Page 4 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“A year and three months,” corrects a petite woman beside her. She’s maybe five-two with a wild mane of frizzy auburn hair going gray at the roots, round owl-like glasses, and the soft, patient face probably earned from decades of wrangling teenagers. She’s wearing layers of flowing scarves in earth tones and gripping a battered leather messenger bag bursting with paperbacks. “But who’s counting?”

The group laughs, warm and genuine, and I’m already in love with them.

Astrid gestures at the woman with the frizzy auburn hair. “This is Sienna Caldwell. Our resident English teacher and defender of bodice rippers everywhere.”

“They’re romance novels,” Sienna says mildly. “And they’re literature.”

“They have Vikings with abs,” Astrid counters.

“Your point?” Sienna shoots back, and more laughter ripples through their group.

I make a mental note to join this book club at my earliest convenience. Possibly before we leave port.

A third woman steps forward, tall and willowy, a honey-blonde bob swinging at her jawline. I’d bet good money she remembers birthdays and brings people coffee without being asked.

“Astrid, you’re scaring them,” she says with a light laugh. “We discussed making good impressions.”

“I am making a good impression.” Astrid turns back to Wes. “We’ve claimed the Valhalla Lounge for our Bon Voyage bash. Seven o’clock. You’re all invited.”

“The what lounge?” Tinsley asks.

“That’s what we’re calling it,” Sienna explains with a grin, her glasses sliding an inch down her nose. “It sounds far more dramatic than the Coral Lounge.”

“Everything is more dramatic with Valhalla involved,” the blonde chimes in, and the women around them break into another round of cackles.

Wes nods. “We’d be delighted. Thank you for the invitation.”

If there’s a buffet involved, I’ll be there by six forty-five. Six thirty if there’s shrimp. Some things you don’t leave to chance.

“Excellent.” Astrid winks. “Bring the whole crew. We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” I ask.

“Being alive, sweetheart,” Astrid is quick to answer. “Being gloriously, unapologetically alive.”

Here’s hoping the entire lot of them stays that way.

They sweep off toward the elevators in a cloud of velvet and enthusiasm, and I watch them go with genuine appreciation. I love seeing women my age banding together and having a good time. I have a feeling those women are going to be trouble—my favorite kind of trouble. And I know for a fact Bess, Nettie, and I will want in on it. We tend to gravitate toward a good time.

That and murder.

“I need to join that book club STAT,” Nettie announces in their wake.

Bess levels her with a look. “You don’t even read romances.”

“Well, it’s about time I start. Especially if men with hot abs are involved.” She fans herself. “Did she say Vikings?”

“She definitely said Vikings,” I confirm.

“Well then.” Nettie’s grin brims with pure mischief. “Time to expand my literary horizons. Maybe my romantic ones too.”

“It’s a book club,” Marina says. “Not a dating service.”

“Eh.” Nettie shrugs. “Everything is a dating service if you try hard enough.”

“That explains the last elevator ride,” I say.

“That was a misunderstanding,” Nettie insists.