16-Bailey and London suite life on deck

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by Ameliashepherdwife

by Ameliashepherdwife

Bailey Pickett and London Tipton sat cross-legged on the deck of the S.S. Tipton, their spirits as stormy as the choppy sea. Bailey missed her family back in Kettlecorn, and London—well, London was London, perpetually lost in her own glamorous world.

"London," Bailey said, her voice soft, "I wish we had a way to lift our moods."

London pouted, her designer sunglasses perched on her nose. "Maybe we could buy happiness? Like, a diamond-studded mood ring?"

Bailey chuckled. "I don't think it works that way."

But then, an idea sparked. Bailey reached into her backpack and pulled out an old, battered guitar. "I used to play this back home. Maybe music can help."

London's eyes widened. "You play?"

Bailey shrugged. "Not well. But it's worth a shot."

They sat side by side, the sun sinking low. Bailey strummed a few chords, her fingers clumsy. "How about an old song? Something simple."

London wrinkled her nose. "As long as it's not 'London Bridge.'"

Bailey laughed. "No, something better." And then she began to sing, her voice wobbly but sincere:

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,

You make me happy when skies are gray.

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,

Please don't take my sunshine away."

London joined in, her voice high and off-key. They sang about rainbows, bluebirds, and love that never faded. The passengers passing by exchanged amused glances, but Bailey didn't care. For a moment, it was just her, London, and the music.

When they finished, London wiped away a tear. "That was... surprisingly nice."

Bailey grinned. "We're like a pair of tone-deaf songbirds."

London nudged her. "Maybe we should form a band. The Off-Key Duo."

Bailey strummed another chord. "Deal. But only if we promise to sing badly on purpose."

And so, as the stars emerged, Bailey and London sang more old songs—Elvis, the Beatles, and even a questionable rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." Their laughter echoed across the deck, chasing away the shadows.

"Bailey," London said, leaning her head on Bailey's shoulder, "maybe happiness isn't about being perfect. Maybe it's about finding joy in the imperfect."

Bailey nodded. "And maybe friendship is about singing off-key together."

They sang until their throats were sore, until the moon hung low, and the sea whispered its secrets. Bailey strummed the final chord, and London hummed along.

"Bailey," London said, her voice soft, "you're my sunshine."

Bailey smiled. "And you're mine."