the ship."

Silence. Not surprising. Brody was his wingman, his partner in...well, everything almost. They'd been friends since the first day of college. They had worked together at the same start-up technology company. And together they had developed the hit iPhone game, Silly Squirrels. Brody had questioned Devon's desire to learn the massage arts, but Devon had always just put him off, saying he was bored.

Brody never really knew just how bored Devon was, though.

"Dude, are you serious? You're going to work?"

"I know it sounds crazy, I just...I wanted to see what it would be like. You know, to have a job just for the fun of it, without all the pressure of earning money."

"You know the words 'fun' and 'job' don't really belong in the same sentence, right?"

Devon laughed. "Sorry, man. But I'll be back in a couple weeks for the day. I'll call you so we can meet up."

"Alright, Dev." Brody didn't sound convinced. "I hope it's as fun as you think it'll be."

"Yeah, me too."
Two

Melanie read page ten of her book for about the millionth time that morning. She couldn't concentrate on the words on the page, so she just kept trying to read it over and over. It was time to give up.

She snapped the book shut and sat back in her chair. About 150 other girls shared the small space with her, some of them in little huddles on the floor doing their makeup, others pretending to look over their music so that it looked like a choice not to engage in conversation with others in the room. In reality, they just didn't have any friends at this particular audition. That was the worst. Well, it used to be for Melanie. She didn't much care anymore, though. She brought romance novels to her auditions and happily ignored everyone else in the room.

But today, she just didn't want to be there. Her friends were leaving for the cruise tomorrow, and that was all she could think about. That while they were living it up on a great vacation, she would be stuck in rooms with hundreds of girls all day. And her nights certainly wouldn't be filled with cocktails and dancing. No, she'd be serving up fried eggs and French fries to the locals, then going home to her empty apartment in Harlem.

"Okay, everybody listen up!" the moderator yelled. "Because we're short on time, we need you to sing just eight bars of your song. If they want to hear something else, they'll ask for it. Can I get the next group to line up, please?"

Melanie groaned out loud. What a waste of time. They had probably already hired the cast for this stupid show anyway, and this was just some customary union audition. Still, she had waited this long, she might as well go belt out her eight measly bars and go home.

Since each audition was taking about thirty seconds, top to bottom, now, Melanie was quickly in and out with no requests to hear more, and no invitation to a call back.

She tried not to let it get to her, but the fact of the matter was that she was getting worn down. Day after day of rejection tended to do that to a person. And after all this time, she wasn't even sure it was what she wanted to do with her life. It had all seemed so glamorous three years ago, when she packed up her life and moved to New York. But now she was disillusioned. Almost bitter. At twenty-eight, she did not want to be considered bitter.

She trekked home in a daze, thankful that it was still early enough for her to get a good nap in before her shift at the diner. At the top of the fifth flight of stairs, she walked to her door, turned the key in the lock and...

"Surprise!"

Melanie nearly peed her pants in fright. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded of her friends.

Lisa and Shauna stood there with goofy smiles on their faces and balloons in their hands.

"We wanted to surprise you," Shauna said, her blonde curls bobbing with her excitement.

Melanie stared back at them, still willing her heartbeat to return to normal. "Surprise me? With what?"

Shauna and Lisa looked at each other, then back at Melanie.

"Well," Lisa began, "we know you said no, but we just couldn't help ourselves. We pooled our credit cards together and bought your passage on the cruise ship. We're going on a cruise!"

That last part was screamed while Lisa jumped up and down with glee. Melanie just stood there staring at them. She wasn't sure whether to be outraged or grateful. Of course she wanted to go, but how was she going to get out of work at this late date?

"You're forgetting one thing," she said, breaking up the merriment. They turned to look at her. "I have to work, you guys. I can't get out of it this late. Cliff will fire me for this."

"Actually..." Shauna's guilty expression made Melanie's stomach plummet.

"What did you do?"

"I may have impersonated you over the phone...with Cliff."

Melanie's jaw dropped. "Wh-what did you tell him?"

"Just that you had to leave town for a bit due to a family emergency. I didn't get specific," she rushed to assure her, as if that bit of information was assurance. "I left it vague, so you can fill in the blanks if he asks."

"Oh, well, thank you for that," Melanie said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. Then she launched into her tirade. "What were you two thinking? What if Cliff finds out about the cruise? What if I get fired? I can't take this risk! My bank account barely balances as it is. And even though you very kindly bought my ticket—which I will pay you both back for—it's not like I can afford to have a good time. This isn't college anymore, you guys. This is real life. And it's my life." She put her hand to her forehead and rubbed her temples. "Guys, thank you, but I really don't think I can do this."

Lisa took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Listen to me, Mel," she said emphatically. "You work way too hard. Harder than anyone I know. You need a break. You deserve a break."

Shauna stepped closer and threw an arm around Melanie's back. "And since we got you into this, we'll be there if you have to face any consequences. Please. Just come with us."

Melanie took a deep breath and looked back and forth between her friends. "Fine," she said on a sigh. "Let's do it."

A lot of squealing and jumping ensued, and Melanie, having made a decision, was getting pretty excited herself. A little time away from everything might give her some perspective—a chance to reassess her dreams and her goals. And maybe then she'd find a little slice of happiness in her life.

***

"All right, it's show time, people!"

Devon looked up at his boss, a hulking Eastern European woman, and smiled. This was it. In just a few minutes, the doors to the ship would open and the guests would start to flood in. And later in the afternoon, they would set sail for Bermuda. He couldn't wait.

"Now, let's review. You are in for some long hours, but hopefully they will be immensely rewarding for you. You can mingle with the guests when you are not on a shift, but you must remain in your uniform and you must maintain the utmost decorum when in the public eye. You are a reflection of this cruise line, and any inappropriate behavior will get you sent home immediately. Are there any questions?"

Silence fell over the room. Clearly everyone was terrified of Eugenia. Devon wasn't terrified of her, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself. Besides, he was a good boy at heart. In school, he'd always done what was expected of him—followed the rules when there was the threat of getting in trouble if he didn't. Life as a wealthy, single bachelor had let him bend the rules as an adult, but not much. Unlike Brody, he didn't care to spend a night in the slammer for indecent exposure, no matter how fun it might seem to go streaking through Riverside Park at three in the morning.

"All right," Eugenia continued when no one raised their hand. "Good luck, everyone!"

The crowd broke up, some of them rushing to prepare for their first clients and some of them heading toward the employee dining room to fuel up for the day. Devon had already eaten breakfast, and he didn't have any clients until tomorrow, so he decided to wander the ship and familiarize himself with his temporary home.

It was a pretty exciting place. Lots of restaurants, discos, a comedy club, lounges and bars. He found the promenade—a faux-open-air street, made to feel as if you were walking through the streets of Paris, with shops and bistros and the English pub. Devon definitely looked forward to checking that out one evening soon.

Guests were starting to trickle in. They gawked at the ship's interior while clutching their straw purses and cameras to their chests. Devon greeted everyone with a smile and nod as he strolled about each deck, and they in turn greeted him with excited, goofy smiles. How could anyone be unhappy in a place like this?

He eventually made his way to the main lobby of the ship, the place where all the guests passed through before branching out to their staterooms. The officers stood upright and in uniform, waiting to help the passengers should they need it. Devon stood off to the side, content to people watch. It wasn't until a trio of girls passed through the doors that he sat up and took notice. Though it was common to see groups of twenty-something girls board the ship, it wasn't so common to see one looking so miserable.

Devon couldn't help himself. He was desperately curious about the frown she wore. It couldn't have been too serious. A death in the family wouldn't send her on a 6-day Bermuda cruise. But maybe a bad break-up? Laid off at work?

They walked his way, and before he knew what he was doing, he pushed off the wall and inserted himself in their path. "Good morning, ladies. Welcome to the Vision of the Seas. Can I help you find your stateroom?"

One of the girls giggled, the other smiled, and the one with the sour puss merely looked at him with a blank expression. She blinked her dark brown eyes a few times before she finally cracked the barest of smiles.

"I think we can probably figure it—"

Her friend stepped in front of her with a wide smile. "Actually, yes. This place is just so big," she drawled, with a helpless Southern Belle accent. "I don't know how we'll ever find our way around."

Sourpuss rolled her eyes, and Devon resisted the urge to laugh. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it in no time," he said as he took the card with their room number on it. "Aha, right this way."

In truth, he really had no idea where he was going. He would follow the placards just like everyone else, but at least he would have a little fun doing it...and maybe find out what was stuck in Sourpuss's craw.

"So, what do you do?" one of the girls asked him.

"Actually, I'm a masseuse. And it's my first day," he added with a sheepish smile.

"Oh, my God! That's so awesome. I'm totally going to book a massage with you. What's your name?"

"Devon," he said. That was all they needed to know. He was going to do his best to keep his last name under wraps while on the ship.

The girl pulled out her smart phone and tapped his name into a note. "Got it."

"So, what brings you ladies aboard the Vision?" he asked. Maybe he could find out what was wrong with Sourpuss.

"Just a girl week," said the blonde. "Our little Melanie here has been working way too hard, so we've whisked her away for a week of fun in the sun."

Aha! So Melanie was her name. "Sounds like you have some great friends."

She gave a half smile and shrugged. "Yeah, except it seems like they may have gotten me fired from my job, so I'm not sure how much I'm going to be able to enjoy my week here."

"Yikes." So that was it. She was worried about her job. Maybe he could make things a little more comfortable for her this week. "Sorry to hear that. But you know, there's not much you can do about it now that you're here. Hopefully you'll be able to have a little bit of fun."

"Yeah, he's right, Mel," the blonde said. "Just pretend Cliff doesn't exist while we're on the boat. You can worry about it once we get back."

Melanie sighed. "Lisa, I just—"

"Besides," Lisa interrupted, "Shauna already told you we'd be here for you. It was our fault, after all."

Devon was trying to follow the conversation, but it was starting to get confusing. Was Cliff her boss?

"I know, guys. I'm trying, I promise," Melanie said to her friends. "That ranting call from Cliff this morning doesn't give me a lot of confidence that my position will still be available in a week. It sucks to be poor."

"Well, money isn't everything," Devon said before he could stop himself. "Not that I would know," he added, trying to laugh it off. Keeping his identity a secret was going to be harder than he anticipated.

"Isn't this our room?" Shauna asked, pointing to the placard that read 4555 that he'd breezed on past.

"Oh, uh, yeah," he said, caught off guard. "Got a little distracted."

"Well, thanks for helping us find our room." Lisa looked up at him and gave him a wink. "We look forward to our massages."

"It'll be my pleasure, ladies. Enjoy your vacation."

The three girls disappeared inside. Devon should have moved on, but he wanted to hear if they said anything about him.

"Oh, my God, he was so cute!" one of them squealed.

"I know. Didn't you think so, Mel?"

"He was okay," Melanie said, and Devon had to laugh. Boy, she was guarded, wasn't she?

Deciding it was slimy of him to stand outside their door and eavesdrop, he took a quick note of their room number and then headed back to the spa. He had massages to book.
Three

Melanie wanted to have a good time. Really, she did. But the call from Cliff that morning had really rankled her. She was pretty certain she didn't have a job to go back to. And it wasn't as if she had any money to float by on. She certainly wouldn't have a penny left to her name once she got off this boat.

She put her fingers to her forehead and massaged her temples.

"Would you stop doing that, please?" Lisa was clearly getting annoyed with the chip on Melanie's shoulder.

"Sorry," she said. "I know you guys paid a lot for this cruise, and I appreciate it, really I do. But I'm terrified about what's going to happen when we get back. My parents aren't in a position to help me out right now, and I'm a horrible waitress. It's going to be impossible to find another job.

Lisa reached across the table where they were eating their lunch and grabbed Melanie's hand. "Mel, we told you we'd be there for you if this got you into trouble. Please stop worrying, okay?"

"Thanks, Lisa," Melanie said with a sigh. It was frustrating that her friends thought they could solve everything by throwing her some money to pay her cable bill for a month. "But I need a job. I'm not like the two of you. I'm required to work for a living. And if I don't, I'm screwed."

"We have jobs!" Shauna twisted her face up, clearly offended by Melanie's accusations.

Ha! They might have jobs, but both of them also had extremely wealthy parents. The two of them pretended that they had to work just so they'd fit into the "struggling artists in New York City" crowd. In reality, they had a bed of one hundred dollar bills to fall back on should they need it.

"Look," Lisa said, her mouth full of pasta from the buffet. "It's not like you can leave, okay? So you might as well just forget about Cliff and that stupid diner and have a good time."

She had a point, though Melanie hated to admit it. She took a deep breath, deciding that they were right. There was no point in being miserable and making everyone else miserable too. Her friends had done something incredibly nice for her. The least she could do was try to have a good time.

"All right," she said at last. "You're right. And I'm sorry. Let's...have some fun!"

Lisa and Shauna both Woohoo'd as if they were still 19-year-old sorority girls. Melanie laughed, grateful for their enthusiasm and their tenacity. They never failed to drag her out of her slumps.

"So what should we do first?"

They all agreed that hitting the pool and ordering fruity island drinks were the number one priority. The trio headed back to the room after lunch to change into their bathing suits and lather up with sunscreen.

"Hey, what's this?" Lisa had gotten to the door first and now held up an envelope with their room number written on the front.

Melanie shrugged. "I don't know. Open it."

They piled into the small room as Lisa tore open the envelope. "Oh, my God," she said, her eyes wide with excitement. "Look at this!"

Melanie grabbed the little cards she held in her hand. A sticky note was on top.

Hope you girls enjoy your vacation!

And under the sticky note were three vouchers for free massages, courtesy of Devon. Melanie tried to hide the smile that came to her lips, but she didn't do a very good job. Devon was cute. Really cute. So cute that just the memory of him made her blush.

"Mel, are you okay?" Shauna squinted at her, as if she were trying to assess her state.

"Yeah, fine," Melanie replied, but her voice came out on a squeak.

Lisa raised her eyebrows. "I think somebody has a little crush."

Heat infused Melanie's cheeks. "Stop it! I do not."

"You are such a liar. You're like an open book, Mel." Shauna disappeared inside the 2x2 bathroom.

"All right, I think he's cute. Are you happy?"

"You should totally hook up with him."

"Lisa! I am not going to hook up with him."

"No, she's right." Shauna poked her head out from the bathroom. "It's been way too long since you've...you know..."

Melanie wanted to crawl under a rock. "Yes, I know." She knew all too well how long it had been since she'd been to bed with a man. But she wasn't like her friends. She couldn't just jump into bed with someone because of her "needs." Her Decadent Indulgence 3 was there for her in that case. What she wanted, but didn't have time for, was a relationship. Someone to wake up to on Saturday mornings and go to brunch with on Sunday. Someone to watch movies with, order takeout with. And all those other things that couples did together.

However, between sitting in audition rooms forty hours a week, and working at the diner another forty, she barely had time to sleep and eat, let alone nurture a fledgling relationship.

Shauna stepped out of the bathroom clad in a bright orange bikini that looked amazing against her dark tan. Melanie took her place in the tiny space to put her own bathing suit on. No bikinis for her. A nice, full-coverage suit with a skirt was how she liked to roll. Not because she was fat, or even chunky. She was just modest. Which made for awkward times whenever she had to do a quick change backstage in the wings during a show.

Not that she had dealt with that anytime recently. It had been years since she'd had that problem.

She stepped out of the bathroom, hoping they would have dropped the subject. "Okay, let's do this," she said, but was hushed by Lisa, who was on the phone. "Who is she talking to?"

"The spa," Shauna mouthed.

"Hi, I'd like to book massages for my roommates and myself. The first name is Melanie. And can you make sure that massage is with Devon, please."

***

Melanie wanted to kill her friends. How could they have done this to her? How could they have thrown her into a small massage room, completely naked, with a guy that she clearly had a crush on? It was so unfair.

Not only that, but she was certain he'd be able to tell just how embarrassed she was by the whole situation. Her skin was so fair that she tended to break out in hives when she was nervous.

"Hi, Melanie." He walked into the room and Melanie did her best to hold it together. He was even cuter than she remembered.

His light brown hair had been styled so perfectly, it looked as if he'd just walked out of a salon. Melanie smoothed her own hair down, as if that was what mattered when she stood before him with nothing but a thin piece of terrycloth between them.

Oh, God. She was going to have to remove the robe soon, and then all that would separate them would be a sheet. A thin, white sheet. And he'd be touching her.

She was certain she must be covered in hives by now.

"It's nice to see you again," he said, clearly trying to ignite some kind of conversation.

"Oh, um...Yeah, of course. You too. And thanks!" Melanie knew she sounded like a bumbling idiot, but her mouth was running away from her. "For the, um, you know..." She gestured to the massage table.

"The massages?" he verified with a smile. Damn that smile. He was more than cute. When one of her romance novels referred to the hero being "devastatingly handsome," this is what they must have meant.

"Yeah, of course. Massages." She rocked back on her heels awkwardly. "So..."

"Have you been able to enjoy yourself at all?" he asked. "I know you were pretty worried about your job and all."

"Yeah, I was. But like you said, there's not much I can do about it now. So, yes," she took a deep breath, "I'm having a much better time."

"Great. I'm glad to hear it." He smiled and then looked down at his clipboard. "So...I have a few questions for you. Are you allergic to anything?"

"Not that I know of," Melanie replied with a little shrug.

Devon checked something off on his clipboard. "Great. I just have to ask because of the oils we use. Do you have any sensitivity anywhere?"

She did, but she didn't think he meant her intimate places. However, right now they were so sensitive that she was sure it wouldn't take much for her to have a spontaneous orgasm right then.

Gathering her wayward thoughts, she answered the question. "No. No sensitivity."

"And do you have any pain anywhere? Sore neck? Tight hamstrings? Anything at all?"

The thought of his hands on her hamstrings alternately aroused and terrified her. He would be perilously close to parts of her that hadn't seen the light of day in way too long.

"Well, I'm a waitress, so I have a lot of shoulder and arm stress."

"A waitress?" He seemed taken aback.

"For now," Melanie said, then added sheepishly, "Aspiring actress, actually."

"Aha. That makes a lot more sense. You're way too pretty not to pursue a career in the spotlight."

Melanie's cheeks turned warm. "Thanks."

He made a few more ticks on his clipboard and then turned to her. "I'm going to step out for a few minutes. Robe goes here—" he gestured to the hook on the back of the door, "—And you can lay face down under the sheet."

"Great." Melanie watched him go and then rushed around as soon as the door shut behind him. What if he came back before she was ready? How awkward would that be? She yanked the robe off and hung it on the hook, then scrambled onto the table. She wriggled quickly under the sheet, flipped onto her stomach and then brought the sheet up over her as high as she could.

Okay. She was ready. Of course, it was another couple of minutes before Devon returned. He knocked quietly on the door and called her name.

Melanie reared up like a cobra and called over her shoulder, "Come in!" then put her head back into the hollowed-out headrest, trying desperately to calm her nerves.

***

Devon would have been lying if he had said he wasn't nervous about working on Melanie. Something about her made him all quivery inside like no other girl had ever done. She had an endearing personality. She was pretty as all hell, but clearly insecure. Normally, he'd find that a turn-off, but, well...she was so damn pretty. It was worth it to try and make her see that.

However, trying to convince her of the fact that she was attractive wasn't an option while she was lying naked on his massage table. There were rules in these establishments, after all, and Devon didn't want any lawsuits on his head. Hitting on a client your first day would probably be frowned upon.

"All set?" he asked, as he tossed his clipboard onto the counter.

"All set," she replied, though her voice sounded a little choked.

Devon took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to center himself and get in "the zone." It was no easy task. The outline of Melanie's body was silhouetted through the sheet. Such beautiful curves. He couldn't see her skin yet, though. She had brought the sheet all the way up to her neck—quite a feat when one was on their stomach. But this was the moment. He had to pull the sheet all the way down. He hated how his stomach fluttered and his hands shook. What a wuss. He had been with a fair amount of good-looking women, and he'd been studying massage for more than a year now, working on his friends and colleagues. Why did this girl make him lose all sense?

He must have taken too long because Melanie's head popped up suddenly. "Everything okay?" she asked.

"Oh, um...yeah, fine. Sorry. Just making sure I have all my ducks in a row, you know?" He hoped Melanie couldn't hear the nerves in his laugh.

"Sure." She dropped her head back down into the hole. "Take your time."

He couldn't take anymore time. He had another client as soon as he was done with Melanie. It was time to buck up.

He moved next to her and grabbed the top of the sheet, then pulled it down, revealing her back little by little until he reached the top of her very nicely rounded bottom. Oh, God. This hour was going to be torture.
Four

As expected, the hour with Melanie was probably the worst form of torture Devon had ever known. And he'd known torture on many occasions. Like having to sit through all those Shane movies with his dad, or the opera with his mom. It was no wonder they got divorced eventually—they were as different as night and day. Dad had always resented the time he'd had to spend doing what Mom wanted to do, and visa versa. Never mind that Devon never got a say in anything, which was why he spent as little time visiting his parents as possible. He loved them, but in small doses.

Melanie, however...well, he could spend all day with her and he was sure he would enjoy every blessed minute. They didn't talk much during the session. Actually, she fell asleep quite a few times, if her light snore was any indication. But he definitely got to know her in an intimate way, and not just physically speaking. Sure, her skin felt like silk in his hands and she was tight in all the right spots and soft in the others. It was the way she gave in to him that he liked. The way her body responded so readily to his ministrations. Obviously she'd been nervous at the start, just as he had. He couldn't blame her, though. Lying naked on a table and letting a stranger rub you down was always a little unnerving. But within minutes, her tension began to melt away. He even saw her give a little smile while he did her neck.

That long, slender neck—

"Did you enjoy your massage?" Sophie, the front desk girl, asked.

"Oh, yes! It was great," Melanie replied.

Devon pretended to straighten up the product shelves while Melanie took care of things at the front desk. Of course the massage was already paid for, but they were making her sign something.

"How did you want to take care of the tip?" Sophie asked her.

"Oh, um...right." Melanie's brow creased and she turned a horrible shade of purple. "Well, the thing is...actually, can I come back with that? I—"

"Hey, Sophie," Devon called, desperate to put Melanie out of her misery. "No tip necessary on this one."

Melanie seemed torn between relief and mortification. "Oh, God. No, that's not right. I have to tip you," she said. "I just have to get some cash from my friends. It's fine."

Devon smiled at her. She was adorable. He wished he could tell her who he was, that money didn't mean a thing to him and that the ten dollars or so wasn't going to make or break him. But obviously he couldn't.

"Honestly, it's fine," he said, trying to reassure her with a kind smile. "Now go have some fun."

Her face twisted into something akin to gratitude before it turned into a sheepish smile. "Okay," she finally said. "Thanks again. It was...really great."

Melanie walked out the door and took Devon's heart with her. He wanted to ask her out, take her to dinner, or even just for a walk on the lido deck.

"That was nice of you," Sophie said, breaking into his thoughts.

Devon just shrugged, still trying to figure out how he could ask her out on a date without sending another note to her room.

"You didn't try to sell her any product, though. You know Eugenia's going to be pissed. That's your main job."

"My main job is to help people relax, Sophie," he said, hoping she wasn't going to grill him every time he failed to push product on his customers. "I'm not going to ruin their experience by turning into a used car salesman."

"So you think you're above the law, I see."

Devon looked at her, expecting to see censure in her eyes, but instead he detected admiration. Great. Just what he needed. His co-worker mooning over him for the next three months.

Looking for an escape and a reason to chase Melanie down, he reached into his pocket and procured a hair clip. He had actually found it on the deck earlier that morning, but he didn't want anyone to step on it, so he'd pocketed it. Now it would serve as his escape clause.

"Oh, man. That girl left her hair thingy," he said, trying to sound believable. "I'll be right back."

He didn't give Sophie a chance to stop him, he just barreled through the door to the outside and broke into a jog. She couldn't have gotten far.

***

"Melanie! Melanie!"

Oh, God. Melanie halted in her tracks. Her heart raced at the sound of his voice. After an hour of trying to get it back to normal, he had it pumping hard again. It was like a full-on cardio workout. With intervals.

But why was he chasing her down?

She turned slowly to see him approach, out of breath.

"I'm so sorry," he said, panting. "I just, um...is this yours?"

Melanie looked down at the tiny hair clip he held in his hands. It was clearly made for a little girl with very fine hair, not a grown woman with thick, curly hair.

"Ah, no," she said, a little disappointed that that was the only reason he had chased her down. "Sorry to make you run after me like that, but that probably belongs to some toddler girl."

"Oh. Right." He looked at the clip, then looked back up at her. "Okay, I lied. I knew this clip didn't belong to you, I just...I wanted a reason to ask you out."

Melanie must have heard him wrong. "You what?"

Devon laughed. "I wanted to ask you out. Will you go out on a date with me?"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." He laughed even harder now. "Is it so hard to believe that I want to take you to dinner?"

Melanie shrugged. She hadn't been asked out in a long time. It was kind of unbelievable. Not to mention really surreal. Here she was on the deck of a ship, staring out at the vast expanse of ocean with the wind in her hair and the calypso music floating up from the deck below. She felt like she was in a Kate Hudson movie. "No," she finally said.

"'No, it's not hard to believe?' or 'No, I won't go out with you?'" Devon asked, clearly confused.

It was Melanie's turn to laugh. "No, it's not so hard to believe. Actually, dinner would be really nice."

Devon's face lit up. "Really?"

She nodded. "Really."

"Great! Tonight? I'll come by your room at seven?"

"Perfect."

***

Devon practically skipped his way to Melanie's room that night. He hadn't been so excited for a date since his senior prom when his date was Stacey McCullough, the most popular girl in school. Not only was she super hot, but she was supposedly pretty easy. For an 18-year-old virgin, it was a big deal.

Unfortunately, Stacey got so drunk at the after party that she ended up bent over the toilet half the night and in a coma the other half. He was hoping this date would turn out a little better than that one.

He knocked on the door and a great deal of whispering, squealing and shuffling ensued inside. Seconds later, the door swung open and one of Melanie's friends—Lisa, if he remembered right—stood before him.

"Hi, Devon! Hey, thanks again for the massages. Melanie said hers was amazing. I can't wait for mine."

"Great," he said, not sure what else to say to that. "Is Melanie ready?"

Lisa looked behind her and silently checked in with the other friend who stood at the door to the bathroom, which was where he assumed they were hiding his date. It was probably some ploy to make him wait, which was fine. Devon was used to the crazy things women did in an attempt to make themselves (or their friends, in this case) seem more appealing to a guy.

"Yep," Lisa said, turning back to him. "All set."

She stepped aside and a reverent hush fell over the two women, as if they awaited the entrance of the Queen of England.

Melanie stepped out of the bathroom and Devon's breath hitched. Good God. She really cleaned up nice. Her curly red hair had been drawn up into a cascading ponytail, revealing her slender, beautiful neck. She wore a white sundress that hugged her waist and gave him a fairly good show of skin, but still somehow made her seem like the girl next door. He was mesmerized.

"Hi," she said, casting annoyed glances at her friends, who were nearly bursting at the seams with giddiness.

"Hi," Devon repeated. "Ready?"

She nodded. Devon turned and stepped out of the room. Melanie followed with a quick good-bye to her friends. They started down the hall, but neither spoke until they heard the door shut behind them.

"Sorry about that," Melanie said. "They just get excited about stuff like this."

"And you don't?" Devon wanted to know—was she just doing this for the sake of getting a free evening of booze, or did she really have an interest in him?

"Not like that," she said with a laugh. "But, yes...I'm excited in my own way."

Devon smiled, satisfied with her answer. "Good."

"So, what's for dinner?" she asked.

"Well, I thought we'd have drinks first, if that's okay." He grimaced, hating to admit the next part. "And then, I'm really sorry about this, but I'm not allowed into the nice dining room for dinner. We'll have to hit up the buffet."

Melanie seemed unfazed by this information. "All right, but you can't laugh at me, okay."

"Why would I laugh at you?"

"Have you ever seen a poor actress at an all-you-can-eat buffet? It's not a pretty sight. But don't say I didn't warn you when you're rolling me back to my cabin."

So she did have a sense of humor. "I promise I won't complain," he said, happy to play along.

***

Though Melanie had protested the idea of having a drink (or three) before her date, she was quite glad in that moment that Lisa and Shauna had insisted. Her nerves had been uncontrollable before and she worried that she might spend half the night in the bathroom because of them. But then the girls had forced her to drink a cranberry and vodka (smuggled vodka, of course) while she got ready. It was quite a tasty drink, so she had a couple more, and by the time Devon arrived at her door, she was feeling much more relaxed. It barely crossed her mind that his hands had been all over her earlier that day.

Of course, the fact that he looked like one of the really hot guys from a CW show sobered her a bit. What was she doing with a guy like him, anyway? She certainly didn't look like one of the girls from a CW show. They all had either perfectly straight, shiny hair that never seemed to bother them even though it was always in their faces or they had those perfect, blonde waves that looked so good blowing in the breeze.

Curly, frizzy, red...these were not adjectives to describe CW hair.

At least her dress looked good. A designer loaner from Lisa, she knew she'd be dead meat if she spilled anything on it. But Lisa had insisted she wear white. Melanie still didn't understand why. However, she wasn't in a position to question it. Her friends got way more dates than she did, and they both had guys calling them off the hook. Clearly, they knew what they were doing.

Melanie, however, had been celibate for more than a year.

But the dress was really exquisite. All white with thick straps that gave way to a sweetheart neckline. The waist was fitted with a wide band all the way around, and the a-line skirt poofed out just enough that it would sway nicely in the breeze but not flash the entire lido deck should they take a walk outside.

Shauna had done her makeup. It was a little overkill, if you asked her, but she did look pretty good.

"Here we are."

They were on the promenade now. It was quite a romantic place, like a faux Paris. Greenery and sidewalk cafes, people strolling about and window-shopping. Melanie thought she might like this part of the cruise the most.

She looked up and saw that they were in front of the pub. Billy Joel's Piano Man wafted from inside. Melanie smiled. "I love pubs," she said. "How did you know?"

Devon shrugged. "I didn't. But I've been wanting to try this place ever since I saw it. Seemed like a good spot to start our date."

Indeed it was. They sat down and ordered pints of Guinness. Melanie figured it would be better to order a drink she could nurse rather than something she might be inclined to pound if it were light or fruity.

"So, you're an actress, huh?" Devon asked once they had their drinks in hand.

She hated talking about that part of her life. It had brought her so much joy in the past—she had lived for performing. But now...now it just felt like something she was doing because it was the only thing she knew. And landing a show would be her escape—albeit probably only a temporary one—from waitressing. She currently had no other options for a career or even a job.

"Yeah," she finally said. "Trying to be, anyway. It's been a while since I've performed, though."

Devon gave her a wry smile. "You just love waitressing too much to leave?" he teased.

She laughed. "You know it." Melanie paused. "Actually, I hate being a waitress. And I'm horrible at it, for the record. Last week I nearly dumped a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs onto a two-year-old. Not my finest moment, but thankfully the kid's mom took most of the damage. Of course, my paycheck took some damage to pay for her Armani blouse."

"Who wears Armani to go out to eat with a two-year-old?"

Melanie looked up at Devon, surprised to realize that he was on her side. He was on her side. After being chewed out by Cliff for the humiliating accident and getting reactions like, "Oh, my God! I can't believe you weren't fired!" from her friends, she couldn't believe this near stranger actually empathized with her.

"Um, I know, right?" she said, trying to hide the fact that she was completely flustered by his kindness. "But anyway, enough about my insanely boring and depressing life. I want to hear about you."
Five

Devon took a deep breath. He liked this girl. A lot. He couldn't understand why. She was totally down on life and clearly struggling with some insecurity, but at the same time, she seemed unbreakable. Maybe she didn't have everything figured out, but she wasn't about to lie down and let life get the better of her. He didn't know how he knew that—she certainly hadn't said anything to inspire those thoughts—but he knew it just the same.

However, now she wanted to know about him. That was the bigger problem here. Part of him wanted to divulge who he really was—start off on the right foot with Melanie. But he knew that wasn't an option. Not now, not yet.

"Well," he began, "I grew up on Long Island. Typical suburban upbringing. Parents divorced after I went off to college—"

"Where did you go?" Melanie interrupted.

"Columbia." Melanie's eyebrows shot up in shock. Devon knew it sounded impressive, but getting in had just been a lucky combination of good grades and recommendations. It wasn't as if he had excelled once he was there. "And I've been in the city ever since."

"Columbia grad turned cruise ship masseuse?"

"Yeah, I know how it sounds. Too smart for the real world and all that, but..." But what? But I already made my fortune and now I'm just killing time until I think up the next big thing? "But I realized that I just wasn't cut out for life in a suit, in an office, nine-to-five every day. It definitely wasn't for me."

"Well, good for you," she said, lifting her beer into the air. "To doing what makes us happy."

They clinked mugs and took swigs of their beer.

"So, are you happy?" he asked, wanting to shift the conversation away from himself and back on her.

Melanie gave a little laugh. "I'm happy right now," she said, blushing. "But in general? No. Not really."

Devon leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. "What would truly make you happy, then?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters. If you can dream it, you can do it, right?"

"You make it sound like magic."

Devon shrugged. "Maybe it is. Either way, it's fun to dream, isn't it? So, come on. If you could do anything, be anything, go anywhere...?"

"All right," Melanie said, clearly ready to play along. "I would have a really swank apartment in the city. No roaches." Devon laughed. "Floor-to-ceiling windows, one of those low-to-the ground beds that costs a fortune. Oh, and appliances that respond when you talk to them."

Devon tried to laugh along with her—clearly she found her dreams to be pretty silly. But Devon didn't think they were silly at all. After all, he had everything she had outlined so far, even the appliances, which were admittedly really cool.

"I would want to travel—a lot," she continued. "I've never been to Europe, and I think Tokyo would be a great place to visit. And eventually, I would want to have a baby...or two."

Silence fell between them for a moment.

"Oh, my God. I can't believe I just said that." She put her forehead in her hand. "I promise I'm not trying to scare you off with baby talk."

Devon hadn't been the least bit fazed by the topic. "Hey, I want kids, too. At least two, but more would be fine."

Melanie tried not to laugh. "You know, maybe we should save this talk for the second date."

"Does that mean you'll go out with me again?" Devon hoped so.

"Well, the night's not over yet, but if you asked me now, I'd say yes."

Satisfied with her answer, Devon motioned to the bartender to bring the receipt so he could sign off on it. "Ready for dinner?"

"Starved."

They meandered through the ship, marveling at its grandeur, until they reached the buffet. He hated that he couldn't take her somewhere nicer than the buffet, but with any luck, he would have plenty of opportunity for that later. Surely there would be nice options ashore, and maybe he could even take her out in New York. For now, this would have to do.

True to her word, she packed in all the food she possibly could in one sitting. "How in the world are you so skinny?" he wondered as they left the dining hall.

"Ha! Skinny? Not usually a word I use to describe myself. Don't get me wrong—I don't think I'm fat or anything, but..." She paused. "Sorry. I'm not great at taking compliments. And for the record, I work my ass off at the gym least six days a week."

As they emerged through the sliding doors onto the outside deck, the sun setting on the water before them and the wind ruffling their hair, Devon had the urge to grab Melanie around the waist and kiss her. He wasn't usually the sappy, romantic type, but something about this environment had turned him into one.

Still, he wasn't sure they were there yet. He wanted to be certain she wouldn't slap him in the face before he made his move.

They strolled along the jogging track, which was nearly deserted tonight. Most people were still at dinner or getting ready to see the on-board musical. That suited Devon just fine.

"So, when you talked about your dreams earlier, you didn't say anything about performing."

Melanie stared out at the ocean from their spot at the railing. "Hm. I didn't, did I?"

Devon let her think on it for a minute. Clearly, she wasn't sure what to think of it herself.

"It doesn't make me happy anymore," she finally said. "Actually, I get a little nauseated just thinking about it."

"Nauseated?"

"It used to get me so excited, so pumped up. But now...now it's just a job. A job I go to every day where any number of potential bosses say to me, 'You're not good enough.'"

"Really?" Devon looked at her, shocked that anyone could say that so bluntly to another human being.

Melanie gave a little laugh. "Well, not in so many words. It's always cushioned with, 'I don't think you're right for this part,' or something to that effect. Either way, I rarely feel good about myself or my life when I walk out the door of an audition."

"Ever thought that maybe you're barking up the wrong tree?"

"I think about it all the time." She turned to look at him, her eyes squinted slightly against the setting sun. Strands of her shimmering red hair blew across her face. "You know, you're the first person I've ever admitted that to."

Devon couldn't help but feel flattered by that fact. And he was pretty sure he couldn't hold back anymore. She had confided in him. That must mean she liked him, right?

He took a step toward her, leaving barely a half-inch of space between them. Her lips parted on an inhale, and Devon seized the opportunity. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. They were soft and sweet—she tasted like the pineapple she'd had for dessert.

She responded by taking the lead, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He reached a hand up to caress her cheek and eventually found the nape of her neck. She leaned back into his hand as if she couldn't hold her own head up anymore and Devon gave a silent cheer of triumph.

***

Melanie could hardly believe how this evening was turning out. She hadn't expected the kiss, at least not so soon. But it was more than welcome. As a matter of fact, she couldn't get enough. Part of her wondered if there was a camera hidden somewhere. Any minute now, a cheesy game show host was going to jump out and yell, "You're on Candid Camera!" And then she would find out that it was all just a ruse to see how quickly this young masseuse could get the grumpy girl to open up and let him kiss her.

But the time passed—a minute, maybe five—and no one jumped from the shadows with a camera. No one burst the beautiful dream bubble she found herself in.

Eventually, she did pull away from Devon. Not because she wanted to end the kiss, but because it was truly becoming difficult to breathe.

"Wow," she whispered as she stared up at him. She wasn't sure what else to say.

"My thoughts exactly." Devon looked back at her with adoration in his eyes. Melanie couldn't remember a time in her life when anyone had looked at her like that. It was the way every woman wanted to be looked at, as if they were the only woman in the world.

She turned toward the railing and stared out at the water. Devon's arms came around her waist and he squeezed her tightly to him.

"I've been afraid, you know?" she said after a minute.

Devon pulled to the side a bit to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"Of looking like a failure. A quitter. I don't want anyone to think I'm giving up on my dream, but...dreams change, don't they?" Melanie felt naked all of a sudden. It wasn't like her to share such personal thoughts with anyone, let alone a stranger that she actually liked. A lot.

"Of course they do," he said, and his smile told her she'd done the right thing by confiding in him. "Look, life is short, Melanie. Don't spend it doing something you hate."

"I don't hate it," she said, then added, "But I don't love it, either. Not anymore."

"Then let it go," Devon said. "I promise I won't think any less of you for it."

A warmth that started at Melanie's toes flowed through her, all the way up to the top of her head. Maybe it was relief that someone was finally giving her permission to leave something that she'd burnt out on years ago. Or maybe it was just Devon.

She didn't necessarily believe in love at first sight, or even love at first date, but she was starting to strongly believe in "very strong like" at first date.

She turned around to face him. They were practically nose-to-nose. "I have no idea what I would do."

Devon's smile made her heart beat a little faster. "You don't have to decide right now. Take some time. Try to enjoy life, at least for a few days. When you get back home, you can start making lists and charts of possible careers paths."

"How did you know I'm a list-maker?" she wondered. "Am I that obvious?"

"You have Type A written all over you."

Melanie laughed. Maybe it was time she started to loosen up. "Well, this Type A girl wants to go dancing," she said.

"Dancing?" Devon raised his brows at her. "I hope you brought you're A-game, because I'm pretty smooth on the dance floor."

"Great. I need someone who can keep up with me."
Six

Devon couldn't stop smiling the next day. His evening with Melanie had been one of the greatest of his entire adult life. The dinner, the walk on the deck, the dancing...man, could that girl move. Clearly, she was born to dance.

And the goodnight kiss was just as good as their first kiss. It was like they were made for each other. Their lips fit perfectly together; her body molded to his just right. For the first time in his life, Devon couldn't imagine kissing another woman. He only wanted to kiss her. Melanie.

Another smile cracked his lips. He couldn't wait to see her again. They had plans to meet tonight, after he got off work again. It would be late—they were docked, so people were taking advantage of the discounted spa prices, which meant Devon was booked well into the evening. But that was all right. He was on cloud nine and he was pretty sure he'd still be on it by ten p.m. that night.

As the hour approached, Devon got more and more excited about seeing Melanie again. He marveled at how this one girl had made such an impact on him in one evening. And when he saw her standing outside the door to the spa, his entire body lit up.

"Hey you," he said as he walked out into the balmy evening.

She smiled up at him. "Hey yourself."

Without hesitation, he swooped down and planted a kiss on her lips. When he pulled back, he asked, "Would it be totally lame of me to say that I missed you today?"

"A little," she teased. "But, um, I missed you too." She blushed to her roots. Clearly that was a tough thing for her to admit. "So, what's the plan?"

"I'm a little hungry. You up for some pizza?"

They walked to the promenade, hand in hand. The pizza shop was open 24-hours and served up cheese and pepperoni slices at all hours of the night. It was buzzing, even at ten o'clock, and 50s bee-bop music played in the background.

Devon and Melanie snuggled into a booth with their slices and sodas, then told each other about their days. Devon admittedly didn't have much to tell—back-to-back clients from morning till night with hardly a minute for lunch. Not the most exciting day on record.

Melanie, however, had explored Bermuda with her friends. They had drinks at the famous Swizzle Inn and toured the perfumery before coming back to the ship for dinner and the show. Devon was glad she'd had such a great day, but part of him was disappointed he hadn't gotten to enjoy it with her.

When their pizza was gone and their fingers sufficiently licked of the grease, they decided to take a late-night dip in the hot tub. Devon tried to keep his tongue in his mouth when he saw Melanie in her bathing suit. It didn't reveal much—clearly she was a modest girl—but it revealed enough to get his blood pumping. Her legs were long and toned, and the plunging neckline revealed just a little of her creamy breasts. She certainly left plenty to his imagination, and now his imagination was running away with him.

The hot tub was deserted, which Devon couldn't quite understand. Late night hot-tubbing on the open seas under a full moon was one of the most romantic scenarios he could imagine. Why the tub wasn't littered with lovers was beyond him.

Not that he was complaining.

Melanie climbed in first and he slid into the hot water after her. It bubbled around them, warm and effervescent. He'd barely sunk fully into the water when Melanie appeared before him, close enough to kiss. But she didn't kiss him; she just stared at him with those big eyes, her mouth slightly open. She couldn't have been clearer had she sent him an invitation in the mail that read: YOU ARE INVITED TO KISS ME!

Devon didn't hesitate another moment. He grabbed her around the waist and drew her closer until she was sitting sideways on his lap. Her skin was slick beneath his hands, and her breasts pressed up against his chest, firm and buoyant. His lips landed on hers and she immediately opened for him. Her arms snaked around his neck and she pressed even harder against his mouth, as if the kiss wasn't deep enough or their bodies close enough. Devon couldn't help but be aroused by the sensuality of the position or the excitement of being in a public place. Eventually, they would have to take it inside—probably sooner rather than later.

He could hear the muted sounds of people chatting as they walked the deck nearby, but he paid them no mind. All his attention was on—

"Mister Matthews!"

Devon sucked in a breath and pulled quickly from the kiss. He turned abruptly to his left only to find his boss, Eugenia, glaring at him from outside the hot tub. Great.

"Boss, how's it going?" he asked, trying to be nonchalant about the situation, but fairly certain he was failing.

"I will see you in my office in fifteen minutes." With that, she strode away and didn't look back.

"Oh, my God," Melanie said. "I'm so sorry. Are you going to be fired?"

Devon chuckled. "Nah. I'll probably just get a scolding. But..." He looked up at her. "It was totally worth it."

A smile came to Melanie's lips. "I'm glad."

Devon wanted to kiss her again, but the clock was ticking, and he had a long walk back to his room to get a shirt. He wasn't about to meet with his boss in nothing but a pair of wet shorts.

"I better get going," he said, truly disappointed for the night to come to an end.

"Okay." Melanie seemed just as bummed. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

Devon smiled and planted a quick kiss on her lips. "Definitely."

Twenty minutes later, Devon stood at his boss's desk in an office at the back of the spa.

"You're late."

"It's not a small ship."

Eugenia was not amused. "I do believe you signed our contract, Mr. Matthews, so you should know that fornicating with passengers is strictly prohibited...especially in public."

Devon wasn't sure what to say to that. He had been caught red-handed—there wasn't any point denying what she saw.

"You're fired, Mr. Matthews. You will collect your things and leave the ship immediately. You will be taken to the airport where you will wait on standby for the next flight to New York."

Okay, now he had something to say. "What do you mean, I'm leaving immediately? Don't I at least get some kind of warning? A second chance?"

"You signed a contract, Mr. Matthews. And this is policy. My hands are tied."

Devon stared at the woman, dumbfounded. What was he going to do about Melanie? "Can I at least make a call first?" he asked as two security guards entered the room.

"I'm afraid not. You can call your friend when you get back on land."

Except he didn't know her last name or how to find her once he was back in New York. Damn it!

"Goodbye, Mr. Matthews," Eugenia said. "Safe travels."
Seven

Melanie went immediately to the spa the next morning to find Devon. She wanted to make sure he hadn't gotten into any trouble because of her—she would feel terrible if he had.

The front desk girl greeted her with a smile. "Hi, do you have an appointment?"

"Um, no. Actually, I'm looking for Devon. Is he here?"

The girl scrunched her face up and whispered, "Devon was let go. But I can get you an appointment with one of our other masseuses. They're all just as qualified as Devon."

Melanie could hardly breathe. He'd been let go? "But what does that mean? Is he still on the ship?"

"Unfortunately not. He's probably back in New York by now. Although, he could still be at the airport. They make you fly standby, you know?"

The airport. They were docked in Bermuda for another eight hours or so. That was plenty of time to take a cab to the airport and back.

"Thanks for all your help!" Melanie cried as she left the spa. She ran all the way back to her room, grabbed her backpack and dashed to the ship's exit.

Once she was in the taxi bound for the airport, she sat back and took a breath. It would be fine. Everything would turn out okay. She would find Devon, he would forgive her, and they would exchange numbers so they could meet up in New York in a few days.

And then they would live happily ever after.

Ha! Who was she kidding? She'd known the guy less than four days, and while they'd had an amazing time together, he probably thought nothing of it. Certainly Devon had gone out with prettier, more interesting girls in his life—Melanie was more than likely just another notch in his belt.

But still...she had to find him. She had gotten him fired. An apology was the least she could do.

The taxi let her off outside the departures gate of the Bermuda International Airport. Melanie hastily settled her bill and then dashed inside, headed for—

For what? Where was she supposed to go now? And would they even let her inside the terminal? If not, she had no hope of finding Devon.

She approached an empty ticket counter where a woman in an American Airlines uniform greeted her with a sweet smile.

"Hello, passport, please."

"Oh, I'm not flying, actually. I just...I need to find someone. He's in the terminal. I think. Is there anyway to get through to find him?"

The pretty blonde tilted her head to the side with a sad puppy-dog face. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. The only way to get to the terminal is to have a ticket. But I could page him for you, if you like."

Yes! Why hadn't she thought of that before? "That would be wonderful. Thank you so much."

The woman picked up the intercom. "His name?"

"Devon," Melanie said, and then she had to wrack her brain for his last name. What had his boss called him? For the life of her, she couldn't remember. She'd been in a lustful daze at the time. "Just...Devon," she finally said, defeated.

"Certainly, ma'am." She pressed a button and a loud ding echoed through the airport. "Would a Mr. Devon please report to security? Mr. Devon?"

Mr. Devon? Would he even know that was for him?

The blonde replaced the intercom and then turned to Melanie. "If he's here, he'll meet you at the security gate. Just head that way and follow the signs."

"Thank you so much," Melanie said, hoping to find him waiting there when she arrived.

But she didn't. And after twenty minutes of waiting, she decided he'd probably already boarded a plane bound for New York. Either that or he thought the call was truly for someone with the last name of Devon.

***

"This is the last call for passengers boarding flight 232 to New York," came the voice of the flight attendant in charge of boarding. "All those on standby, please report to the podium and have your boarding pass ready."

Devon grabbed his carry-on and headed for the podium, eager to get the hell out of the airport. He had been there since late last night, after he'd been escorted there by one of the ship's officers. He needed a shower in the worst way. And sleep. Airport chairs were not conducive to sleeping.

He handed his ticket over to the flight attendant when an announcement came over the loud speaker.

"Would a Mr. Devon please report to security? Mr. Devon."

Mr. Devon? Was it possible there was someone in the airport with that last name? Or was the message for him?

"Is everything alright, Mr. Matthews?"

He looked up at the flight attendant who was clearly waiting for him to board the plane so they could close the gate.

"Sorry," he said, conflicted about whether to get on the plane or go see if Melanie was waiting for him at security.

In the end, he decided it probably wasn't for him. She had been there when Eugenia had yelled his name at him last night. Surely she remembered that, and she probably even knew who he really was by this time.

"Mr. Matthews, I need to close the gate. Please board the plane."

He took one last look down the long terminal, half hoping to see Melanie running towards him. But she wasn't. So Devon did as he was asked and boarded the plane, not really ready to go back home, but seeing little choice in the matter.
Eight

Melanie returned to the ship, her heart twisted and sad. The guilt over having gotten Devon fired was eating away at her, and the idea of being on the ship another two days before she could even begin to look for him was devastating.

Lisa and Shauna were in the room getting ready for lunch.

"Where have you been?" Lisa asked at the same time Shauna said, "What the heck happened to you?"

Melanie plopped down on the tiny couch by the window with a melodramatic sigh. "He's gone," she said simply.

"Come again?" Shauna's brows shot up. "What are you talking about?"

She hated to admit what she'd done, but it was killing her. She had to get it off her chest. "Devon. He left last night."

"But doesn't he work here?" Lisa asked.

"He did." Melanie took a deep breath and then launched into the hot tub story. "I tried to catch him at the airport, but I don't even know his last name, so obviously I wasn't very successful."

"Well, that's easy to figure out," Shauna said. "Let's go to the spa. Surely they'll know his last name. Then we'll find him when we get back to the city."

Melanie looked up at her friends. Of course she should ask the front desk girl at the spa!

"Come on." Lisa grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off the couch. "We'll swing by before lunch."

***

"I'm really sorry," Sophie said from her swivel chair behind the spa's front desk. "I'm not allowed to give out that kind of information."

"But you don't understand," Shauna said, leaning further over the counter in an attempt to intimidate the unflappable Sophie. "This is an emergency."

"Really?" Sophie's eyes grew round. "Is Devon okay? What happened?"

Great. "Nice one, Shauna." Melanie rolled her eyes at her friend and then turned to Sophie. "It's not an emergency, per se, but we um...we sort of had a thing going, if you know what I mean. And I'm the reason he was let go."

Realization dawned on Sophie's face. "Ah, so you're the one." She gave a little chuckle. "Listen, I wish I could help you, but I can't give you his last name. What I can give you, though, is this piece of advice: forget about Devon."

Melanie stared back at Sophie, dumbfounded. Had she just told her to forget about Devon? "I'm sorry?" she said.

"Guys like him aren't looking to settle down. I hate to say this, but you were probably just a fling. Something fun to do while he was here."

Melanie wanted to jump over the counter and rip Sophie's curls right out of her head, but she was too busy trying to keep Lisa from doing the same thing.

"You don't know anything about my friend or her relationship with Devon," Lisa practically screamed at Sophie.

Sophie looked shaken, but she was still trying to maintain her professionalism. She stood and backed away from the desk as she said, "Miss, you're going to have to keep your voice down. There are massages going on in this facility."

As Melanie and Shauna dragged Lisa out of the spa, she rattled off a slew of profanities and let Sophie know just what she could do with her massages.

"The nerve of that girl!" she yelled as soon as they were on the deck. "Who does she think she is?"

"It's alright, Lis, calm down." Melanie hated scenes, but Lisa had a knack for creating them. "We'll get his name another way."

"Damn right, we will." Lisa charged for the door to the spa again.

"No, Lis! Come on. We're going now. Let's grab a drink and talk this through." Melanie grabbed her arm and tugged her close so she couldn't get away.

"How are you so calm about this?" Lisa asked. "Did you hear the way she spoke to you?"

"Yeah," Melanie replied. "I did." And it pissed her off, just not enough to commit assault.

They went to the pub on the promenade—the site of her first date with Devon. Ha. Her first date with him was practically her last date with him. They barely knew each other. But then why did she feel that ache in her stomach? Why did she desperately want to see him? Hear his voice? Why did the world seem darker, less exciting now that he was gone?

Melanie ordered a Guinness and the three of them kvetched over their beers. Unfortunately, there wasn't much they could do while they were on the ship. They were setting sail again tonight, headed back to New York. Less than two days and they'd be home. And then she could begin her search for Devon.

***

After a good night's sleep, Devon was ready to hit the ground running in his search for Melanie. She wouldn't be off the ship for a couple more days, but he had some legwork to do first anyway. He didn't know her last name; all he knew was that she was a waitress and an actress. Great. That should be easy, since New York had so few actresses and waitresses.

He scoffed at the thought as he took his iced coffee from the barista. "Thanks. Hey, are you an actress?" he asked the coffee girl on a whim.

She smiled wide and made a motion as if to toss her hair, even though it was tied back in a ponytail. "Why, yes, I am. How did you know?"

"Just a hunch," he said. "But I'm hoping you might be able to help me. I need to know the main audition spots around town."

"No problem!" She disappeared into the back for a minute and reemerged with a piece of paper in hand. "Here. I wrote them down for you. And the addresses." Her smile was prodding. "Are you in television?"

Devon laughed. "No. Not really in entertainment at all."

The smile remained on her face, but the light went out in her eyes. He was useless to her now.

"Well," he said, "thanks for the addresses. And the coffee!"

He pocketed the piece of paper—he wouldn't need it for a couple more days, at least, if at all. His plan was to gather as much information about where he might find Melanie, if for some reason he was unable to find her during the disembarking phase of the ship.

His next stop: Diners. There had to be a million of them in New York City, but he decided to start with ones local to the audition spaces. After the 6th or so diner, Devon was feeling weary. Diners were big operations, so each one took a good amount of time to get a hold of the person who might know if they had an employee named Melanie working there.

Another coffee was in order, so he popped into the nearest Starbucks. He sat down at a table and took a sip. As he contemplated his next move, he glanced out the window and stopped. Across the street was a tiny little diner that he might not have otherwise seen if he hadn't been sitting directly across from it. Ironically, it was called Big Apple Diner.

With a renewed energy, Devon leapt from his chair and darted across the street, dodging taxis and busses as he did. A bell clanked overhead as he opened the door, and an older Greek woman greeted him with a smile.

"One for lunch?" she asked as she pulled a menu from its holder.

"Ah, no. I was just wondering if you have anyone by the name of Melanie who works here?"

"We did!"

Devon turned to see a large man in a white cook's uniform striding toward them. "Did? As in, she doesn't work here anymore?"

"Not a very reliable girl," he said, and Devon realized this must have been the boss that Melanie hated but dealt with because she needed the money. "She's visiting a sick uncle—" He used air quotes around sick uncle, "—but I wasn't born yesterday."

"Yeah, I can see that," Devon said, not really caring what he thought of Melanie. "Listen, do you have a last name for her?"

The small Greek woman stepped forward before the boss could say anything. "Who wants to know?"

Devon thought it was pretty obvious who wanted to know, but he answered her question anyway. He had finally found her diner, and he wasn't going to blow this opportunity. "I do," he said, with a great amount of reverence in his voice.

The woman folded her arms over her chest. "Why?"

It was do or die time. Without a good reason, this woman wasn't going to give up the information he so desperately needed. So he appealed to her romantic side—he just had to hope she had one.

"Because...because I love her," he said. The woman remained in her authoritative stance, but her face softened. He kept going. "Since it's no secret that she wasn't really visiting a sick uncle, I will tell you the truth. I met her on a cruise ship, but we didn't exchange last names or numbers. We thought we had more time. But then I was fired and sent home without the opportunity to tell her how I felt. And now I have no way of finding her." He paused for dramatic effect. "You're my only hope."
Nine

Melanie was one of the first off the ship the morning it pulled up to the New York City pier. She kept her eyes open, hoping to see Devon there, waiting for her. But he was nowhere to be found. Melanie's hopes deflated further as she lugged her suitcase several avenues to the subway station and hoisted it down several flights of stairs. The ride home was depressing, and it was even more depressing to arrive back at her small, dingy apartment.

She missed the ship already. But mostly she just missed Devon.

She immediately cracked open her laptop and started Googling things like Devon masseuse, and Devon masseuse NYC. But no good leads turned up.

With a sigh, Melanie slumped back against her desk chair, her eyes fixated on the screen, but not really seeing it. It was time to stop dreaming. Time to accept those few days for what they were—a summer fling. Nothing more. Maybe one day she would run into Devon at a local Laundromat or diner, and they'd smile at each other fondly and ask how the other had been. Of course, by then they would both be married and maybe even have kids. But Melanie knew she would never be able to forget her few glorious days with him.

But none of that mattered now. She had to move on with her life. She was jobless and broke.

She opened up Backstage.com, ready to start the search for a temp job or another waitressing job, when she saw an ad for a dance teacher.

Dance, Dance Broadway looking for an experienced dancer to teach beginner jazz to 3-5 year olds.

Teaching. While many of Melanie's friends had turned to teaching voice or dance for their income, Melanie had always shunned the idea. "Those who can't, teach." That phrase echoed in her head every time she thought about it. But the fact of the matter was that teaching seemed a hell of a lot better than waiting tables right now. She couldn't fathom the idea of working in another restaurant, praying for enough tips to make her rent, all the while dealing with stingy tourist and crabby old New Yorkers.

She remembered her conversation with Devon on their first date. Telling him she was unhappy had been a huge step, but it was just the first step. Now she had to do something about it. It was time to take charge of her life and find that bliss everyone was always talking about. Maybe she would find it in teaching, maybe she wouldn't. One thing was for sure, though: she would never find it in a restaurant.

Besides, she loved Dance, Dance Broadway. She'd taken many classes there over the years—it would be comfortable, if nothing else.

She picked up her phone and dialed the number to the dance school.

"Dance, Dance Broadway, how can I help you?"

"Hello, I'd like to apply for the teaching position you advertised in Backstage."

***

It would have been easier to find a needle in a haystack than to find an actress named Melanie Smith in New York City. The woman was elusive. Google searches brought up past performance history, but no contact information at all. No Facebook or Twitter accounts, no website. Nothing.

Devon had gone to the pier the morning the ship docked, but never found Melanie or her friends in the crush of people. And hanging out around the audition spaces had proved fruitless, too. Maybe she had decided to quit the business. He wouldn't have been surprised. As a matter of fact, he would have been happy for her. She did say she was miserable, after all. But part of him hoped she would give it just a few more tries—enough for him to be able to track her down at an audition space.

"Dude, where are you?"

Devon looked up at Brody. They were sitting in a bar, having a couple of beers, but Devon was having trouble focusing on the conversation.

"Sorry," he said with a slight shake of his head. "I just...I can't believe I can't find her."

Brody rolled his eyes. "Do you see that over there?" He pointed to a woman on the other side of the bar. "There's a lot of hot ass out there, Dev. There's no reason for you to be toiling over some insecure actress you met on a ship. Trust me. Insecure actresses are a dime a dozen."

Devon bristled. "Shut up, Brody. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know that you're no fun to hang out with anymore. I've lost my best friend to some chick you knew for less than four days."

"She's not some chick. And you haven't lost me. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Barely." Brody took a long swig of his beer. "Look, all I'm saying is that if she wanted to find you, she would have by now. It's not like you're an unknown hermit."

"She doesn't know my last name—at least, I don't think she does. And she thinks I'm a masseuse. You have to know what you're looking for in order to find it."

Brody shrugged. "I think you're wasting your time and energy obsessing over this girl."

"It's not obsessing when..." He couldn't say it. Not to Brody. Even if it was true that he had fallen for her, Brody would never understand. "Just mind your own business, okay?"

Devon stood and retrieved a pair of twenty-dollar bills. "I've gotta go." He tossed the bills on the table.

"Oh, come on, Dev. I'm just trying to help."

"Yeah, some help you are. I'll catch you later."

He walked out of the bar and stood on the street for a minute, watching as the Soho elite bustled past him. He had no idea what his next move would be or if he even should have a next move. What if Brody was right? What if she didn't want to find him? What if it really was just a summer fling?
Ten

"Hi, I'm Melanie Smith. I'm here for the job interview."

The front desk girl smiled and handed her a clipboard. "Great. If you could just fill this out, someone will be right with you."

Melanie took a seat in the waiting area of the familiar dance studio. She wasn't nearly as nervous as she usually was for a job interview—she knew these halls and studios too well.

She filled out the paperwork and handed it back to the girl at the front desk, and within minutes, the manager appeared in the lobby.

"Melanie?" she said, her hand out-stretched. "I'm Carol."

Melanie stood and shook the woman's hand. "Nice to meet you, Carol."

They sat down in Carol's office. She wanted to know all about Melanie's dance background, performance history and job history. But mostly she wanted to know if she liked kids.

Melanie couldn't help but remember blurting out that she wanted to be a mom on her first date with Devon. She nodded, a smile coming to her lips. "Yes, I do."

Carol smiled back. "Well, that's great to know." She straightened some papers on her desk and reached for a set of keys. "Do you mind giving me a mini class now? Just pretend I'm a three-year-old."

Melanie wasn't sure what it would be like to teach real three-year-olds, but teaching Carol acting like a three-year-old was more fun that she ever expected. Carol pretended to pick her nose, not pay attention and did everything completely wrong. Melanie loved every minute of it.

The next morning, when Carol called to tell her she had the job, Melanie couldn't stop herself from jumping up and down like a little kid on their way to Disney World.

She was in the middle of her celebration dance when a knock came at the door. "Mel, it's Lisa! Open up!"

Surprised and a little worried, Melanie ran to the door. "Lis? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

Lisa took a moment to catch her breath. "We really have to get you out of this 5th-floor walk-up," she panted.

"Is that what you came all the way here to tell me?"

"No." Lisa pulled a magazine from behind her back and held it up in front of Melanie's face. Melanie pulled back a bit so she could actually see the cover. It took her a moment to process what she was looking at, but even when she recognized Devon's face, she still couldn't quite understand what was going on.

"I don't get it," she said. "What is this?'

Lisa brushed past, taking the magazine with her, and plopped down on the couch. "Your masseuse isn't really a masseuse."

"What do you mean?" Melanie asked, wishing Lisa would just get to the point.

"He's a billionaire. Or a millionaire, at the very least. Ever heard of Silly Squirrels?"

Of course she had. Everybody who had an iPhone played it. It was the most popular game to ever hit the market. "Sure I have."

Lisa opened the magazine to reveal a pull-out poster of Devon and some other guy, dressed in designer clothes, looking all posh and suave. "Meet the creators. Brody Simonton and...Devon Matthews."

Melanie shook her head. "It's not possible. He's a masseuse."

Lisa flipped the magazine around and read, "'Mr. Matthews's most recent endeavor, after a year of studying massage therapy out of boredom, was a short stint as a masseuse aboard a famous cruise liner.'"

Melanie had no idea what to say, or how she should even feel. "He's a billionaire?"

Lisa scanned the article. "Says here his estimated worth is around seven hundred and fifty million. Close enough." She looked up at Melanie. "Are you okay?"

Was she okay? She had no idea how to answer that question. Here she was, worrying over the fact that she got Devon fired from a job where he worked round the clock, and now she finds out he's one of the richest people under thirty. Ever. Part of her was relieved that she didn't have to carry around that guilt anymore. But another part of her was incredibly saddened by the news. Clearly, if he thought they had something special going, he would have confided in her. Right? And seeing as he was an incredibly wealthy twenty-something guy who took jobs "out of boredom," it was quite possible that Sophie had been right about him. Maybe Melanie was just something to help him pass the time aboard the ship.

"I will be," she said at last. "Thanks for letting me know."

She sent Lisa home and after a good cry, she pulled herself together. She had to move on. She had a new job, for which she had to create a curriculum, and besides, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Fish that were willing to be honest with her.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn't a big deal—she had only known him four days, so getting over him should have been easy. But the ache in her heart and the pit in her stomach said otherwise. It was not going to be easy at all to get over Devon Matthews.

***

Devon looked at the caller ID on his phone. Unknown. He never answered unknown numbers. They usually ended up being some crazy sixteen-year-old who just loved Silly Squirrels and just knows he'd really like her if only they could just meet for coffee. Devon wasn't sure how these girls acquired his private number, but they did. Teenage girls were crafty these days.

But he couldn't help but be hopeful. Maybe it was Melanie. Maybe she had seen the article in TechMag and had tracked him down.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Um, hi. Is this Devon Matthews?" came a vaguely familiar voice. It wasn't Melanie, but he knew the voice somehow.

"Yes, it is," he admitted reluctantly.

"Oh, thank God! It's taken me forever to find you. Well, not forever. I did just see the article yesterday, but it feels like forever. Do you know how hard it is to track you down?"

When the voice paused for a breath, he asked, "Who is this?"

"Oh, sorry! This is Lisa. Melanie's best friend."

Devon nearly collapsed to the ground in relief, but then he thought of something that set his nerves off. "Wait. So you know who I am now?"

"Uh, yeah. I was in the doctor's office and TechMag was covering up the Vogue I wanted to read. Naturally, when I saw your picture on the front, I had to find out what it was all about."

He paused. He had to ask the question, but he didn't want to. "Does...does Melanie know?"

"She's my best friend. I don't keep secrets from her. Especially not ones like this."

Damn it! If Melanie knew, she could have found him and called him herself. But she didn't.

"Listen, I think Melanie's having a bit of a hard time with all this. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but...well, she's been a mess ever since you got fired. She felt so awful about the situation, but now she just feels like a fool."

"I can imagine," Devon said.

"I didn't tell her that I was going to call you. She has no idea that I even have your number. But I need to know...do you care about her at all? Or was she just a fling?"

"Lisa, I know this is going to sound ridiculous, and I know I'm going to ruin my playboy image by admitting it, but I–I think I love her." He took a breath and then launched into the truth. "I can't think about anything else. I'm going out of my mind trying to find her. I've been kicking myself for the last week that we never exchanged last names or phone numbers. And I hate that I never told her the truth."

There was a moment of silence, and then, "Squeeeeeeeeee!" Devon pulled the phone away from his ear as Lisa screamed and squealed on the other end of the line. "This is so awesome. I knew you two were meant for each other. Okay, listen...she's totally freaked out about you being über rich and all, but I think she'll get over it. She hasn't said as much, but I know she loves you too. She's been such a drag ever since you left the ship."

Devon hardly had time to process everything Lisa was telling him. She spoke way too fast, and he had to jot down the location of her new job. It wasn't until he hung up that he was able to truly enjoy the relief at having found her. His Melanie.

But he couldn't just show up at her new job and sweep her off her feet. He would have to think of a more clever way to show her how much he cared, and that he wasn't going to disappear ever again.
Eleven

For the first time in her life, Melanie loved her job. Little girls who wanted to learn dance were just about the cutest things alive, and every class was fun and fulfilling. Melanie left her first day, after five 45-minute classes, feeling on top of the world—unlike when she would leave the restaurant after a six-hour shift. She had energy. She wanted to go out and have fun with her friends. She was finally enjoying her life.

Sure, there was still something missing. Well, someone, actually. But it had been more than a week since they left the ship, and several days since she'd discovered who he was. She still wasn't sure how to feel about that. Of course she didn't begrudge him having money, but a pit formed in her stomach every time she remembered the guilt she had suffered when he'd been fired. And the silly way she had opened up to him about her dream of having a cockroach-free apartment and an expensive bed. She must have sounded ridiculous to someone who had nearly a billion dollars.

She shook her head as she walked out of the subway station into the bustle of Hell's Kitchen. She couldn't think about him anymore. She was turning over a new leaf—starting a new life. No more theater for a while. No more waitressing ever again. Just lots of fun teaching little girls the art of jazz.

A light rain started to fall as she made her way to the studio for her second day on the job. Umbrellas popped up around her, and she dodged them expertly until she made it to the door.

"Good morning!" she chirped, trying to put Devon from her mind as best she could.

"Hey Melanie," Chelsea, the receptionist said. "Your ten a.m. class is ready for you."

Melanie stopped short on her way to the dressing room. "Ten?" She looked at her watch. It was a few minutes past ten already. "I thought my first class was at eleven. I was going to warm up until then."

Chelsea shrugged and checked the schedule again. "Carol must have forgotten to tell you that we added a ten o'clock class recently. But don't worry, it's only five after."

"Um, yeah...okay, thanks." Flustered, Melanie changed quickly and then dashed toward her classroom, hating that she had to start the day without getting some time to herself to warm up.

"Sorry I'm late everyb—" Melanie halted in her tracks when she saw her "student," and it took her another moment to pick her jaw up off the floor.

Devon.

Silence fell between them. All she could do was stare at him, and not just because he was decked out in a full unitard.

Finally, a big, sheepish smile lit up his face. "Hi there."

"Um, hi." The powers of speech eluded Melanie.

He took a tentative step toward her. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"You have?"

Devon nodded. "I thought I would never find you."

Another step.

"How did you find me?" she asked, wishing she could pinch herself. This could not be real.

"Lisa is a very good friend," he said. "You should keep her."

Melanie smiled. "I should have known she would do something stupid."

"Is it stupid that I'm here?"

"It's kind of stupid that you're wearing a unitard, but no...it's not stupid that you're here."

"I figured if you wouldn't give me the time of day that I could at least get my money's worth out of a dance class from you. I did pay for this, you know?"

Melanie couldn't stop the laughter. "I'm sure you did."

Devon took the opening and moved closer to her, until they were mere inches apart.

"I'm really sorry I never told you who I was. I was trying to keep a low profile, and that was just ridiculous, especially because I really cared about you."

"You did?" Melanie's voice sounded small to her own ears.

Devon reached up and caressed her cheek. "I do." And then he kissed her, long and sweet.

Melanie could hardly believe he was there, in her arms again, kissing her as if it had been years since they'd seen one another. Long lost lovers, together at last.

When they pulled away, Devon was smiling at her. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Melanie laughed. "Now, now, I do have a job to do. And I can't ditch on my second day." She gave him a coy smile. "But I'm free tonight. Maybe we can pick up where we left off?"

"That sounds perfect. Just one thing."

"What's that?"

"Can I get your phone number?"
Don't miss out on other great titles in the

Summer Loving Series

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By Lilia Birney
The Matchbaker

Don't miss out on Jerrica's delightful romantic comedy, The Matchbaker!

One

I can't believe I'm doing this. Why, when I should be shopping on the Champs Elysee or sipping French wine at a fine restaurant, am I in a bad part of Paris, sitting in the front parlor of Madame Antoinette's? That's right. She's a psychic. And I foolishly let my best friend talk me into coming to see her.

I look across at Lucy, who is poised elegantly on the edge of one of the purple cloth-draped chairs. We're both wearing trendy business suits and expensive shoes, and we're groomed to near perfection. We definitely don't belong in this gaudy shop with five-pointed stars and crystal balls.

But I'm a good friend, I guess, and that's why I'm here.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask Lucy. She darts her gaze to meet mine and I see the determination in her eyes. There's no way I'm getting out of this now.

"I have to know, Candace," she says simply and then turns her attention back to the ornate dragon sitting on the table next to her.

I do my best not to roll my eyes, but it's not easy. Poor Lucy is convinced her boyfriend back in New York is cheating on her. I'm convinced he's not. Apparently, she'd rather hear it from Madame Antoinette than me.

"Good afternoon, ladies." The hanging beads in the doorway click and a woman appears before us. She has frizzy red hair, kept somewhat in line by a dark purple scarf. Her dress makes her look like a bawdy pirate wench, and she clicks and clanks with every movement thanks to all her bangles and beads. I'm going to go out on a limb and say this is Madame Antoinette. Maybe I should invest in a ridiculous get-up so Lucy will listen to me and not drag me to the worst part of Paris for psychic readings ever again.

With a flick of her head, Madame Antoinette turns and walks back through the beaded curtain. Lucy is out of her chair, following behind, as if she's in some kind of trance. I take a deep breath and follow as well.

I can't help but notice the grime that lines the floorboards as we walk down the long corridor, and suddenly all I can think about is getting back to the hotel and taking a long, hot shower. I just hope Lucy gets her answers quickly.

At the end of the corridor, Madame leads us into a room on the left, and I have to stifle a giggle as we walk through the door. What a joke! I can't believe my best friend thinks this woman is going to have the answers she needs. I mean, seriously, there's a large, foggy crystal ball in the middle of the table, which is draped with the same purple cloth as the chairs out in the lobby. I look around for hidden cameras, because surely we're being taken for a ride.

"Have a seat," Madame says, gesturing to the chairs at the round table. She takes her own place in front of the crystal ball. "Now, what is it I can help you with?"

Lucy shoots me a quick glance and then turns back to Madame Antoinette. "I think my boyfriend may be cheating on me."

The woman smiles as if she understands completely. "You have been together a long time, no?"

"Since high school," says Lucy, a goofy girl-next-door smile coming to her glossy lips.

"And what makes you think he is cheating on you, my dear?"

Lucy blushes and I know it's because she doesn't want to sound like a crazy person. I wish I could lean over and tell her she could never sound as crazy as Madame Antoinette, but I'm pretty sure that wouldn't go over very well with either of them.

"I...I kind of found a text from another woman."

"Aha. And what did this text say?"

Lucy blushes again. Oh, good Lord. What does it matter what this woman thinks of her? There's a bottle of Bordeaux with my name on it back at the hotel, and I'm getting antsy.

"I don't actually know," she says, and Madame Antoinette's eyebrows rise until they nearly disappear under her hair. "I just saw the name—Kelsey Attwater—but I didn't see what she wrote. I've never heard of her, and Steve was acting kind of weird after he read the text."

Madame nods and then turns her attention to the crystal ball before her. She closes her eyes, which begs the question, how will she see what's in the crystal ball? This thought tickles me and a bubble of laughter rises to my throat. I stifle it as best I can, but not well enough apparently, since Lucy shoots me a scathing look. Which makes me laugh even harder. It's not until she kicks me in the shin with her pointy toe that I gain control of my faculties.

"Yes, yes," mumbles Madame Antoinette. She's swaying in circles and her eyes keep rolling back. I'm waiting for her head to start spinning around.

Lucy is on the edge of her seat. I roll my eyes. God, this is such a waste of time. Steve isn't cheating. I know him, and he would never do that to Lucy. If he did, I would lose faith in love and men altogether. Not that I have a lot of faith in those things to begin with. But Lucy and Steve are the perfect pair. If they can't make it, then I'm surely doomed.

Madame opens her eyes suddenly and trains them on Lucy. "Your hunch is correct," she says.

My mouth drops open. What a load of crap!

"I knew it!" shouts Lucy. "See, Candace, I told you!"

I'm biting my tongue so hard I can taste the blood. I take a deep breath and look from Lucy to Madame Antoinette with my stoniest of glares. Who is this woman to tell Lucy what Steve is up to, anyway? She doesn't know Lucy and she certainly doesn't know Steve, and she doesn't know them together.

"What should I do?" Lucy begs the strange woman for advice. I can't help but feel a little jealous. She never asks for my advice with such fervent desperation. Actually, I'm not sure she ever really asks for my advice at all. What a sucky thing to realize about your best friend.

"You should confront him, of course," says Madame Antoinette.

Lucy reaches into her handbag and retrieves her phone.

Is she serious? "Luce, not now," I say to her.

"It is not your responsibility to direct your friend's path." Madame is staring at me now. "If she feels the need to call in this moment, then it is important she does."

"I'm sure it is, since you're being paid by the minute, Madame."

"Candace!" Lucy hisses while she waits for Steve to pick up.

"I'm sorry, Luce, but this is ridic—"

"Hi, honey, it's me." Lucy has turned away from the table and she's talking to Steve in hushed tones. "Yes, I am, but...we need to talk."

I glare at Madame. I'm so over being polite right now.

"You are angry with me," she says.

She should get a medal for her ability to state the obvious. I say nothing.

"I understand," she continues. "Your friend is taking advice from a stranger, and now you doubt the friendship."

"I don't doubt our friendship." This woman is infuriating. "But I know Steve's not cheating. He loves her and he would never do that to her. They've been together since high school, for God's sake!"

"A person's love for someone does not necessarily keep them from being unfaithful." I can't stand her all-knowing tone when she says this.

And if what she says is true, I'm never going to fall in love. I'm not about to get heartsick over someone and devote years of my life to him, only to have him cheat on me.

Lucy is in the far corner of the room now, her whispers more emphatic than before. Crap. Things aren't sounding good. I really don't want to have to eat my words. I'd rather eat steak tartare at the Michelin-starred restaurant in the hotel.

"You are twenty-eight, no?" Madame says.

I look up at her, shocked. "How did you know that?"

She shrugs and peers into her crystal ball. "Hmm."

Hmm? What the hell does hmm mean? Against my will, my butt scooches forward on my seat, and I lean in to see what's in the ball. "What are you doing?" I ask, trying to sound more perturbed than intrigued.

"You will be twenty-nine soon," she says. Lucky guess. "And you will see some very interesting changes in the coming year."

Oh, wow. That's not vague at all.

"I see a career change in your very near future."

Career change? A pit forms in my stomach, but I can't tell if it's from excitement or nerves. "What do you mean?" Maybe I'm going to get that promotion, after all. The one my boss promised me almost two years ago. I'm sorry, Can, I really thought it was going to be this quarter, but it's just not going to happen. I promise in September the position will be yours. Maybe it's finally going to happen. Maybe Celia isn't just blowing smoke up my skirt this time.

"You enjoy baking," she says as if it's a fact.

I burst out laughing. "Ah, no," I say. "Not at all, much to my parents' chagrin."

Madame Antoinette cocks her head to the side as she stares, confused, at the crystal ball. "But..."

We're both distracted by the sniffles coming from the corner. I look at Lucy. Her back is to us and she still has the phone up to her ear, but her body is shaking with sobs. Crap. One for Madame Antoinette; Zero for me. Now I'm torn. Do I want to know what Madame is going to say, or do I want to hear about what a creep Steve is?

I turn back to the psychic. I'm desperate to wipe the smug smile off her face, but annoyingly, she's sparked my interest with this comment about baking. It's probably just a coincidence, but still...

"So," I say, re-focusing my attention back on her. "What's this business about baking?"

She looks into her crystal ball again, her eyes fixed on the nothingness inside. God, what is wrong with me? Am I really so desperate to know my future that I'm turning to Madame Antoinette? I'm at once irked and curious. I mean, she did call that situation with Steve.

I glance again at Lucy. She's still on the phone, but now she's sitting on the floor, her knees pulled tightly to her chest as she rocks in place. Gross. She'll have to get that suit dry-cleaned.

"Yes, I am still seeing the same thing," Madame says, and I return my focus to her and the crystal ball. "A career change will find you...baking." She turns her hands up and shrugs.

"That's impossible." I peer around to see if there's anything for a normal person to see in the ball. Nothing. Just cloudy smoke. "I mean, maybe not entirely impossible, but...no, it is. It is impossible. That's not my path. I deliberately stayed out of the bakery growing up. I hate baking. Hate it. The kitchen is hot, it's messy. The few times I helped my mom out I nearly broke my hand trying to pull the heavy pans out of the oven. No. No, no, no, no, no."

"I'm sorry," says the psychic. Ha! Some psychic. Clearly, she knows nothing about me or she would know that what she's seeing is hogwash. "I do not make these things up. I only relay what I see."

"Well, what you see is ridiculous," I tell her, trying to keep my cool. I mean, seriously! Me? In the bakery? I don't think so.

"Fine. Then I will not tell you about the handsome stranger I see in your future as well."

Damn it, she's tricky. I grit my teeth. I don't want to seem interested, but Luce is still bawling over in the corner, and since we're paying anyway...

"What handsome stranger?" I say, completely against my will.

"Aha. I see now how to get your attention." She stares intently at the ball. "You will meet him this fall. September, perhaps. You will be working together. Closely. And you will fall madly in love with him."

"And what about him? Won't he fall in love with me?" I can't help but feel a little indignant at the idea that I might love someone who won't love me in return.

"It all depends on how you handle yourself, my dear. I will warn you now, be careful how you use your powers."

Powers? "Sure. My powers. Thanks for that hot tip." Now I know this woman is a hoax. She really had me going there with the bakery and all, but does she really expect me to leave my job when I'm on the fast track to being an executive? And I probably will meet a handsome stranger this fall. I meet handsome men all the time, but I've yet to fall in love with any of them. The likelihood of that happening this fall is pretty slim. Especially after this debacle with Steve and Lucy. If they can't make it...

"You do not believe me." She's still staring at me.

"No," I say. "I'm sorry, I don't." I toss a wad of French bills onto the purple table and stand up. "I think we're done here."

"You do not have to believe me," she continues. Now I'm getting annoyed. "But Madame Antoinette is never wrong."

I ignore her as I pick Lucy up off the floor. The phone is still open and Steve is still on the line.

"Hi, Steve," I say, my voice as stony as I know how to make it.

"Candace!" The excitement in his voice throws me. "You have to talk to her. Tell her it was a mistake. It was just a one-night stand with some chick. I don't even remember what she looks like. I probably couldn't even pick her out of a line-up."

I ignore him, too. I really can't deal with this right now. "Listen, Steve." My tone is businesslike, which feels weird since we're pretty good friends. "Luce will call you when we get back to the states. Bye."

I slam the phone shut and put my arm around Lucy's shoulder. She's still bawling and mumbling about how it's all her fault and she should have agreed to certain things in the bedroom.

That Bordeaux is sounding better every second.

"I think you should heed my advice, mademoiselle."

Ugh. Not her again. The chaos in the small room is starting to get to me. With Lucy bawling in one ear and Madame Antoinette yapping in my other, I'm desperate to just get the hell out. I push Luce through the beaded door and down the corridor. She's so devastated she can barely walk. Her three-inch Prada pumps aren't helping, either.

The psychic is close on our heels, and she's still shouting warnings about me using my powers for good and not for selfish gain, blah, blah, blah. Where did Lucy find this quack, anyhow?

Finally, we spill onto the sidewalk into the blaring sunlight. It was darker in there than I'd realized and I have to squint to see. I walk Lucy toward the street and look left and right in desperate search of a taxi stand. There's none in sight. I shudder at the thought of taking the Metro. But it's either that or walk, and these Christian Louboutins aren't going to get me very far.

"Come on, Lucy," I say, dragging her away from Madame Antoinette's. "A hot shower and some good wine will make you feel much better."

Lucy only nods. The tears are still flowing freely down her cheeks, and we're getting odd looks from the passersby. Great. Just what I want. To draw attention to ourselves in this seedy part of town.

After walking for what seems like forever in a random direction, it's clear we're getting farther and farther away from civilization. The storefronts are getting shabbier, and most are closed for business. And despite the fact it's close to rush hour, there are very few people out and about. I don't want to admit that I'm lost. It wouldn't do any good anyway. It's not like Lucy is in a state of mind to help us get out of this area. Deciding I have no other choice, I stop the nicest looking man I see.

"Pardon," I say in my best French accent. "Ou est le Metro?"

The man starts rambling to me in French, far too fast for my high school French education to be of any help. Thankfully, he's gesturing, too. I catch a few words I recognize, and by the time he's done, I'm pretty sure I know where we're heading.

"Merci!" I yell as we take off in the direction he'd pointed.

We walk a few more blocks until we reach the street I was sure he'd said to take a right onto. My toes are already starting to blister and the pads of my feet are burning. These shoes were definitely not made for walking. I look right and my stomach sinks. Oh, my God.

"CanCan," Lucy says in her teary, little girl voice. "We don't have to walk up that, do we?"

I want to cry right along with her. San Francisco has nothing on this hill. But the good news is that it's way more populated here. We must be in some kind of tourist-y area. You'd think that would mean taxis, but there still aren't any to be found.

I grab Lucy's arm and give her a tug. We fall into the fold of the masses that are heading up the hill and begin to climb. Within seconds, my legs are burning, and I'm cursing Christian Louboutin's name all the way. Who gave permission for men to design women's shoes, anyhow? I'd like to see him walk up this monster hill in these four-inchers.

"My feet hurt," Lucy whines, much to my annoyance.

"I'm not having a picnic here, either," I say and immediately regret my tone.

Lucy sniffles. "You don't have to be so mean. I just found out my soul mate's been cheating on me!"

I want to roll my eyes and tell her that if he's cheating on her, he's probably not actually her soul mate, but I know that won't help. "I'm sorry, Luce. Listen, we'll be back at the hotel soon and then we can sort all this out. Maybe it's just a misunderstanding."

"Okay," she says, her voice small. And then, out of nowhere, she begins to wail like a banshee. "But it's not just a misunderstanding! He cheated on me!"

She's stopped walking now, and we're creating a scene in the middle of the busy sidewalk. I never knew people could rubberneck while walking, but apparently they can.

"Luce," I say in a hushed voice as if I'm talking to a toddler. "Listen to me. You have to pull yourself together, okay? We just need to get back to the hotel and then you can cry and scream and throw things 'till your heart's content. Okay, Lucy?"

She nods and opens her tear-filled eyes. Damn it, I'm going to kill Steve for doing this to her. What a jerk.

I look back up the hill. We're not even halfway. I'm not sure my feet will make it, and I'm pretty sure they're bleeding underneath the leopard print pony hair. But we have no choice. Still no cabs to be found.

Another five minutes of walking vertically up the hill and we finally make it to the top.

"Oh, thank God!" I'm panting hard. My quads are burning. And I'm more than ready to trade these damned heels for the fluffy slippers at Georges V.

"Where's the Metro?" Lucy asks, looking around the area. Trees cover us overhead and before us is a staircase that's so long, I'm certain it leads straight to hell.

"Pardon!" I grab a woman's arm and she shoots me one of the most intimidating looks I've ever received. Huh. I'll have to practice that one in the mirror. As an executive I'll need a really intimidating glare. "Le Metro, s'il vous plait?"

She rolls her eyes as if I'm the greatest nuisance to ever enter her life and then points down the staircase. As she moves on, I squint to try and see what's at the bottom. It looks more like a subway station for ants from this vantage point, but I can just make out the sign that says "Metropolitan."

"All right." I grab Lucy's arm again. "Let's go."

We begin the descent down the long flight of stairs with the hundreds of other people, and I can only hope they aren't all going to the Metro. Much to my dismay, they are. All of them. I feel like I'm in a swarm of bees tunneling into the hive. It's absolute chaos when we finally reach the bottom of the stairs in the station.

Already, I'm dreading this experience. I've been to Paris a hundred times, and this is the first time I've been subjected to a subway ride. It's no small feat figuring out how to purchase our rides and getting the still-distraught Lucy through the turnstile.

Once we're on the platform waiting for the train, Lucy looks around as though she's just waking up from a deep sleep. "Where are we?" she asks, clearly perplexed by the foreign environment.

"What do you mean where are we? Good grief, Luce, haven't you been with me for the last thirty excruciating minutes?"

"Not really. I'm kind of devastated over here."

I nod. "I know." I put my arm around her and give her a half hug. It's in this inopportune moment, while we're stuffed like sardines onto a French subway platform, that I realize how badly I need to pee. Crap. How often do Metro trains come? And how long is the ride back to the hotel? It could be five minutes or it could be an hour. I've never been underground, but I do know it took about twenty minutes by car to get to Madame Antoinette's. Surely it'll take longer to get home by train. Can I hold it?

I close my eyes and try to distract myself with thoughts of work. Tomorrow's my big presentation to Le Roi and, in all honesty, I probably should not have taken the afternoon off to come with Lucy to see the psychic. What was I thinking? I should have talked her out of it like a good friend and gone over my presentation like a good employee. Then I wouldn't be in this blasted predicament.

I pull out my phone, hoping something on there will distract me. I don't have service, but I do have about a hundred missed calls from my mom and three messages from my boss. Oh, God. I'm not nearly as worried about the calls from my boss as I am the ones from my mom. Why did she call so many times? Is it Dad? Oh, my God! What if he's sick? Or worse! Or maybe it's about my sister. I told her not to go to Cabo with that guy, but did she listen? Of course not! No one ever listens to me, which is why I'm standing in a stupid Metro station instead of drinking wine in my deluxe suite at Georges V.

I'm dancing from foot to foot now and clenching my vaginal muscles so hard I could probably crack a walnut. But nothing is helping. The sensation is just getting worse. And worse.

The woman next to us pulls out her water bottle, and I almost let go right then and there. She swishes the water around, takes a drink. More swishing. I'm going to lose it.

"Luce, I have to find a bathroom," I say in a rush.

"What?" She turns to me in alarm. "We're in a subway station."

"I know, but I can't hold it." Desperate, I turn to a somewhat friendly looking stranger beside us. "Est ce qu'il y a un toilette ici?" I have no idea if that was right, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.

The man points toward the exit and rambles something I'm too crazed to even try to understand. But it doesn't matter. It appears there is a bathroom, so I push through the crowd and take off in search of it. I hear Luce's heels clicking behind me as I make my way back through the station, the same way we came, keeping an eye out for anything that looks like it could be a bathroom. By the time we get back to the top where the turnstiles are, I'm still searching. But there's nothing. And now I'm certain the man was trying to tell me the bathrooms were outside. Damn it!

I glance behind me. Luce is still there; we're both fighting the mobs of people who are trying to get to the trains.

"I have to go up!" I yell back to her.

"But we already paid!"

How can she worry about money at a time like this? Or at all, for that matter? The shoes we're wearing would pay most people's mortgages. For several months. A piddly subway fare was hardly of any concern.

I race through the turnstile and up the stairs—not easy to do when everyone else is coming down. I barely even notice the excruciating pain in my feet anymore. All I care about is that little booth that stands about 200 feet from me now. By this time, I'm pretty sure my vagina could win a weight lifting contest.

I feel like William Wallace as I battle my way there, and finally, it's before me. I breathe a sigh of relief as I tug on the door, only to discover it's locked. Oh, my God. This can't be happening.

Okay, deep breaths. It wants me to insert money. That's all. No problem. "Change, Luce! Do you have any change?"

Poor miserable Lucy hobbles up to me, her tear-streaked face looking mutinous. "No," she says.

She's no good to me. I have to get into that bathroom, but where can I get change? I look around and see a newspaper vendor across the street. I'll get change there. I'm about to step off the curb when I hear the blessed sound of the door opening behind me. I spin around, frantic.

"Hold the door!" I yell. The perplexed woman holds it open, but is rambling on in French as she does. "I know," I say, assuming she's upset that I'm trying to get in without paying. "I'm sorry, but I don't have any money. Je n'ai pas...money!"

I run past her into the little stall and try to shut the door, but the woman hangs on to it.

"Let go!" I yell.

She yells something back in French and tugs the door open a little more. I tug it toward me. She tugs it toward her. I'm seriously going to pee all over her. With one final superhuman yank, I pull the door shut. It slams and locks. I hike up my skirt and pull down my panties. I squat over the toilet and then a whirring sound begins. I look up, wondering what it is, but I don't have to wait to find out.

"Ahhhhhhh!" I'm screaming bloody murder as a thousand jets of soapy water hit me. I want to keep it off my face, but there's nowhere to turn that the jets can't find me.

Luce is pounding on the door. "Candace! Candace, what's wrong? Oh, my God! Candace, are you alive?"

Thirty seconds later, it's all over. The bathroom is wet, but quiet. I'm dripping from head to toe. Outside, I hear Lucy bawling and begging for help because her best friend was just attacked by the bathroom. I realize that in the chaos, I peed down my legs, all over my Christian Louboutins. I know I should care, but I'm just so relieved. And since the rest of me is drenched, I'm pretty sure no one will notice.

Carefully, and with as much dignity as I can muster, I replace my panties, pull my skirt down and open the door.

"Oh, my God! Candace, you're alive!" Luce comes running and throws her arms around my neck. "Why are you wet?"

I close my eyes and sigh. "Self cleaning toilets." I want to cry, but I can't. Instead, I burst into laughter as I spy a taxi stand about a hundred paces away.
Other titles available from

 Jerrica Knight-Catania

The Matchbaker

The Daring Debutantes Series

The Robber Bride

The Gypsy Bride

The Stage Bride

The Wetherby Brides Series

A Gentleman Never Tells

More than a Governess

The Wary Widow

The Bedeviled Bride

And Wetherby Short Stories

Christmas Warms the Harts

The Perfect Kiss
About the Author

Jerrica Knight-Catania left her "glamorous" life as an actress in favor of becoming a romance author, where she could write about truly glamorous lives. She currently resides in SE Florida with her real-life hero of a husband, their shy Russian Blue, Dr. Snuggle, and their beautiful daughter who is most definitely a princess-in-training.

Jerrica loves to hear from readers! You can send her an email at jerrica@jerricasplace.com

Visit Jerrica's official website to learn more about her other books, the Wetherby family and to see what's new in her writing world!

www.jerricasplace.com

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