Emily had been trained to diffuse these types of situations—offer a drink, give them space, let them calm down. She knew how to do this. She could handle this. As she approached the couple’s table, the man looked up at her.
A chill ran through her. His face—his features—there was something so familiar about him. The way he sat, the way he looked at her, the way his smile curled up on one side. It was impossible. He couldn’t be…
Her breath caught in her throat, and in that moment, time slowed. Emily felt her pulse quicken. The tray of drinks slipped from her hands. The glass shattered on the floor with a deafening sound, and she stood frozen in place, staring at the man before her. Luke.
Her husband. It had to be him. She had seen his face so many times in her dreams, in her memories—how could it not be him? Her hands trembled, and the world around her started to tilt. The noise of the ship, the voices of the passengers, everything blurred as she stood there, paralyzed by shock.