Chapter 2: Mistletoe Miscalculation
The terminal was a monument to controlled chaos. A vast, echoing space of polished concrete and steel beams, throbbing with the bass note of a thousand conversations and the tinny announcements that bounced off the high ceiling. The air smelled of diesel exhaust from the idling buses outside, cheap perfume, and the faint, briny promise of the sea.
Kate clutched her passport and printed boarding pass, the edges already soft from her sweating palms. Jake stood beside her, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, squinting at the labyrinth of rope lines.
“It’s like the DMV,” he muttered, “but with more floral print and existential dread.”
“Just remember the plan,” Kate said, adjusting the strap of her weekend bag. “We’re in a subtle, sophisticated spat. A cold war. We’re civil, but distant. We give off ‘trying to work through things’ vibes.”
“Right. Sophisticated.” Jake nodded, eyeing the crowd. It was a sea of couples: elderly pairs holding hands, middle-aged duos bickering over document organizers, young lovers wearing matching “His” and “Hers” tropical shirts that made Jake’s eye twitch.
They shuffled forward in the slow-moving queue. Ahead of them, a man in his forties, face red and gleaming under the fluorescent lights, was jabbing a finger at a woman who looked like she wanted to dissolve into the linoleum.
“You think I’m stupid, Melissa?” His voice was a low, venomous rumble that cut through the ambient noise. “Three hundred texts? To your ‘yoga instructor’?”
“It was a group chat, Greg, for God’s sake—”
“Don’t you ‘for God’s sake’ me! I saw the heart emojis! The winky faces!”
The argument escalated, a quick, ugly combustion. Greg’s voice rose to a shout. Melissa’s tears turned from pleading to furious. A security guard in a white uniform materialized, his posture all bored efficiency.
“Sir, ma’am. You need to take this outside. Now.”
“We have a suite!” Greg bellowed.
“Not anymore you don’t. Company policy. Disturbing the peace of embarkation. Let’s go.”
The guards flanked them, a polite but firm escort away from the line, towards the big glass doors and the mundane world beyond. Melissa was sobbing, Greg was still shouting about lawyers. The line watched in a collective, horrified silence.
Kate felt Jake go very still beside her. She turned her head slowly. Their eyes met. The “sophisticated spat” plan, the “cold war”… it lay in smoking ruins at their feet, a casualty of Greg and Melissa’s very public meltdown.
“New plan,” Jake whispered, his voice tight. “We are the happiest, most well-adjusted couple in the entire history of coupledom. We are borderline nauseating.”
“Agreed,” Kate breathed. “No fights. Not even a hint. We are a united front of marital bliss.”
The line moved, and suddenly they were at the counter. The attendant, a woman named Brenda according to her tag, had a smile so wide and practiced it looked painted on. Her eyes were kind, though, crinkling at the corners as she took their documents.
“Next" she chirped, glancing between their passports. “Welcome to the Enchanted Mermaid! A seven-night journey to paradise for the two lovebirds!”
“That’s us,” Jake said, his voice an octave too high. He slid an arm around Kate’s shoulders. It felt like a wooden beam settling there. Kate leaned into him, her body rigid. She willed herself to relax, tipping her head against his shoulder with what she hoped looked like affectionate ease.
Brenda tapped on her keyboard. “Everything looks in order. Just need to verify your emergency contacts… and I’ll get your key cards. You’re in balcony stateroom 814. Lovely location.” She glanced up, her gaze flicking to their hands, which were clutching the counter edge. “Oh! I see you’re traveling without your rings. Smart, very smart. Never risk losing those beauties to the ocean!”
Kate’s mind went blank. Rings. She must have thought they were married because they had the same last name.
Jake’s arm tightened around her. “Uh, yeah. Exactly. My… my wife here,” he said, the word feeling foreign and heavy, “she’s a veterinary surgeon. Can’t wear rings in the operating theatre. Habit sticks, you know?”
Brenda’s eyes softened with professional sympathy. “Of course! How noble. Well, we’ll have to make sure you feel the love anyway!” She reached under her counter and produced two small, shiny plastic rings from a bowl. “Complimentary! For the voyage. To get you in the spirit!” She beamed, holding them out.
They were terrible. Thin, silvery plastic that would probably turn their fingers green. Jake took them, mumbled a thanks, and fumbled one onto Kate’s ring finger. It was too big. She did the same for him, her fingers clumsy. The plastic was warm from the bowl.
“Perfect!” Brenda declared. She pointed a manicured finger above their heads. Kate looked up. A sprig of fake mistletoe, dotted with dusty red berries, dangled from a conduit pipe over the check-in lane. A handwritten sign in loopy cursive read: “First Kiss of the Cruise! For Good Luck!”
“Company tradition!” Brenda said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Every couple shares a kiss right here. For smooth sailing. It’s adorable, you’ll see the photos later.”
Jake’s body went board-stiff against Kate’s side. A low, frantic energy buzzed between them. This was beyond holding hands. This was performance art. The line behind them was watching, a soft “aww” rippling through the crowd. Brenda waited, her smile expectant.
The “pickle” signal died on Kate’s tongue. There was no aborting this.
Jake turned to her, his blue eyes wide with a mirrored panic. His hands came up, awkward, settling on her upper arms. Kate tilted her face up, every muscle in her neck taut. It was just a peck. A mechanical, closed-mouth press of lips. They’d done it a thousand times for great-aunts and Christmas photos.
Their lips met.
It was not a peck.
It was a shock.
The noise of the terminal faded into a dull roar. The plastic ring on her finger felt suddenly garish, a brand. His lips were softer than she expected, and he didn’t pull away immediately. The kiss lasted a half-second too long, a full second, stretching into a strange, suspended moment where the only points of reality were the warmth of his mouth, the faint scent of his soap, and the utterly forbidden, electric current that jolted down her spine. It was heat, pure and simple, and it had no business being there.
They broke apart simultaneously, as if scalded.
Brenda clapped, delighted. “Beautiful! Just beautiful! Your luck is secured!”
Jake was staring at her, his expression utterly unreadable. Kate felt a flush climb from her chest to her hairline, a burning mortification that had nothing to do with their audience. What the hell was that?
“Your key cards,” Brenda said, sliding them across the counter, breaking the spell. “Elevators are to your right. Bon voyage, Mr. and Mrs. Evans! Enjoy paradise!”
They moved away from the counter in a daze, their bags bumping against their legs. They didn’t speak until they were inside the mirrored elevator, alone, the doors closing on the cacophony of the lobby.
The silence was thick, charged.
“Well,” Jake finally said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. “That was… a thing.”
“Yeah,” Kate managed, staring at her reflection. Her cheeks were still flushed. She twisted the stupid plastic ring around her finger. “The… the mistletoe. Yeah. Let's agree to never talk about this ever again.”
The elevator dinged, announcing Deck 8. The corridor was long, quiet, carpeted in a swirling pattern of blues and golds. They found 814. Jake swiped the key card. The little light blinked green.
He pushed the door open and they stepped inside.
The room was nice. Compact, but nice. A sliding glass door led to a small balcony, offering a sliver of a view of the industrial port. A sofa, a desk, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
And one bed.
Not two singles. Not a king with a divider.
One double-sized bed, meticulously made with a bright white duvet and a garland of orchids laid across the middle.
They stood side-by-side in the doorway, their luggage at their feet, staring at the floral-adorned bed as if it were a live animal that had wandered into the room.
“You said balcony suite,” Jake said, his tone dangerously flat.
“I said balcony. I didn’t specify the sleeping arrangement.”
“There is only one arrangement, Kate.”
“I see that.”
A long, heavy pause settled over them, broken only by the distant, muffled thrum of the ship’s engines coming to life. The memory of the kiss, that inexplicable spark, hung in the air between them, now magnified a thousand times by the presence of the single, undeniable bed.
Jake finally let out a long, slow breath. He walked in, dropped his duffel bag, and went to the bed. He picked up the orchid garland and held it for a moment, then tossed it onto the desk.
“Okay,” he said, not looking at her. “New new plan.”