Chapter 7

“Would you like some breakfast?” Carlotta offers.

“No, gracias,” he says. “I cleared most of the buffet table this morning, I’m probably all set.”

“A nice coffee, then?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

Carlotta looks to me and I nod eagerly. Me too, please.

“Regresare,” she says, taking her leave. I’ll be back.

We make the smallest of small talk while I finish the last three bites of my tortilla, and after Carlotta sets two coffees in front of us, she removes my plate and withdraws to the far corner of the bar. I watch her perch on a stool, wriggling first this way, then that, to make herself quite comfortable, then she crosses her leg over her knee and settles in to watch us get to know each other as if she’s bought tickets. I ever-so-gently bug my eyes at her—Do you mind?—but she just smiles and waves her hand at Cole’s broad back. Get on with it. She takes a sip of her own coffee.

“I was surprised to see the ship still in port this morning,” I say.