Chapter Three
POST-PRODUCTION CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
BERNARD EVANS: SECOND STEWARD
PRODUCER
What was your first impression of your chief stew?
BERNARD
Oh, I liked Ember straight away. I mean, she’s fit, right?
Fit and fun. Nothing better than those qualities in your boss.
She set the tone right away that she wasn’t going to be on our ass as long as we did our jobs.
I had a feeling she’d be fun to party with, too. And I was spot on with that, wasn’t I?
PRODUCER
Were you okay with how she structured things?
BERNARD
I loved that Ember didn’t feel the need to immediately assign the second and third stew positions. She gave Leah and me the chance to show her our specialties before those roles were given. And since I knew I’d be an absolute knockout in service, I wasn’t worried. That second stew role was mine.
PRODUCER
And what about the relationship between Ember and Finn?
Bernard laughs heartily.
BERNARD
You’re trying to get me in trouble.
PRODUCER
I just mean that it’s an important relationship, no? Chief stew and chef… they work pretty closely together.
BERNARD
I’ll say.
Bernard smirks, arches eyebrow as he takes a drink of water.
PRODUCER
Care to elaborate on that?
BERNARD
There was something… electric between those two from the moment we all stepped foot on the boat.
They got in each other’s face, pushed each other’s buttons.
There were few nights we didn’t hear them screaming at each other.
But by the middle of the season, they had a rhythm. They crushed it as a team.
PRODUCER
You said there was something electric between them. What do you mean by that?
Bernard chuckles, shakes head as he drinks water before sitting back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest.
BERNARD
I mean, we all should have seen what was coming. Where there is smoke, there’s fire — and those two were fanning the flames from day one.
The main salon exuded opulence, from the high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings and a stunning chandelier to the dark mahogany bar with sleek granite countertops.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the view of the marina beyond, natural light flooding the room and warming my already slick neck.
Rich, polished wood accents complemented the soft, creamy beige of the sitting area where the crew was now gathered — all of us squished together on one of the couches as we faced Captain Gary and waited for him to kick off our season.
I, of course, sat as far away from Finn as possible.
He was at the edge of the couch opposite me, his arm draped lazily over the armrest and one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.
We’d all changed into our polos since arriving, each of us working diligently in our respective areas to get the boat ready for our first charter.
But it didn’t matter that he no longer sported a posh button-up or that he’d broken a sweat getting the galley in order.
Even in a stupid red polo with a stained apron around his waist, he was hot.
I hated that fact as much as I hated that I noticed.
My brain still felt like it was short-circuiting at his proximity. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how the hell this had happened.
I was never supposed to see him again.
He was supposed to be in Ireland.
He was supposed to be running some stupid fancy restaurant.
He was supposed to be done with yachting.
He was supposed to be done with me.
I reminded myself — quickly, and with much emphasis — that he was done with me. Just because we’d somehow ended up on the same yacht in the Mediterranean didn’t mean anything had changed.
In fact, it likely only meant that the producers of this show were out for blood when it came to packing their season with drama.
I didn’t know how the hell they knew about us, but judging by the way they’d had cameras trained on my face when he showed up, they weren’t oblivious.
I wondered if they’d gone through our Instagrams, if they’d seen photos of us together two years ago — that sunset picture on the beach with his sunburned shoulders and my drunken grin; a crew night out where we were both dressed in all white, his fingers curled around my hip as he kissed my cheek; a quick selfie captured before dinner service, me in my blacks and him in his chef’s jacket, our tongues out and eyes crossed.
I swallowed, the memories scattering like dry leaves caught in the wind — impossible to catch, impossible to ignore.
Had they dug up the past on purpose, piecing together the remnants of what we were to set the stage for what we could be? Or had they simply gotten lucky, striking gold in the form of unfinished business and unresolved tension?
Either way, I knew one thing for certain.
This wasn’t just a coincidence.
It was a setup.
Well, I hoped they didn’t waste all their ammo betting on the fact that I would play into this little game, because I wouldn’t.
I didn’t care that he was here.
I didn’t plan on giving him any more attention than what was absolutely necessary to run the interior.
I was here for me — not for Finn Pearson.
In order, it was him, Gisella, Eli, and Leah on one couch, and then Bernard, Cameron, Palmer and me on the other.
Our engineers and first mate — Rocco, Quest, and Liz, who would be excluded from being filmed for the show, the lucky bastards — stood in the corners off to the side, their arms folded, shoulders leaning against the wood- paneled walls.
“Alright,” Captain Gary said, sporting a toothy grin as he spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the Sinking Sun, crew. Are we ready to have a great season?”
We all clapped and did various little hoots and hollers of enthusiasm — mostly at the request of the producers.
Bernard and I shared conspiratorial looks when the noise died down, both of us making fun of the situation.
I already knew he’d be my drinking buddy come crew night out, and I couldn’t wait.
My eyes flicked to Finn then, and my next breath shuddered in my chest when I realized his were already fixed on me. It was like a car crash, the way my body seized beneath those piercing blue-green eyes.
We watched each other for a long, rib-crushing moment — one that sent me flying back to another time, another version of myself.
“I love this look you get,” he says, the corner of his mouth crooked, eyes sleepy as he runs his knuckles over my cheek.
“What look?”
“This dreamy-eyed one you wear when you talk about yachting. Travel. Seeing the world.”
“It’s the same one you get when you talk about food.”
“Food makes sense. But getting your kicks from serving people? That one I’ll never understand.”
I smirk, climbing on top of him. We both laugh when I hit my head on the ceiling, his top bunk making the maneuver anything but graceful.
We’re both exhausted after a long day with a charter of particularly difficult guests, knowing we need sleep but not willing to sacrifice this time together to get it.
“I like serving you,” I tease, biting my lip before I lower my mouth to his.
Finn groans with the kiss, his hands bruising my hips as he rocks into me. “And I like feeding you.”
“Careful,” I warn with a nip of his bottom lip. “You once told me food is how you show your love.”
He pauses at that, sweeping my hair behind one ear, his eyes searching mine.
“I meant it.”
I blinked, tearing my gaze from his and focusing on Captain Gary as my neck burned with a furious heat.
Captain started with a rundown of the yacht, detailing every feature of it from the length to the number of bedrooms. We all knew this was mostly for the show rather than for us, but we nodded and followed along.
After that, he launched into his speech — one I’d heard a half-dozen times before when I’d worked with him on other boats. I knew the way he ran his ship.
For Captain Gary, he wanted professionalism and top-notch service when we were working. If there were guests on this boat, we’d better be going above and beyond every second of every day to make their experience the best possible.
But when it came to our down time, he loosened that iron fist. He encouraged us to have fun, to enjoy our time in Italy as long as we were smart about it.
“When a charter ends, it’s on you and your teams to get the boat sorted for the next one.
After that, what you do with your time’s your business.
Go out, blow off steam, have a laugh — but don’t let it mess with your work.
First time one of you can’t get out of bed because you’re hungover, you’ll be answering to me.
I don’t care if you party — just know your limits, and don’t leave your crew mates hanging because you couldn’t handle your booze. ”
We all nodded in understanding as he leveled a gaze at each of us, making sure we heard his threat loud and clear.
“Alcohol can also lead to a heap of drama, which I won’t tolerate either. Past that, safety is my number one priority — the safety of our guests and of our crew, too.”
Captain went on to explain what he meant by that, to review the importance of letting him know if there were any incidents on the boat, even if they seemed small.
He reviewed our protocols for man overboard, fire, sinking ship, and other emergencies I hoped we’d never have to actually face, and then he was back to grinning.
“I want to give a couple of shout outs before we break here. First of all, let’s give it up for Ember, our Chief Stew.”
My cheeks flamed as the crew clapped. I wasn’t expecting this little bout of being the center of attention, and right now, the last thing I wanted was eyes on me when I was still reeling from the fact that my ex was sitting on the couch opposite me.
Nope — not reeling.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.