Kora carefully tip-toed toward said dead body.

It was definitely a "he", slumped over to one shoulder like a potato sack against the trash bin.

A fancy he by the looks of it.

Her sea-green eyes caught the inside pocket of his coat where his initials appeared to be stitched, "H. G. Lowe."

Kora squeezed the mop handle in her tightened hands. An advantageous weapon for poking or batting at the desired object, if the occasion called for it.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you can't sleep in our trash. We close in 10 minutes."

All she got was delirious mumbling in return that made no kind of rational sense.

"Listen to me, men...women and children only...stay back, the lot of you...get off the weight, you fool...you want me to drown the lot of them..."

Drunk.

Not the most original stunt she'd seen lately, but at least now they were getting somewhere.

But how the hell did these weirdos keep finding their way into her shop? It was a museum, for the love of Heineken.

Didn't he have some other place to get smashed?

But it was the middle of April and it was freezing in the restrooms.

Sighing, Kora slid her arms out of her hand-knitted, stormy gray cardigan and gently draped it over the shivering man's shoulders like a blanket, warmed by her own body.

Revealing fully the long white apron, white lace collar, and black stewardess uniform she wore hidden underneath her sweater.

It'd been her turn to cosplay a Titanic maid at the museum today.

Sometimes, she got to "promenade around" as Mrs. Astor attending an evening soiree, or sometimes, as a third class immigrant woman wrapped in a large cozy plaid shawl.

But out of all the characters she played from the past, Kora got the most compliments (and Yelp reviews) while role-playing a stewardess.

There was just some "comforting" charm about her presence that made customers feel as if they "were really there" while checking out their keychains and refrigerator magnets at the end of their museum tours.

An old soul with a face fit for a Crawley on the set of Downton Abbey.

"Do you know of any distant relatives who sailed on the Titanic? I swear, you look just like the maids I saw in the photos."

"Is it ok if I record you for my Youtube video?"

"Are you sure you're not a time-traveler?"

"Tell Murdoch I said what's up."

"There are some people who just got that look for period drama. I'm serious, you're in the wrong profession. You should really try acting."

But Kora couldn't even sit through 10 minutes of Bridgerton without dozing off into her bowl of popcorn, let alone act through something like that.

She was more of a James Bond and Marvel kind of girl.

Still, the natural grace she carried as a woman in domestic service rarely failed to turn heads. The hem of her dress and petticoat always flowing to her feet in perfect neatness and plain dark elegance. Her black stockings modestly covering everything down to her ankles, as was the expectation for a modest lady back in that day.

But the formality of her cosplay stopped at a pair of white Converse High Tops.

Much more practical for standing on her feet all day at a cash register, as opposed to the standard black heels a real Titanic stewardess might've worn.

As she fixed her cardigan snugly over each of the absolutely smashed man's shoulders, she watched him gradually stop shivering, his breathing becoming more steady under the warmth of the soft dainty wooly.

And when her hand accidentally brushed against his pale cheek, she drew it back in surprise.

God, he felt like ice.

Literally.

How could he not be dying from hypothermia with a body temperature like that?

I'll give him 5 minutes to warm up, Kora decided. Then I'm calling security.

And straightening back up to her feet, she pushed the rolling mop bucket and mop back out of the restroom and pulled the door on the unconscious customer inside.

The rustling of her skirts echoing down the hallway as she briskly walked back to the register.

.

Of course, working in a Titanic museum, she'd heard it so many times, it made her sick.

"Love can touch us one time, and last for a lifetime," Kora dramatically sang along with Celine Dion on the store radio. "And never let go 'til we're gone."

Watching the aqua blue droplets of Windex shimmering in the overhead lights every time she sprayed the jewelry display case.

"Love was when I loved you, one true time I hold to. In my life we'll always go on."

Little glittery stars of Windex reflected off a perfect mirror, matching the necklaces she'd just stocked inside the jewelry case. Sapphire Swarovski heart crystals, each trimmed around the edges with white faux diamonds climbing up the chain. Promiscuous beauties that were flirtatious with every angle of light in the store, giving away their 'plasticy' nature. Their only real value being to look valuable. The more bling, the better. Her best seller for Birthdays-For-Her and Valentine's Day gifts.

Each displayed on a black velvet cushion in an open-faced midnight blue gift box, probably worth more than the actual necklace.

"The Heart of the Ocean" the lid on the box read. "A Collector's Edition to commemorate the 110th Anniversary of Titanic's tragic sinking. $49.99. Made in China."

Kora didn't hear the back restroom door creak open and croak close again ever so gently, as she was too busy belting out,

"Near, Far, WHEREVER YOU ARE! I BELIEVE THAT THE HEART DOES GO OOONNN! ONCE MORE, YOU OOOOPEN THE DOOR, AND YOU'RE HERE IN MY HEART AND-"

"Good evening to you, miss," he greeted her. "Or, having a look at you now, I'd'e imagine it's a good one?"

"Holy fuc-" she startled with a shudder, but quickly remembering that she was still clocked in, she stopped herself just in time and substituted another word instead. "Full speed ahead."

Because hadn't it happened just that fast?

His voice, that is.

It was over before she even knew it happened. A slew of words trainwrecking all together as if commas or periods only existed to be rebelled against.

And the sing-song way his voice carried words made Kora freeze in the middle of her melodramatic twirl, a flush of pink gradually creeping across her burning cheeks.

Celine Dion finally taking back her rightful place in the background as she sang, "You're here, there's nothing I fear. And I know that my heart will go on..."

But Kora's heart certainly wouldn't.

It sank straight down to the bottom abyss of the most embarrassing moments she definitely wanted to forget after this.

Had he been standing there listening to her voice crack the whole time?

He had, in fact.

And it was a wonder that anyone could be heard over...well, to be fair, such harrowing cries of agony, he thought.

"I have Greenwich time on me," he proceeded awkwardly, mercifully changing the subject. "A quarter after two, my watch reads. Even so, the sun sits at 251 degrees in the west, and the North Star, 41 degrees upon the horizon. So, I should say it to be evening. By my observation, it's as near as I can judge it."

He was speaking English, she thought, but not of the American genre. And not quite of the garden variety 'Harry Potter' type either.

Besides the obvious Celtic roots, there was something "olden" in the color of his voice. A "back in my day" kind of quality that felt more Upstairs, Downstairs than some average British tourist being dragged on a shopping trip with his wife.

Whatever the case, nobody talked like a Disneyfied Jane Austen novel anymore.

But the sing-songy charm stopped at his accent, as Kora slowly turned around.

First noting her grey cardigan folded with care across the crook of his elbow, as his officer's cap rested pinned between his side and forearm.

And then her eyes languidly dragged up his...uniform?

An almost-black-blue double-breasted, eight golden buttoned waist jacket. And underneath the heavy wool jacket was a starched collar white dress shirt and black silk tie. All topped off by his ship officer's hat with a defunct White Star Line wreath hand-stitched into it.

And that's when she knew exactly where this was going.

Because didn't those guys working the tours in the museum next door have anything else better to do than bug her when she was closing?

Rolling her eyes, she dropped the Windex and paper towels firmly onto the jewelry case, letting him know that she meant business.

"Get out."