Chapter 3: Snorkeling and Surprises

The next morning I was up early, blessedly not hungover. After a quick room service breakfast, I packed some essentials and headed off the ship, onto the beautiful island of St. Thomas.

Signage for the cruise line excursions was pretty easy to find, and I joined a line of people waiting for “St. John’s Beach and Snorkel.” Once everyone was present and accounted for, we boarded a small ferry boat for the short ride over to the sister island of St. John. The boat’s captain narrated the sites as we transited the distance between the two islands, pointing out the homes owned by celebrities on the hills above the beaches.

I was standing at the railing, enjoying the salt air and the views, when another man joined me. He was around my height, a couple of decades older, salt and pepper hair. (It is likely obvious to the reader that this gentleman would have to be Riley’s dad; at the time, I had no way of knowing this -- or realizing that he already knew who I was.)

He made a comment about the view, and I introduced myself to him. He shook my hand and told me his name was Jim. We chatted about the islands and the sights we hoped to see today. “Looks like you’re on your own here today, like me, right?” he asked, and I nodded.

“What generally happens on these excursions is that they pair people up for safety reasons. Interested in being my ‘snorkel buddy’ for today?” he asked.

I agreed -- I didn’t know anyone else on the excursion, so what’s the difference -- and as the boat approached Trunk Bay, we started talking. I told him I was cruising on my own, thanks to a recent breakup. He told me he was a lawyer from central Florida, cruising with his family (though none were here on this excursion), and that he’d been to Trunk Bay three times before. “Best snorkeling in all the Caribbean,” he proclaimed.

Since it was my first time snorkeling in the Caribbean at all, I can’t say if he was right. But what I do know is that it was gorgeous. We snorkeled there at Trunk Bay for 90 minutes, marveling at the coral reefs and the colorful marine life in the crystal-clear blue water. Trunk Bay is famous for its “underwater snorkeling trail,” a series of plaques set on the ocean floor describing the marine life and features nearby.

I had a good time, and found it easy to keep up with Jim, and chat with him when we surfaced to take a break for a few minutes at a time.

When it was time to head back, he bought a couple of beers from a street vendor, and we popped them open on the ferry ride back to the cruise terminal. He asked what I’d been doing at dinner -- I told him I’d been eating at the buffet or room service, rather than sitting at a table with two happy couples.

Jim frowned. “But the dining room food is the best on the ship -- you shouldn’t miss it, especially since it’s your first cruise. Why don’t you join my family at our table?”

I demurred, saying I didn’t want to intrude on their family time. But Jim insisted, telling me his family was only five people, and they were placed at a six person table. “So you see, Mark, we have an empty chair just waiting for you,” he said loudly, slapping me on the back.

I finally agreed, and he gave me their table number. “Just come to table 315, to the left side of the upper level of the dining room. I’ll talk to the maitre’d and make the arrangements, no worries.” He asked for my last name and I gave it to him, and we split up when the ferry returned to the cruise terminal.

I grabbed some lunch and then checked out a few of the port shops for a couple of hours -- admittedly, also looking for Riley every time I saw watches on sale. I never found her, though, and I headed back onto the ship around mid-afternoon.

I took a nap for a couple of hours when I got back to my room, and then got dressed for dinner. Nothing fancier than khakis and a polo shirt; the ship’s “elegant dinner” would be the following night. I’d bought a new suit for that night; my memory also bitterly reminded me that Lilly had purchased a new dress. I hope her new guy can’t ever afford to take her anywhere nice enough to wear it, I thought grumpily.

With those thoughts running through my head, I wasn’t in the best mood when I got to the dining room. I told the maitre’d that I’d been moved to a new table, and he confirmed the reassignment and led me up the stairs to the second floor of the dining room. As he reached to the top of the stairs, he gestured to his right, to a six-person table against the glass railing, with a beautiful view of the room below (including my original table).

But I didn’t really pay any attention to the view at first, because I’d stopped on the top stair, not believing my eyes. Who was sitting in the end chair at my new table, facing me?

Riley.

She looked gorgeous, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a shimmery black sleeveless top. Her eyes twinkled with delight as she watched me, clearly pleased to see me there.

“Sir?” the maitre’d repeated again. “Here is table 315.”

“Thank you,” I stammered, and finished climbing the stairs, standing at the edge of the table. I finally realized that there were four others at the table -- the redhead next to Riley, the brother across from her, and the parents at the far end of the table.

Jim finally noticed me standing there, and came around behind his son to shake my head. “Mark -- so glad you could join us. You clean up pretty well when you don’t have a snorkel in your face!”

I laughed weakly, and tried to compose myself as Jim introduced me to his family. “Mark, this is my wife Jennifer, my son Steve, Steve’s girlfriend Caitlin, and my baby girl Riley.”

I shook each of their hands in turn, saving Riley’s soft palm for last, but inwardly, my inner voice groaned. Baby girl?

“Daddy, Mark and I actually met at the pool yesterday,” Riley said, smiling at me as I sat down across from her.

“Is that right? Funny how with 3000 people on these ships, some faces quickly become familiar,” Jim said, as the waiter came around to take our orders.

After we’d ordered our appetizers and main courses, Jim pulled a bottle of wine from a bucket at the edge of the table. “Anyone like a glass of Pinot?” He poured a glass for himself and his wife, then handed the bottle to Steve. “Remember now, Caitlin’s technically underage, so only half a glass for her.”

Steve chuckled, but dutifully poured about half as much into Caitlin’s glass as he did into his own. He then handed the bottle to me, eyebrows raising in silent question as he glanced at his sister.

I took the bottle, and my immediate dilemma was solved when Riley’s mother said, “If Caitlin has half a glass, I think Riley can have about a third of a glass, right Jim?” He nodded, and I poured Riley a little less than Caitlin’s portion, before filling my own glass.