Chapter Eighteen
CHARTER CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
GISELLA DíAZ: DECKHAND/STEWARDESS
PRODUCER
So… the hot tub got a little crazy last night, huh?
GISELLA
It was so fun!
PRODUCER
Have you talked to Finn yet this morning?
GISELLA
I just rolled out of bed. He’s been up for a while, I’d guess. Probably hard at work in the galley already! I’ll go see him as soon as we wrap up here.
PRODUCER
Are you going to tell him about what happened last night?
GISELLA
What do you mean?
PRODUCER
You and Cameron.
Gisella flicks hair over shoulder, laughs.
GISELLA
Oh, my God. It’s not that big of a deal! I mean, sure, I’ll tell Finn, but he’s not going to care. It’s just a kiss. I kiss everyone.
PRODUCER
So, you’d be okay if Finn kissed someone else?
“Alright, crew. Charter six! Here we go,” Captain Gary said, passing the preference sheet packets around to each of us. He was oblivious in his cheer, probably still riding the high of a successful charter five.
Meanwhile, Palmer and I watched Finn warily as he wordlessly took his packet and flipped through the pages. He wore a mask of indifference, his blue-green eyes lined with exhaustion, but otherwise seemingly unaffected.
But in my gut, I knew better.
I’d been vacuuming the main salon when I heard the commotion from the galley earlier.
I went to inspect, but was stopped dead in my tracks by Bernard, who was huddled in the staff prep galley just outside the main one.
It was where we’d wash cocktail glasses and make juice or coffee, a little nook that was out of the chef’s way.
Bernard had been pretending to prep lime slices when I’d found him, and he’d held a finger up to his lips to quiet me before I could say a word. He’d arched a brow, tipping his head toward the galley just as a deep voice cut through the clattering of dishes.
“Why the hell would you assume I was okay with it?”
Finn.
“It was just a kiss,” Gisella had whisper-yelled. “It’s not like I slept with him or something. Relax. You went to bed, remember?”
“So you kiss someone else? Jaysus, Gi.” The sound of pots and pans being thrown around had met my ears next. “Do you hear yourself?”
“I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to have fun in your absence.”
“And I didn’t realize your idea of fun was cheating on me.”
Gisella had scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Bernard had grimaced, his eyes finding mine before he was looking to the galley again. I’d felt guilty for listening and told myself to go back to what I’d been doing.
But my feet were rooted in place.
“Don’t be dra—” Finn hadn’t finished the echo before he was laughing, a deep, maniacal laugh that faded as the sound of a knife aggressively hitting a cutting board filled the air.
“Right. Okay. I was knackered and wanted rest, so my girlfriend first makes me the butt of her joke, shows the entire crew something she knows is private to me, and then snogs another crew member once I’m gone — and I’m dramatic because I’m upset about it? ”
“Are you seriously mad that I showed the crew your silly tattoo, Finn?” Gisella had laughed. “No one gives a fuck that you drunkenly got a bug tattooed on your ribcage.”
“I’m mad that my girlfriend kissed someone else!”
The next clattering of dishes was so loud I’d jumped, and then I’d shaken my head, ducking out of the pantry and heading back to the main salon to finish my job. It wasn’t my business what was happening between them.
But somehow, in the time that had passed since then, Finn and Gisella must have worked things out. I’d found them hugging in our cabin just before this meeting, and I’d slid to a halt and backed out quietly, hoping they hadn’t noticed me.
Now, Finn was quiet, but not in the way of someone who was just tired. He seemed… resigned.
That scared me more than if he were still angry.
I couldn’t help but peek at him out of my peripheral as Captain Gary went over all the details of our charter guests. Every muscle from his jaw to his shoulders was wrought with tension, his fingers gripping the papers a little too hard. I silently begged him to look at me, but he never did.
I wondered what was going through his head.
Clearly, Gisella had been wrong about him being fine with her kissing Cameron.
But then again, they were also okay now…
so had he just needed to get a little fight out of his system and now he was past it?
I couldn’t imagine being in his shoes. I knew how badly I would be hurt if it were me — the same way Leah was hurt by Cameron’s actions, and they weren’t even officially dating.
But maybe Finn wasn’t threatened. Maybe he had just been a little embarrassed, but now that they’d talked about it, he was fine. Maybe she’d promised it wouldn’t happen again. Maybe he didn’t care if it did, as long as he was notified beforehand.
My head spun and I squeezed my eyes shut against the noise, giving myself an internal shake.
It wasn’t my business.
And I had a job to focus on.
Our new charter guests consisted of a group of eight women jointly celebrating their fiftieth birthdays together.
The primary, Deborah, had booked the charter as a surprise to her best girlfriends.
She was a brain surgeon, and her friends ranged from a dentist and veterinarian to a kindergarten teacher and sandcastle artist.
One of them was also a chef at a Michelin-Star restaurant in Chicago.
And as soon as Captain said it, my eyes flicked to Finn again.
“Oof,” Palmer said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Bet you love to hear that.”
Finn offered a flat-lipped grin that fell quickly, his eyes focused on the list of food restrictions and desires from each guest. It was never a good time for a chef when another chef came aboard.
Inevitably, they would be the harshest critic of the season when it came to the food, and the pressure to perform and impress was extremely high.
Which was not ideal, considering what Finn had already had to face this morning.
“On night one, the guests would like a seven-course tasting menu and a celebratory birthday cake,” Captain continued. He smiled at Finn. “Ah, nothing for you, Cheffy. You got this.”
Finn nodded at Captain like he wasn’t worried, but I saw his hands under the table.
He was twisting his grandmother’s ring, his knee bouncing uncontrollably.
“Deborah would like to have an 80’s themed pajama party after dinner,” I noted, trying to take the focus off Finn so he could catch his breath.
“Oh, that will be fun! I can get provisions to bring some black lights and make a little glow corner. We’ll set up bean bags and sleeping bags, but make it luxe.
Bernard can whip up some retro cocktails with fun names, we’ll do a candy bar…
Oh! We can set up Sixteen Candles on the projector!
And I’ll have leg warmers and big scrunchies ready for them.
Maybe I could convince Eli to dress like John Cusack and do a bit with a boombox. ”
“I don’t think much convincing will be necessary,” Palmer said with a grin.
“That’s brilliant, Em.” Captain beamed. “You’re gonna smash it. We all are,” he added, rolling up the preference packet and playfully smacking Finn’s arm with it. “Right. Let’s get to it, shall we?”
Palmer and Captain hopped up first, chatting about where to anchor as they made their way up to the bridge. But I stayed back, waiting until they were gone to turn and face Finn.
My chest caved in when I finally let myself really look at him.
“Hey,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his forearm. “Captain’s right, okay? You’ve got this. Don’t stress.”
He swallowed, nodding, but couldn’t even manage a smile.
He couldn’t look at me, either.
Instead, he slid out of the booth, pulling away from my grasp and trudging up to the galley with his shoulders slumped like a prisoner sent to walk the plank.
“Don’t say a word when we get back to the galley,” I whispered to Bernard, both of us balancing plates and flatware in our hands.
“You mean, don’t tell Finn that our little Michelin-Star chef friend called his rustic potato soup sewage water?”
I grimaced. “Exactly that.”
It was our first dinner with our new charter guests, and while most of them were pleased, a couple were not — and those voices seemed to be the loudest. First, Marley — the dentist — wrinkled her nose and picked at the salad presented as the first course, like all the lettuce was still covered in dirt.
She barely took two bites, which Finn noticed when we brought her full plate back to the galley.
And Regina, the chef, had sent hers back nearly untouched, as well.
Bernard carried her full bowl of soup back now, and I knew if Finn saw it, the night would spiral.
“Get rid of that before he sees it,” I said to Bernard, nodding to the bowl. “We can save this, but not if—”
My thought was cut short by a frustrated growl from the galley, followed by a clattering of dishes. Bernard and I shared a look before he went one way into the pantry and I ducked around him, dropping off my stack of plates to be washed before I found Finn.
He was a man unglued.
His hands splayed wide on the stainless-steel island, the muscles in his arms strained, his head hanging between his shoulders.
The remaining courses stretched out in various stages of prep all around him.
He breathed heavily, eyes manic as he scanned each ingredient with a tight jaw.
Gisella was next to him, and she tried to touch his shoulder, to whisper something I assumed was encouraging, but he shrugged her off.
His stormy blue-green eyes caught mine only briefly before he stormed over to the stove.
“You can save your breath,” he called over his shoulder, fire lapping at the edges of the pan in his hand as he sautéed something that smelled incredible. “Gi already told me the soup was trash.”
“I didn’t say that!” Gisella let out an exasperated sigh. “And I don’t know why you’re getting all huffy at me right now. I’m just trying to help.”