Chapter Seven
CHARTER CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
CAMERON DUNN: DECKHAND
PRODUCER
How are the sleeping arrangements? Like your roommate?
CAMERON
Aye, Eli’s sound. We’re both here for a laugh, so the energy’s bang on. It’s brutal when you get stuck with a dry shite, but with Eli, I know we’ll make the most of the season. As for sleeping… well, it’s easier when there’s not a full-blown scrap happening in the crew mess, aye?
PRODUCER
A little too loud to ignore?
CAMERON
Are you kidding? I could hear every word of Ember eviscerating Finn. Poor guy.
PRODUCER
Can you give us a reaction we can use? Maybe tell us that they woke you up and then show us how you would have reacted had you been in the mess.
CAMERON
I had morning shift, so Palm sent me down to sleep pretty early. But then I woke up around midnight to the sound of voices. I think they thought they were being quiet but… aye, no. They were not.
Cameron makes a face, lips drawn down in a yikes expression.
Producer laughs.
PRODUCER
Perfect. So, what do you think that was all about? Just high tensions after an imperfect dinner service?
Cameron smirks.
CAMERON
Oh, aye…
Cameron winks at camera.
CAMERON
I’m sure that’s all it was.
My father made me train for a marathon once.
I was not a runner, but Dad was, and he insisted running was a lesson in persistence and determination for everyone.
It wasn’t something that was negotiable, when he told me I was going to run that marathon with him.
It was an order. My father wasn’t a military man, but his father was — and that dominance was a trait my grandpa passed down, apparently.
I hated every second of training, every mile I ran and every ounce of pain my body went through in the process.
But when the day came, I was surprised by the overwhelming emotion that surged through me when I hit the halfway point.
I was elated. Then, I was sure I’d never finish.
I pushed through the discomfort and the agony, and though I fell into a heap of bones once I crossed that finish line, I felt the most intense pride I’d ever experienced in my life.
I’d done it. I’d finished something when it felt impossible — even when my body wanted to quit, when my mind convinced me I couldn’t do it.
I remember my father standing over me with a hand to help me stand, and once I was upright, he’d squeezed my shoulder and said, “Remember this feeling. Bottle it up and take a sip when you need a reminder that you can do hard things, Ember. You can achieve anything. And nothing worth having is easy to get.”
I reached for that feeling now as I checked in with Bernard one last time before turning in for the night.
He assured me he could handle cleaning up and encouraged me to go get some sleep.
He’d have a little later report time in the morning whereas I’d need to get up early to help Leah serve breakfast.
The perfectionist side of me wanted to stay up and make sure Bernard did everything right. We’d already royally fucked up dinner service — I needed everything else to run smoothly. But I had to trust him. That was part of being a leader, and I knew it was the hardest part for me.
Delegating meant things wouldn’t get done the way I would do them, and that was never easy for me to accept.
Still, I was just tired enough to accept that I couldn’t do it all. I dragged myself down the stairs to the crew quarters, rubbing my temples against the headache that had been throbbing for the last hour.
You can do hard things. This is nothing. The pain will pass. The fatigue is temporary.
I gave myself the best pep talk I could, but when I landed in the crew mess and found Finn waiting there for me, I sighed.
I knew he was waiting for me. There was no other reason for him to still be awake. The galley was clean, the dishes done, and he had to be up before I did to get breakfast going. But instead, he was leaned against one of the tables, arms folded, eyes on me.
“What?” I clipped. I wanted so badly to rip my mic off, but knew I couldn’t until I was climbing into bed. It was part of the contract we’d signed.
Every word was up for public consumption.
Currently, there were no camera operators in the mess. But there were still cameras in every corner of the room. I did my best to ignore them, though I was cringing inside knowing every moment of the disaster of a dinner tonight would be broadcast.
My father wouldn’t be disappointed in me — not yet. He always loved when I faced adversity, said it made me tougher.
It would be how I handled this failure that he would judge. It would be what I did next.
Finn exhaled, a long, slow breath through his nose. His arms stayed crossed, muscles tight under his chef’s jacket. He seemed as exhausted as I felt, his hair disheveled and skin dark beneath his eyes. Even with his beard neatly trimmed, he looked wrecked from this hellish day.
“I wanted to apologize.”
I blinked.
That was not what I’d been expecting.
“Oh?”
He nodded, pushing off the table and taking a step toward me. “I know dinner service was a mess. And I know you were under a lot of pressure. I didn’t make it easier on you.” His voice was softer, laced with surrender rather than the accusation it had held earlier.
The tension in my shoulders loosened, just a fraction. An apology was the last thing I thought I’d get from Finn, but hearing it now, I felt the sting of the night ease just a little.
But then, the prick kept talking.
“I should have accounted for how long it would take you to clear the plates, and I probably should have assumed you’d be a little slower than I’m used to.”
The crack in the tension sealed back up, steel reinforcing my spine as I folded my arms. “Slower?”
Finn sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just mean I’ve worked with more seasoned stews before. Ones who know when to clear, how to pace things. It’s different when you’re still learning—”
I scoffed. “Right. So I’m the problem.”
His lips pressed together, frustration flickering in his gaze. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you said.” I took a step closer, heat crawling up my throat. “I’m still learning, so I should have expected to slow you down. Never mind the fact that you took so long plating the second course that the guests had finished their wine before they even took their first bite.”
Finn’s nostrils flared. “I was making sure the food was perfect, Ember. That’s my job.”
“And mine is to provide seamless service, but I can’t do that when I don’t know how long you’re going to take! You said it was me who didn’t communicate, but it was you who messed up and then didn’t cue me in on how that would impact the rest of the service. I’m not a mind reader.”
“I gave you estimates—”
“Which were all wrong.”
His jaw ticced, his whole body coiled tight. “You rushed the clear on the fourth course and you know it.”
“Because you threw a fit about me being too slow to clear on the third!”
We were toe to toe now, the heat between us sparking like an exposed wire.
My chest heaved with frustration, with exhaustion, with the simmering rage that had been brewing since we first locked eyes at crew arrival.
I was pissed at him for dinner service, but I wasn’t too stupid to realize that it was more than just that.
I was pissed at him for being here, for being back in yachting, with her.
I was pissed at how we left things, pissed he didn’t try to come after me when that charter ended, pissed he had been living his life just fine and falling in love again while I still couldn’t see through the rubble his love had left me under.
I hated him.
Because I still loved him.
And if two years without him hadn’t cured me of that disease, I wasn’t sure anything ever would.
Finn shook his head, his voice dropping lower. “You want me to say it was my fault? Fine. It was my fault.”
My eyes narrowed. “You don’t mean that.”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “But as much as I used to love watching you throw a fit just so I could spank it out of you, I’m knackered. So, for sleep’s sake, you win.”
My cheeks flamed as I shoved his shoulder with a scoff. He barely budged, but his eyes flashed, that smirk climbing higher.
His breath was heavy. So was mine.
And for a split second, the air between us shifted into something else entirely.
Something familiar.
Something tempting.
Something I couldn’t — wouldn’t — let happen again.
Not now that I knew better.
“I’m not trying to win. I happen to know that’s impossible when it comes to you,” I said, and when his eyes flicked to my lips as I said it, I had to use every ounce of willpower I had not to let my next breath shudder out of me.
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“You think you know me so well.”
“I know all I need to. I know how much of a coward you are when you’re wrong about something. And trust me, this time? I won’t wait around for a real apology I know will never come.”
I turned then, and the second I stepped out of that heated space between us, it was like a rubber band snapped, time catching up in a dizzying rush.
“And I hope you enjoyed those spankings, by the way,” I threw over my shoulder when I reached the door to my cabin. “Because you’ll never touch me again.”
I longed to feel powerful vindication with those words as I slammed the door behind me.
But they devastated me, instead.
I was ready for bed — teeth brushed, face washed, hair wrapped around a silky, heatless curling rod — when Gisella dragged Finn into our room.
I heard her giggle and his low voice whispering something from where I was still in the bathroom. It almost sounded like he was protesting, but I suspected that was more my idiotic, unfounded hope than fact.
I groaned, letting my head fall back and closing my eyes.
What god did I piss off to have this as my punishment?