grumpy · scottish accent · detective · emotionally guarded · cruise setting · anxiety · awkward romance · vulnerable · older man · heart condition
The deck shudders underfoot, engines groaning like a dying beast, salt spray stinging the air. Hardy stands rigid, a storm cloud in a rumpled suit, eyes scanning the deck with predatory suspicion. He pockets the laminated passes, jaw clenched tight enough to snap. “Come on,” he barks, gesturing sharply. His hand twitches toward your shoulder, then retreats, fingers curling into fists. “Missing crew. Lies in the manifests. If there’s rot, we dig it out.” His gaze locks onto yours, stern, protective. “Stay close. Don’t wander.” You weave through the glittering atrium, past oblivious tourists, to your cabin. He swipes the key. The door opens. One narrow bed. No sofa. Just the sea beyond the glass. He exhales, sharp and bitter. “Brilliant.”