Chapter Nine #2
But when Gisella let out an exasperated sigh and pulled back from Finn completely, shaking her head before reaching for her shot that I hadn’t realized she’d yet to take, my eyes floated to them once again.
She downed the shot in one go and smacked the glass on the table before turning to Bernard. “Tell me you ordered a bottle of wine.”
“Two bottles,” he corrected with a grin. “And an Aperol spritz, because we’re in Italy, and I respect the culture.”
Gisella hummed in approval, but as she picked up the menu to peruse it, Finn exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand down his face.
He flicked his gaze up, and for the briefest moment, our eyes met.
God, why did it always feel like a lightning bolt to the chest when he simply looked at me? It was like being struck with a thousand memories of the past along with the zapping reality of where we were now.
Finn swallowed, his gaze holding mine for just that moment before Gisella leaned over and whispered something else in his ear, her fingers trailing down his arm. She looked almost apologetic, or was it that she was expressing forgiveness to Finn?
What did he need to be forgiven for?
Whatever moment had been building shattered as I turned my attention back to my menu, gripping the edges a little too tight.
Eli leaned in close. “So, pasta or seafood, gorgeous?” he asked, voice low, lips just barely brushing my ear.
I forced a smirk and angled toward him slightly. “Why not both?”
His grin stretched wide as I reached for my wine glass.
I didn’t dare look across the table again.
Three hours later, I was gloriously drunk and not thinking about work.
It always took a while for me to get to this point.
Even at dinner, I found myself ruminating with Bernard and Leah about what we could do better on this next charter.
I was launching into a whole theory about our dinner service issues when Palmer had reached for me across the table.
He’d squeezed my wrist with a look that said save this for another time, and I realized then that poor Leah was yawning and Bernard was anxiously tapping his foot under the table while doing his best to keep that winning smile in place.
Palmer was right. It wasn’t the time for corrections.
It was the time to blow off steam and reset.
So, I’d put my chief stew hat away for the night, and after copious amounts of wine at dinner followed by a round of shots as soon as we got to the club, and who knew what else I’d consumed since then… well…
I was drunk.
The bright lights of the camera crew surrounding us were like spotlights on the dance floor, and we weren’t the only ones eating it up.
Locals and tourists alike flocked to where we were, curious about the show and the people on it.
Cameron and Eli reveled in the attention, dancing with groups of beautiful women and blowing their first tip on round after round of shots.
But they were buzzing, alive with laughter and joy, and that was what it was all about.
Leah and I took turns doing ridiculous dance moves in a battle against one another, her hitting me with the running man before I shot back with the shopping cart.
Gisella eventually joined us, but the poor girl couldn’t dance awkwardly even if she wanted to.
She was just inherently sexy, and eventually, the three of us were grinding in a sort of train, moving our hips to the heavy bass thumping through the club.
Somewhere between the limoncello shots and the second bottle of wine, Gisella got over whatever it was that had upset her.
She was back to her bubbly self. Finn seemed to have relaxed with her shift in mood, too.
He and Palmer were lounging in the VIP area the show had secured for us, which was a huge perk, because though I loved the high heels I was wearing, I couldn’t last long in them before I needed to sit and take a break.
It was a little after midnight when I decided I needed to not only get off my feet, but to also get away from the heavy, fog-filled air of the night club.
The lights were making my head throb, and I shouted into Bernard’s ear over the music that I was going outside for a bit, but I’d be back.
He smiled and nodded at me, though his attention immediately snapped back to the impressively tall and gorgeous Italian man whom he currently had one leg draped over, his hand toying with the buttons that ran down the man’s chest.
A couple of camera operators followed me as I zig-zagged my way through the crowd and out to the back patio.
The club butted up to the water, separated only by a narrow cobblestone street where people meandered between bars, gelato stands, and late-night eateries.
Some strolled hand in hand, others laughed loudly, their voices carrying over the hum of Vespas zipping by.
A group of musicians had set up near the curb, strumming guitars and singing in deep, throaty Italian, their melodies weaving through the night like smoke.
As soon as I stepped outside, relief washed over me.
A cool breeze rolled in from the bay, carrying the briny scent of the sea, cutting through the thick, heady mix of sweat, perfume, and alcohol clinging to my skin.
I inhaled deep, letting the salt air fill my lungs, allowing the distant sound of water lapping against the docks to slow the rapid beat of my heart.
“Not sure this will make for entertaining television,” I said to the cameraman and the woman at his side who was managing the audio equipment. All the camera operators worked in pairs like that, and I knew after this first charter that the couple with me now were named Luke and Lexi.
They both just smiled, silent, their lens pointed right at me.
Luke shrugged as if to say just doing my job.
They looked spent, and I knew they likely couldn’t wait until our crew called it quits for the night so they could go get some sleep at the hotel where the production crew was set up.
Their counterparts would be the ones reporting early in the morning.
I found a tall, empty barstool and slid onto it, my feet tingling from the relief of not bearing my weight in heels for a moment.
I leaned my arms on the railing that stretched the back of the patio next, taking reprieve in the quiet time.
Not that it was quiet outside — between the club patrons on the patio with me and the people walking or driving by on the street, it was anything but.
Still, it was nice to not have music blasting in my ears or anyone screaming over it.
I allowed myself ten minutes of solo bliss before I decided I should probably get back inside. But before I moved an inch, someone slid up beside me, their forearms coming to rest on the railing next to mine.
“Sick of us already, are ya, Firefly?”
Finn’s voice was low and gravelly, evidence of a long day and a rough charter evident in every syllable that rolled off his tongue.
I turned to look at him, and he appeared as tired as he sounded.
Unfortunately for me, the man was somehow even hotter when he was exhausted — something about that scruff on his jaw, the lines at the edges of his eyes, the curl of his sleepy smile.
“Just needed a little air,” I said. “Quite loud in there.”
“The Ember I know thrives in that kind of environment,” he said. “There’s nothing you love more than a night out, throwing shapes and getting into a bit of mischief.”
There was a smile on my face that I didn’t give permission to be there, and I bit against it as my gaze lowered to my arms on the railing. I blinked, and a flash of that night on the beach two years ago struck me like a car.
I instantly frowned.
“Yes, well. That was two years ago,” I said pointedly, lifting my gaze to his. “You don’t know me at all now.”
“Maybe we should change that.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t.”
Finn sighed, running a hand back through his hair as he let his gaze sweep over the dark water in front of us. “I’m sorry, Ember.”
“If this is another shit apology that isn’t actually an apology, you can save it.”
“No, really,” he said, turning back to me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you during that dinner service. It was our first one together and we both made mistakes — me more than you, I’d wager.”
I swallowed, the fact that he was offering a genuine apology shocking enough to have me silent.
“And then in the crew mess that night, and the whole thing with Max the next day…” Finn shook his head. “I’m not trying to make excuses because that was bang out of order. I just… I’m a bit thrown from all of this, aren’t you?”
Fuck.
I’d been perfectly content to not call attention to the facts of this situation I knew neither of us could ignore, but when I looked into Finn’s glazed eyes, I knew he was just drunk enough to cross that line and call all our ghosts into the light.
“There’s nothing to be thrown from,” I muttered.
“Don’t do that.”
I cracked at the tone of his voice, chest splintering as I closed my eyes and let my head drop.
“Don’t act like we don’t have a past, like things didn’t end well, like we weren’t sure we’d ever see each other again, and now we’re working on the same boat.”
“And that you have a girlfriend,” I shot at him, neck snapping as I lifted my gaze. “Yes, Finn. I’m well aware of the situation. I’d just prefer not to torture myself, if that’s alright with you.”
Finn frowned, opening his mouth but then just letting it hang there.
I sighed. “Thank you for the apology. I’m sorry, too. Let’s just… let’s try not to kill each other these next couple months, yeah?”
“That’s exactly what I came out here to say,” he said. I noticed he conveniently didn’t comment on the girlfriend thing. “I thought maybe we could shelve all this… be friends?”
I tried not to laugh.
Truly, I tried.
But it bubbled out of me before I could stop it. Not a full on haha, you’re so funny laugh, but one that sounded like I’d choked on that word he’d thrown at me.
“Sure, Finn,” I clipped. “We can be friends.”
I tried to ignore the way my chest was ripping apart as I slid off the barstool, ready to go back into the club and get my mind off this conversation. But before I could take a step, Finn’s fingers caught the belt loop of my jeans.
He tugged me to a stop, pulling hard enough that I had no choice but to face him. My cheeks burned when I met his gaze again, when I saw his jaw set like that. It reminded me of the first night he touched me, the night I found out he wasn’t just good with his hands in the kitchen.
“You look so pretty like this,” he growls against my lips, hand splaying my throat before curling just enough to make me gasp and arch into the touch. “Wearing the way you want me like a red lipstick you want everyone to see.”
“Finn…”
“That’s it, Firefly. Call out my name. Beg for what you want.”
I blinked, cursing the memory and the way it sent electricity straight between my thighs.
“I mean it,” Finn said. He dropped his gaze to where I was staring at his fingers in my belt loop, and then cleared his throat, releasing the hold. “We need to work through this together. Especially with…”
He glanced at the camera I just remembered was with us, and I flushed deeper.
“Let’s be a team,” Finn added. “We make a good one, if you remember.”
I’m trying to forget.
But I didn’t say the words aloud. Instead, I sighed heavily, but nodded, leaning my arms on the railing again.
As much as the idea of being friends with Finn Pearson made me sick, he was right.
This was a huge chance to further my career, to secure myself gigs I couldn’t even dream of at the moment.
It was a chance to prove myself to my father with the world watching.
I wouldn’t waste that — especially not on feelings that should have been long dead by now.
“Fine,” I relented. “Let’s be a team. But only if you mean that. Don’t take your little chef fits out on me. You can throw dishes and play Fruit Ninja all you want, but don’t be a dick to me.”
The corner of Finn’s lips curved. “No dick behavior. Promise.”
I smirked back, rolling my neck against the strain there. “I think I need another drink.”
“I think I need my bed.”
“Old man.”
“Never felt that to be more true than this moment,” he admitted, and right on cue, a huge yawn stretched his mouth.
I chuckled. “What happened to the Finn I used to know? You were always the last one back on the boat. You’d be out until you had to provision the next day sometimes.”
“I guess we’ve both aged.”
“Guess so.” My smile fell a bit, eyes flicking over the new lines on his face, the way he looked older now. The floor dropped out from under me.
I hated that I’d missed out on those years.
“Is everything okay with you and Gisella, by the way?” I tried not to sound as desperate as I was to know the answer when the question left my lips. “She seemed a little… perturbed at dinner.”
Finn sighed. “That’s one word for it. She was fit to kill.”
“Why?”
“The producers thought it would be fun to tell her during post-charter interviews that you and I used to date.”
Shit.
I didn’t know why, but guilt slid through me like a snake. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Finn arched a brow at me, then smiled a little. “Don’t look so scared. It’s fine now. We talked. She was upset I didn’t tell her first, but I didn’t really have the time to yet, did I?”
I wished I had something to take a sip of because I didn’t know how to answer that.
“We’re good now,” he assured me.
I pretended like that was a relief. “Oh. Great. I’m glad.”
Silence stretched between us again, and I told myself to go back inside, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop staring at him.
I blamed the alcohol for not being able to stunt my curiosity any longer.
“Finn.”
“Mm?”
“What happened with your restaurant in Dublin?”
Every semblance of joy left his face in an instant, the light leaking out of him like a candle snuffed out by an unforgiving wind. He swallowed, the Adam’s apple in his throat lurching as he tore his gaze from me.
“Some things just aren’t meant to last.”
I frowned, the urge to reach for him nearly strong enough to make me forget where we were, who we were… and who was watching.
“Em…” He croaked my name, jaw clicking. “You gotta stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
He didn’t get the chance to answer. Gisella bounded out onto the patio like a bunny rabbit, smiling ear to ear as she threw her arms around Finn’s neck and leaped onto his back.
“Bebé,” she sang, kissing all over his neck.
Acid burned my throat as I cleared it, managing a smile at Gisella before I excused myself and rejoined the group inside.
My stomach never did settle that night.
Neither did my mind.