Chapter Six
CHARTER CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
FINN PEARSON: HEAD CHEF
PRODUCER
Congratulations. Charter one in the books. How are you feeling?
FINN
Considering the restrictions I had to work with? Grand.
PRODUCER
Yeah, let’s talk about the preference sheet meeting. What was going through your mind when you saw all of Theodora’s dietary needs? Remember, this is talking head footage, so it’ll be playing alongside the footage we captured of this charter.
FINN
This preference sheet is a feckin’ disaster. High vibrational food? Jaysus. I’m going to have to really think outside of the box to give these guests the level of food they’re expecting with so many restrictions.
PRODUCER
Great answer. How’s the galley so far?
FINN
I’ve worked in better galleys, but this one isn’t the worst. There’s enough space for me to do what I need to do. It does get a little crowded in there during dinner service, though. I don’t love all the chatter or feeling like I’m stuck in a can of sardines when I’m trying to focus.
PRODUCER
Yeah, let’s talk about that first dinner service.
Finn laughs, folding his arms.
FINN
Let’s not.
PRODUCER
I take it you weren’t happy with how it went?
Finn sighs, scrubs hand over his face.
FINN
That first dinner service was an absolute bin fire.
PRODUCER
And whose fault was it?
Finn smirks, shaking head.
FINN
Depends on who you ask.
Out of all the things I discovered the first day of that first charter, perhaps the worst was that Gisella was absolutely lovely.
After an already grueling day with the guests requesting access to every water toy we had, Gisella bounded into the main salon asking if Bernard and I needed help setting up for dinner or if she could offer Leah some assistance with laundry.
She was a bit sun-kissed from the afternoon, brightening every room she walked into with her pearly white smile.
She did dishes from lunch so Finn could start dinner service with a clean galley, tidied up the crew mess after breaks had turned it to chaos, and took care of filling drinks so Bernard could focus on setting the dining table.
The guests adored her, the crew was motivated by her, and I couldn’t help but feel the same — even though I wished desperately that I could.
I pretended I didn’t see when she sat in Finn’s lap during a brief break in the crew mess, me passing by them on my way to check on a dress Leah had steamed for Theodora.
But I saw it. I saw his hands on her waist, hers in his hair.
I heard her giggle after he murmured something low and deep in her ear.
I knew I’d need to get used to it. They were a couple, and if I was already having a hard time with their actions on the clock, I was really in for it when the crew went out after this first charter.
Maybe the best thing I discovered that first day was that Leah was going to be a great friend.
She was the kind of stew who did what needed to be done before I even had the chance to ask, and the fact that she also did it all with a smile was a huge relief.
More than that, though, she was kind and funny and sweet.
We struck up conversation easily any time we worked together, and she did the same with every guest.
“Do you miss Alabama yet?” I’d asked her as I did a cabin check with her, ensuring she’d done everything to my standards. She was already great at it, and with a few pointers, I knew she’d have every room pristine.
“Not even a little bit.”
“No?”
She’d shaken her head, and we paused long enough for me to show her how to fold the hand towels properly in the primary bath before she continued.
“I’m from a very small town where nothing happens. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“I take it you don’t have a boyfriend waiting for you back home then?”
She’d wrinkled her nose. “Ew, absolutely not.”
I’d chuckled. “Yeah. Those are my sentiments about the guys I’ve tried to date in South Florida, too.
” I’d shivered at the memory of the few times I’d tried dating apps and lived to regret it.
It didn’t help matters that most of that regret came from ever thinking any other guy could live up to Finn.
I’d wanted to move on from him so badly, and in a lot of ways, I’d convinced myself I had.
Him showing up on this boat swiftly proved just how wrong I was about that.
“I’m sure you miss your family when you travel like this though, huh?” Leah had asked as we gave the mirrors another good wipe down.
It was like an iron chain squeezing around my rib cage as I’d tried to answer. “A little.” I wasn’t ready to dive deeper than that, so I’d turned the attention to her, instead. “How about you?”
Leah had given me a sad smile then, shaking her head. “No. No family back home for me. Mama walked out on us when I was a baby, and Daddy went home to God two winters ago.”
“Oh, Leah. I… saying I’m sorry feels catastrophically wrong and weak, but I am. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” she’d said, and without thinking twice about it, I’d pulled her into a tight hug.
“Thanks for sharing that with me.”
“You’re easy to talk to.”
“Let’s hope you feel that way when you inevitably need to air your grievances against me as your chief stew.”
“I doubt I’ll have any to speak of,” she’d said with a smile.
I’d hugged her tighter then.
Overall, it had been a nice first day, the beginning of friendships making me feel light on my toes and ready to conquer the season.
But once dinner service started, I didn’t have time to think about Gisella or Finn or Leah or anyone else.
All my focus was on the guests.
The galley was alive with energy as crew members bustled in and out, Eli and Gisella washing dishes while Leah and I got plates or bowls ready for the first course in-between helping Bernard serve the guests who were already seated on the sundeck.
Somehow, Benedict had made it to dinner — which meant half the crew lost our bet that he’d be passed out by now. He was also still throwing back gin like it was water. It was kind of impressive, if not a bit terrifying.
The rest of the guests were still alive, as well.
Alistair and Theodora had both drunk in moderation throughout the day, mostly champagne, and Brielle had drunk just as much as her husband but somehow managed to keep that air of annoyance over any kind of drunken demeanor.
Max still looked like he’d been kidnapped and hadn’t consumed anything other than water and lemonade.
I’d noted him checking his watch at least four times during wine service.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him this was the main show and not something any of us intended to rush.
Dinner service on a superyacht was more than a dinner — it was a performance; a six-star experience where every detail, from the placement of the cutlery to the precise fold of the napkins, was a calculated stroke of artistry.
The table wasn’t just set, it was designed — chargers polished to a mirror shine, crystal glassware aligned with military precision, candles flickering in the exact right way to add ambiance without interfering with the aesthetic of the floral arrangements.
And if dinner service was an orchestra, then as chief stew, I was the conductor.
Every course, every pour of wine, every whisper between guests — it all flowed through me. I dictated the rhythm, the pace, the energy. I ensured the guests felt like royalty, that service was seamless, that my stews worked together like gears in a luxury timepiece — silent, seamless, exact.
The chef created the masterpiece, but it was my job to make sure it was delivered with the kind of precision and grace that made guests feel the money they had spent on this charter in every bite.
It was an honor to be in this position.
It was also so much pressure, I felt like a racehorse at the starting gate, every muscle tense, waiting for the bell.
I had done dinner service a hundred times, but never like this — never as chief stew, never as the one calling the shots. One mistake, one cold plate or forgotten garnish, and I risked Alistair and his guests walking away unsatisfied.
And on a yacht like this, unsatisfied wasn’t an option.
I thought about my father, about how he might see me and the career I’d chosen differently once this show aired.
When he saw how hard I worked, how sleep was fleeting and the days were long, how I put so much energy into every detail and made every guest feel special…
would he understand then? Would he see that this was a profession built on all the things he valued?
Would he be proud of me?
“Hey.”
I startled at Finn’s voice, low and gruff from across the island. He was plating the first course, his eyes glancing at where Gisella, Eli, and Leah were goofing around before they slid back to me.
“You good over there?”
“Oh, so you’re talking to me like a normal human being again?” The words had a bit of a bite to them as they rolled off my tongue, but I smiled when Finn slow blinked and flattened his lips at me.
Again. Freaking whiplash.
“I’m fine,” I said on a sigh. “Just… nervous.”
“Don’t be.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve been head chef on a dozen charters. This is my first as chief stew.”
Finn was quiet a moment, focused on his work. I allowed myself one stolen moment to watch him, to appreciate the artist he was. Every element on the plate was meticulously crafted, each dish a multi-sensory experience from start to finish.
I smiled a little when he frowned, a familiar line etched between his brows as he studied the presentation of the plate he was working on.
I used to run my thumb over that line after the guests were asleep, when I’d sneak into his cabin and we’d steal a few moments together, no matter how tired we were.