Chapter Fourteen #2
I paused just outside the galley to gather myself, smiling a little at the symphony of sounds coming from within. I could hear the rhythmic chop of a knife against the cutting board, the soft scrape of metal on wood, the faint hiss of something simmering on the stove.
And then, I saw him.
Finn moved through the galley like a gold-medal-winning figure skater — fluid, effortless, completely at home.
His hair was damp, unruly from a quick shower and half-hidden beneath the hat he wore backward.
He’d already worked his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing forearms I knew too well.
I hated that my pulse jumped at the sight of him, that after all this time, all this hurt, my body still reacted like a violin only he could play.
For a moment, I just watched. It was impossible not to — the way he chopped herbs with quick, sure strokes, the way his brow creased in concentration, the way his lips moved silently as he mentally ran through the day’s prep.
It was so painfully familiar, like a song I’d forgotten existed but knew all the words to once I heard it play again.
Then, as if sensing me, Finn glanced up — a quick flick of his eyes toward the doorway before he returned to his work.
But a beat later, he froze.
He looked back at me, this time really seeing me, and the shift in his expression sent a bolt of heat through my chest.
I swallowed hard, lifting the plate in a small, uncertain offering, my smile shy and unsure. “I’m surprised you remembered this.”
Finn’s gaze flicked to the pancakes, then back to me.
“Not much I forgot, Firefly.”
My breath caught, heart stuttering in my chest at the quiet honesty in those words. There was no teasing, no armor, just a truth so simple it knocked me off balance.
I shifted my weight to one foot, my grip on the plate tightening. This was dangerous territory — memories like this one were booby-trapped. One wrong step, and the explosion would take us both out.
But instead of poking at it, instead of demanding more or asking him why the hell he’d made these for me after everything that happened, I just nodded.
Apology accepted.
“See you at the preference sheet meeting later?” I asked, my voice lighter than I felt.
This time, Finn’s smile fully broke free, and my stomach flipped at the sight of it. “Let’s just hope these guests don’t want anything high vibrational.”
I snorted, shaking my head as I turned to leave. “Careful, Cheffy. Keep talking like that and you might make me like you again.”
“Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” he tossed back, but his voice was softer than his words.
I escaped before I could get caught up in whatever was hanging between us. That smile, that easy banter… it was confirmation that I’d been right in my assumption about the breakfast being a peace offering. And I’d accepted it.
I had no idea what would happen next.
But I’d never tasted pancakes so sweet.
I ambled into the crew mess later that morning to find Captain Gary housing a handful of Galatine candies.
I cocked a brow. “Breakfast of champions?”
He blinked at me mid-chew, the corners of his mouth stretched with guilt and sugar. “They’re milk-based. Practically health food.”
“Uh-huh. And I suppose the bottle of limoncello in the fridge is just fermented citrus juice?”
“I’m boosting my calcium intake,” he argued, popping another tablet in his mouth like he was doing his bones a favor. “You should be thanking me. I’m trying to avoid breaking a hip on this charter.”
“You’re more likely to choke on one of these than fall on deck,” I said, plucking the candy bag from his hand and holding it just out of reach.
He narrowed his eyes at me, but I could tell he was fighting a smile. “Give those back, Chief Bossy Pants, and no one gets hurt.”
“I outrank you when it comes to snack management.”
“God help me,” he muttered, folding his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “You were less insufferable when you were a second stew.”
“I had less power then. Now I wield it like a saber.”
That earned a laugh, and he shook his head, his expression softening as he watched me take the seat across from him. I set the candy bag on the table but didn’t slide it back.
Then, just as I was about to make another snarky remark, Captain leaned forward, his eyes sincere.
“All jokes aside, I see what you’re doing on this boat, Em.
” He arched a brow, making sure I was listening before he continued.
“You’ve got a strong team, happy guests, a clean ship, and even with cameras in your face and a contractual agreement to go out every night between charters, you’ve handled yourself like a pro. I’m proud of you.”
The breath caught in my throat, my chest blooming with something warm and tight. It was the words I’d always wanted to hear from my father but knew I likely never would.
Hearing them now — here, from Captain Gary, who had taught me more about being a leader than anyone else — meant more than I could voice without breaking down.
A slow, stunned kind of smile spread over my face. “Thanks, Cap.”
He winked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“As long as you try not to let these go to your gut,” I challenged, sliding the bag of candy toward him with a grin.
Captain made a face, mocking my words and earning a laugh from me as Finn and Palmer jogged down the stairs to join us. Captain scooted toward the middle of the table — fist clutched around his candies — and Finn and Palmer slid in beside him with a curious smile aimed at the two of us.
“Alright, charter three,” Captain Gary said, his grin wide as he tapped the preference sheets on the table. “And no one is sick this time.”
“Hallelujah,” I muttered.
“Let’s get into it. Our primary guest is Nicole Irving. She’s a mom of three who has made her fortune in the pornography industry.”
Captain’s bushy eyebrows shot into his hairline at that, all of us sitting up a bit straighter.
We had the guest preferences before this point — what they wanted to eat and drink, the themed parties they preferred, et cetera — but the producers left out the guest details until we had this meeting on camera.
Now I knew why.
“Oh, this is going to be a circus,” Palmer said, rubbing his hands together with a grin.
“Nicole is traveling with her husband, her sister and brother-in-law, and two girlfriends from the industry as they celebrate Nicole’s latest film winning a Nudey Award.”
Finn whistled low. “I gotta ask — what category?”
I laughed, which made Finn grin wider, which made my neck heat.
“Best Group Scene,” Captain Gary read off the page, adjusting his glasses. “And before anyone asks — I will not be googling it.”
“Coward,” Palmer teased.
I scribbled down quick notes, smiling to myself as I realized now why the provisions list had been so… interesting.
“You look thrilled over there, Ember,” Captain mused, arching a brow.
“Listen, I grew up in a very reserved household,” I said. “I think my father still assumes I don’t know pornography even exists. But we worked with some guests in the industry on our last season together, remember?”
Captain chuffed. “How could I ever forget?”
“They were amazing,” I said. “So fun, so kind. This is going to be great. Besides, how often do you get to throw sex-themed parties as your job?”
“You and I have very different ideas of fun,” Captain said, but he was smirking. “Speaking of parties, for the first night, they want a ‘Studio 69’ theme. Think disco balls and platform heels, but with way more… skin.”
“Oh, my God. I can already see the outfits,” I said excitedly. “Palmer, do you think you and the other guys would be up for helping us serve?”
“Why do I feel like I will not be wearing my black uniform for this?”
“I was thinking more like tiny silver banana hammocks,” I said, waggling my brows.
He laughed, running a hand back through his hair. “Eli is going to eat this up.”
I caught Finn staring at me, a soft curl on his lips before he flipped the page. “What about food? Are we talking lobster tails and caviar, or are they more of a pizza rolls and Jell-O shots crowd?”
“A bit of both,” Captain said. “Nicole’s husband, Mark, is a big foodie and specifically requested a tasting menu for the first night — paired with wine and cocktails. But then they want ‘guilty pleasure’ snacks served at midnight.”
Finn grinned. “I can work with that.”
We continued on through the rest of the preference sheet, which included a request for a Nudey Award “after party” theme for night two, complete with a red carpet and champagne wall.
They also wanted a photoshoot on the beach in Positano…
on a giant circular bed. I had a feeling that photoshoot wouldn’t exactly be family friendly, so I would need to do some calculations to figure out how to pull it off without breaking every maritime rule in the book.
But I wasn’t overwhelmed or worried — I was excited.
These were the kind of charters I lived for. Every night had a theme, every guest had a dream of what their yacht experience would be like, and I was the one with the key to make it all happen.
From the moment they stepped on board, it was my job to make fantasy reality, to take a bare table and transform it into a Studio 69 wonderland, to plan menus and excursions that felt like magic, to read their minds and anticipate needs they hadn’t even thought of yet.
It was a kind of creative chaos that fueled me — part high-stakes event planning, part luxury hospitality, part performance art. And I was damn good at it.
My father would never understand. To him, real success had a corner office, a six-figure salary, and a respectable title that made people nod with approval when you said it at cocktail parties. To my mom, success was a family and a clean home.
But this? This floating paradise of gold confetti and six-star service? This was my canvas. My stage. My proof that I was exceptional at something, even if it wasn’t the career my parents once imagined for me.
It killed me that I still longed for their approval, even knowing it would likely never come.
Would my father see this show and finally understand it?
Would he see the way my brain worked, how I could take a list of absurd requests and turn them into a seamless, spectacular few days at sea?
I wanted him to understand how hard I worked, how much thought and care went into every place setting and party playlist and flower arrangement.
And I wanted him to see how much joy it brought me — not just doing the work, but nailing it.
There was an art to this, and I wanted my father to appreciate the craft: seeing a guest’s face light up when they walked into a themed dinner that was better than they’d dreamed, hearing them laugh until they couldn’t breathe during a ridiculous game I orchestrated, watching them actually relax because they knew they were in capable hands.
I created memories.
I left my mark on guests from all over the world.
That was success to me.
That was the kind of work that mattered.
“Couple more notes,” Captain said, glancing down. “Nicole doesn’t drink tequila after an unfortunate incident at the AVN Awards. Mark doesn’t eat anything purple. And they want a ‘Naughty Nautical Brunch’ on their last day — complete with penis-shaped pancakes and mimosa towers.”
Finn rolled the preference sheet package and tucked it into the front pocket of his shirt. “You know it’s a party when I pull out the penis molds.”
“This is going to be the most insane charter of the season,” Palmer said, but the way he rubbed his hands together showed he was just as excited about it as I was.
Captain stacked the pages, shaking his head with a weary grin. “Here’s hoping they tip like porn stars, too.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, flipping my notebook closed. “If they want the wildest, most unforgettable charter of their lives… they came to the right boat.”