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"Well," Tom sighed, "what other romantic songs do we have for Valentine's Day? More Dean Martin?" The little piano bar was more crowded than on some nights. It had been a shore day, St. Martin. No big production show tonight, just one of those juggling comedians that seem to find their way on to cruise ships. Washed up, like him, flotsam bobbing against the shoreline, but not quite, not quite stranded yet.

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Oh my god, its HER. My breath catches so suddenly I have to put out a hand to the wall and steady myself. My right hand of course. My left hand is holding my Champagne glass and although I want to catch her attention, the sound of breaking glass is not how I prefer to do that.

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