Blind Faith
She assumed he was an employee—a porter, perhaps?
“5445,” she said, fishing in her brown leather bag for the ticket. Her nerves felt raw, and she thought to forget the cruise altogether and return to the familiarity of her flat in Bremerton. She had committed her attendance, however, and she had to stick with it.
“This ticket is one of two. Are you meeting someone?”
She winced. “No,” was all she could say. It was her fault Brian was a no show. Eager to distract Z’s attention from her embarrassment, she asked, “Do you work for Taylor cruise line?”
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