8. Provisions
Chapter 8
Provisions
Dante
T he cab swerves to avoid hitting a moped again. This one carries a whole family. The wife has a large cardboard box on the top of her head and a baby strapped to her back. You’d think my heart would miss a beat. But I live for this shit. If we end up hanging around port long enough this season, I’ll buy one of those scooters and check out the local street food scene. Bring on the fried crickets and pig’s testicles.
The driver stops in front of the marina.
“ Xie Xie .” My dialect is off. But I get an A for effort. I pull my backpack out and sling it over my shoulder, then make my way through the maze of golf carts and supplies by the harbormaster’s office. It’s late and they’re bound to be closed. Calling the captain and letting him know I found an earlier flight would have made sense. But my last two captains didn’t even know how to text message, and I hate talking on the phone. So not worth the effort. The Rock Candy is a new 85-meter mega yacht. I’ll find her.
One of those popular poodle mixes barks at me as I come around the side of the building. Damn rich people and their fucking dogs. But this one is cute, and she lands on my feet.
“Hey there, puppy.” I scratch behind her ears, and her hind foot thumps.
“Penny,” a man calls.
And my new friend flies back around the building. I follow. Two yachties sit on the world’s smallest bench—it’s definitely some sort of date. The way they are looking at each other, they’re about a minute from fucking on the tiny bench. And I wouldn’t mind watching because, shit, they’re both hot as fuck. The girl’s toned legs are crossed, and her flip-flops lie on the ground in front of her. She has really delicate feet, and the rest of her is superb too. Curves, but in the right places. The guy is older. First officer material for sure, but enough muscle on him that it hasn’t been too long since he was a bosun. The dog is doing acrobatics by the guy’s feet.
“Hey.” I wave. “Do you know where the Rock Candy is docked?”
“Slip 69.” The girl laughs.
“What?” says the guy. “I didn’t pick it. It’s what the yacht needed for her size.”
“Sure, thing, Captain.”
I glance back at the two of them. “Captain?”
“Captain Samuel Miller of the Rock Candy .” He gives a nod, but then he turns back to the beauty next to him. “Haley Brewster, chief stew.” When he looks back at me, I see it. It’s a moment of frustration. I’ve definitely interrupted something.
“Dante Evans. I’m your chef.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Hallelujah!” Haley exclaims, and now my mind is wandering to all the ways I’d like to see her cry out in celebration. “You’re early. We thought you weren’t going to be here until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, well, I found an airport employee who was able to think outside of the box. She saved me a good eighteen hours. But they lost my luggage. She warned me that my bag might not make it. They said they’d send it to the port tomorrow when it catches up to me. But you know, like shit. I’m ordering new knives from the provisioner and charging it to the boat.” I don’t care if Captain Sam likes it or not.
“That sounds great to me, as long as I don’t have to cook for the guests.” The captain holds a life vest out to his dog, who dutifully sits while he puts it on her.
“That’s horrible,” says Haley. “I’d offer to go shopping for you, but... you’ll understand when you see the boat.”
“How bad can it be? I thought she was brand new?”
The captain snaps Penny into her lead. “She is, but with the shipyard running behind schedule, so were the outfitters. They barely had time to put the furniture in the cabins before she had to sail away to make it here in time. I captained the owner’s last boat, and I explained to him it would be better to let the outfitters finish, but he was insistent that we couldn’t wait. That we’d have to make do. After the season, I’m taking her back for finishing touches.”
“Rich can do what rich wants to do.” I hold my fist out to give Haley a fist bump. Which she reciprocates. “I’ll just go ahead and board. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting.”
“It’s fine.” Haley’s voice trails up, telling me it’s anything but fine. “I can show you around the boat. I know the captain has a ton of things to do.” She glances at him and whispers, “I’m sure.”
“Great, I’d love to have a guide.” I smile. And the half-second death glare from the captain tells me my first reaction is right. Usually is. I’ve got a knack for being able to tell by the end of my first or second day who will hook up during the season.
I don’t do on-board romances, because they always go wrong. Always. An internal shudder travels through me. But the captain has some amazing taste. Captains don’t usually partake in the cabin-hopping of yachties, but I can’t blame him if he does.
“Come find me later and we can discuss the rest of what you wanted to talk about,” he says to Haley.
The captain’s dog leads us to the ship, and the captain takes off for the bridge.
“She’s pretty.” The Rock Candy —dual motor, sleek design—is state-of-the art. I haven’t looked, but I’m guessing a heck of a lot. “I’m just hoping they didn’t skimp on the galley.” Now my heart is thumping like a chain smoker running a marathon.
“I’m sorry,” Haley says. “The captain and the bosun tried to unpack, get things going for you. Everywhere looked like a dump before they started. Shoot, that was just yesterday.” She’s sucking on her lip.
“It’s not your fault these rich bastards couldn’t wait to take possession of a boat that wasn’t finished. And trust me, this isn’t bad. I’ve taken over so many galleys where there are layers of grease and expired food. Not here. So I’ll be able to cook them something when they come on board. When?”
“Tomorrow lunch.” Nerves bounce off of her.
“Listen, we’ve got this. You, me, and your team. Who needs an elaborate team? Just brings more drama.”
“True. I hate the drama. And I don’t have much of a team.”
“Love the ship. Hate the drama. And with so few of us, how can we have any drama?”
“I put the number for the provisioner here.” She points to the board where the owner’s preferences sheets are pinned to the wall. “I also ordered some things because I thought you weren’t going to be in until tomorrow. Basics. But I printed out the list.” She’s taped it to the wall.
“Perfect, great.” I run my finger down the list of things she’s ordered. All the normal stuff. “That’s a shit ton of chicken.” Normally I leave it off the list of things I buy. It’s common, and who comes on a ship like this to eat common food?
“Yeah, but on the provision sheets, the owner’s son eats mostly chicken and broccoli.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, why the hell even come on a cruise if you’re going to eat like an overgrown douchebag?” I pull his preference sheet off the wall and circle his well-groomed face with a pen from my fanny pack. “Easton—it even sounds like a frat boy.”
“You’ve never heard of Easton Rockwell?” Her lips jut out in question.
“No.” I slap the party boy’s sheet back on the board. “Why? Is he more than a party boy spending daddy’s money?”
Her eyebrows rise. “He’s a three-time gold medalist in swimming. He’s about to take over Rockwell Harding financial group from Mr. Rockwell.”
“His father.”
“He’s an Olympian. He has to eat a certain way.” She points to the paper.
“Not anymore. He’s on a mega yacht throwing down preferences—that makes him a diva.” I didn’t yell, but I might have raised my voice a little. Either way, Haley cringes like I’ve smacked her across the face. I bow my head and take a cleansing breath. “My therapist tells me I’m too rigid. I suppose it doesn’t matter what the little twat won’t eat. His loss.” I randomly open cabinet doors. Things are almost where I want them. Fixing it later is the better plan, if my OCD will let me. “I’m going to make some eggs. Want some?”
Haley sucks her lips in; I feel her glare on my back as I find the few things I’ll need.
“How long have you been a chief stew?”
“Three years. I was a second on a 70-meter for a few years before that.”
I get the sauté pan hot and some butter melting. Damn, this is a nice stove. Actually, the fridge is top-notch too. I do the one-hand egg crack. Am I trying to impress her? Maybe. Not that she isn’t overly smitten with the captain already. I do a quick chop on some of the basic herbs I find in the fridge. I’m impressed they’re put away the right way: plastic bag with a damp towel to keep them fresh. I tip the bag up to her in question. “Well done on the fridge provisioning. I’m a firm believer that the chief stew is the second most important person on the boat.”
“Is that right? And who is the first?” Her cheeks are like apples. She’s expecting me to say I am, and she’d be right.
“The third stew in the laundry room. The ship can’t work without clean laundry. If they don’t have their shit together, then we’re all looking like shit.” I flip the eggs onto a plate.
She laughs.
“You sure you don’t want some?”
“I’m good. I’ve got a lot to do. I should get back to work.”
“I don’t know about you, but I can’t think when I’m hungry. You know how temperamental us chefs are. You’re not going to turn down the first thing I offer you, are you?”
“No, I guess not.” She finds a fork from the butler’s pantry and takes a delicate bite. “Wow, this is amazing.” The second bite is a larger one. “Mmm. So good. I use all the same stuff, and mine never tastes this good.”
“It’s in the care and the control of the heat.”
She takes another bite off the plate. I made enough for two, but this sassy woman is going to eat all of it, and I could watch her all day. “Aren’t you going to have some?”
“I was testing out the stove. You take them all. A peace offering for ranting about diva boy earlier.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to . . .”
I don’t want to supply the answer for her, but “crazy chefs” is one of the normal things people mutter about my profession. In the end, I couldn’t care less if they call me crazy, as long as they call me talented. My eyebrows rise with my smile. I turn my cheek to her.
“. . . dealing with intense chefs,” she finally finishes.
“Well, I have a feeling we’re going to work out together just fine.”
She finishes the eggs and washes the plate.
“How long have you known the captain?” Damn it, why can’t I keep anything locked down?
Haley’s at the entrance to the dining room. “Um, this is my first season working with him. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” I shake my head. “You were deep in conversation when I interrupted.”
“Yeah.” She stares above my head. “I had something to talk out with him.”
“And did it go well?”
“Actually, we never got to it.”
“I guess you’ll have to take another walk.”
Her apple cheeks are back. “I suppose I will.” She leaves the kitchen.
I roll up my sleeves and try not to think what the captain and Haley do behind closed doors. Then I laugh because I sure as hell am going to be picturing it later.