Chapter Eighteen #2
He spun in place to face her. “By telling me I should maybe do a little better with a chef on board?”
My jaw dropped, and I pinned Gisella with a glare of disbelief. “You did not say that…”
“Oh, don’t act like you’re not thinking it, too,” Gisella shot back with a glare of her own. “I’m his girlfriend. I don’t have to tiptoe around his feelings. The dinner isn’t going well, and he deserves to know.”
“The dinner is going wonderfully for everyone except two guests,” I corrected. “Who, in all likelihood, wouldn’t be pleased no matter what we did. And besides, I am the chief stew. I am the one whose job it is to communicate with our chef about dinner service.”
Gisella opened her mouth to argue, but I wasn’t in the mood, and I didn’t have the time.
And yes — maybe I was still just a little pissed off at her for kissing Cameron, for hurting both Leah and Finn, and for being a little brat about it.
So, I didn’t give her the chance to speak.
“If you would like to be helpful, might I suggest offering a hand to Leah in cabins or assisting Cameron with the stack of dishes we just brought in? Your input is not needed in the galley at the moment.”
I thought I heard a noise from behind me, something that sounded like Bernard was coughing to cover up a laugh, and Gisella snapped her mouth shut with her jaw grinding as she narrowed her eyes at me.
Fortunately, she was smart enough not to argue.
She shrugged past me, nudging my shoulder hard on the way past, but I didn’t react. Instead, I turned to Finn.
“Everything is fine,” I told him. “Regina didn’t care for the soup, but everyone else devoured theirs — including Marley.”
“Oh, joy,” Finn said, flicking off the burner as he removed a glorious cream sauce with mushrooms and garlic from the stove. “I’ve managed to please the dentist.”
I flattened my lips as he blew on a spoonful of the sauce to taste it. “Finn, it’s fine. Now, what is the next—”
“Goddamnit!” he cursed, and before I could stop him, he slung the sauce into the trash before throwing the pan into the sink.
“Finn!”
“It’s fucking shite,” he said, and the lamb he was planning to smother in that sauce went to the garbage next. “All of it. Trash. A swill bin. No, worse than a swill bin. Pigs would be offended if I served this horrific mess to them.”
I gaped at him as he stormed around the kitchen trashing everything needed to build the next course, and though I wanted to scream at him to stop, I knew it was no use.
This was it.
This was his breaking point.
I wasn’t the only one staring at him as he lost it, and I knew that didn’t help.
He felt every pair of eyes on him as he lost himself, and eventually, his back hit the stainless steel of the freezer and he slid down it into a heap on the floor, dragging his hands through his hair.
They caught on his hat and he ripped it off, tossing it to his feet before he sat there, resigned, breathing like a freight train as all his spirit seeped out of him like a slow gas leak.
My heart broke at the sight.
For a moment, I stared at him along with everyone else. Then, I cleared my throat, turning to face the crew.
“I need everyone out.”
“But—” Gisella started to argue.
I held up a finger. “Out. Please. Give me five minutes.” I didn’t wait for her to respond before I turned to Bernard. “I need you to stall. Refill wine glasses. Make a fun in-between-courses shot. Dance on the table if you have to.”
Bernard saluted me before he was jogging out of the galley, and Palmer helped shoo everyone else out behind him. Our bosun’s eyes snagged on mine, one brow arching as if to ask if I needed help. I hoped my eyes told him I had this even though I didn’t feel entirely sure.
Once they were all gone, I turned back to Finn.
I didn’t have time to second guess anything. We had eight guests out there waiting for their next course and two of them were already in a mood. If we were going to save this service, we had to do it fast.
I crossed the galley in quick strides, plopping down in front of Finn on the hard tile floor. I didn’t care that it had food scraps from him prepping. I didn’t care about anything other than getting my chef back in order.
Getting my friend back to himself.
The word struck my chest like a hot iron as usual, but I ignored it.
“Hey,” I said softly, tapping his knee. “Look at me.”
He shook his head, bracing his elbows on them instead. “It’s over, Ember. I blew it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.” His voice cracked, low and rough like it hurt just to admit it. And in that moment, I wondered how much of this was the dinner and how much was what happened with Gisella.
He was hurt by her kissing Cameron.
But judging by the way Gisella had played things off, he didn’t feel like he had a right to be.
Was this him shoving it all down in an attempt to stay professional and do his job, to not be dramatic, as she’d called him?
“I’m not cut out for this,” he said, his eyes losing focus on the floor between his feet. “I thought I could make something of myself again, but clearly, I was wrong. I failed in Dublin, and now I’m failing here, too. Maybe I’m just… done.”
My chest ached. “You don’t believe that.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t I?”
Resolve settled in over me as I watched him break in front of me. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t my Finn.
I had minutes to pull him out of this, and I wasn’t afraid to pull out the big guns to do it.
“No. You don’t believe that. I don’t believe that,” I said firmly. “And you know who else wouldn’t believe that for a second? Your gran.”
His head snapped up at that, his eyes finding mine with the kind of wounded resistance that told me I needed to tread carefully.
But there wasn’t time for that.
“What would she say if she saw you now?” I asked, my voice gentle but unwavering. “Would she tell you to give up? To throw away perfectly good food and sulk on the floor while some influencer chef with a superiority complex calls your soup sewage water?”
He said nothing.
“Would you be able to look her in the eye and say you quit?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Still no answer.
“Exactly,” I whispered. “You wouldn’t, Finn. Because she believed in you. And she was right to. Because she knew everything you’re capable of.”
Finn exhaled hard through his nose, dragging a hand over his face.
“You are not a failure,” I continued. “You’re a genius in the kitchen. You’re the reason our guests have literally wept over a grilled peach. You’re the guy who nearly made me convert to a religion over a spiritual experience with a scallop, Finn. A scallop.”
That earned me a twitch of a smile, the ghost of it haunting the corner of his mouth.
“You can do this. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again. One bad course doesn’t define you. One rude guest doesn’t negate the magic you create every single day on this boat.”
I leaned in, catching his eyes again, holding them with everything I had.
“This dinner isn’t over. And neither are you.”
His jaw ticced, eyes searching mine. “I… I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I can save this.”
“Yes, you can.” I leaned forward even more, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck. My fingers slid into his hair and I held him with my eyes never wavering. “Imagine it’s me at that table. What would you do?”
At that, his hands hooked around my wrists where I held him, and he brought our foreheads together. Instead of his breaths steadying, I watched his chest struggle even more for air.
Suddenly, I was struggling, too.
“It’s you at the table,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“And it’s just us on the boat?”
“It’s just us,” I confirmed. “No one else. What would you do?”
Finn wet his lips, his tongue darting out for just a split second. It was enough to make a bolt of electricity zip through me, and my thighs squeezed together instinctively.
He lifted his head, just a little, just enough to look me in the eyes again.
“I don’t think I should say.”
The words were just a whisper, a pained one laced with so much insinuation that I wasn’t sure if I was reading too much into it, or convincing myself it was innocent when I knew it wasn’t.
He licked his bottom lip again.
And this time, his gaze fell to my mouth when he did it.
“Finn…” I warned.
He moved, just a centimeter closer, but then froze at the sound of a harsh voice ringing through the quiet galley.
“Right, they’re happily distracted with an Eli special at the moment,” Bernard said, swinging into the kitchen.
He slid to a halt at the sight of us, his eyebrow ticcing up, but he didn’t falter.
“But there’s only so much a shirtless South African and a round of neon blue vodka shots with dry ice fanatics can do. ”
Gisella came in on his heels, and when she saw me and Finn on the floor, an unreadable expression darkened her gaze.
I cleared my throat, breaking all contact with Finn and pushing to stand. I didn’t rush it. I didn’t act guilty even if somewhere inside me I felt it. I just ignored the stares drilling holes into my back and extended a hand down for Finn.
“You can do this,” I promised him again. “Now get off the damn floor, Chef. We’ve got a dinner to finish.”
For a long moment, he stared at my hand. When his eyes met mine, I wondered if he felt the same heat buzzing through him that I did from our close proximity.
This was exactly why I’d stayed away from him.
And it was exactly why I couldn’t stay away for long.
Finally, Finn took my hand, though he barely needed my help as he jumped up from the floor. His eyes flicked between mine for a quick second before he clapped his hands, swiping his hat off the floor.
“Right.” Finn’s voice was stronger now, more certain, like he was snapping back to the chef I knew he was.
He tugged his hat back on, adjusted his apron, and turned to the crew like a general before battle.
“We’re scrapping the original main,” he said, rolling his shoulders back. “I want halibut fillets out and thawed now — gently. Palmer, can you handle that?”
Palmer was already moving toward the freezer.
“Em, I want you to prep the sous vide. We’ll do a miso-butter glaze with a charred corn and shishito hash. I want it plated on that black ceramic, minimal garnish.”
I couldn’t fight the smile that spread on my face. “Yes, sir.”
He was alight again, his eyes sparkling a little as he smirked at me and winked.
“Gisella, we’re adding an intermezzo,” he said next, turning to face her.
“Grab the cucumbers and fresh mint from the walk-in. Juice the cucumbers and I’ll blitz them with mint and a touch of lime.
We need to get it in the freezer fast — we’re doing a cucumber mint granita in the coupe glasses. Ice cold. Clean.”
“And dessert?” I asked, already working on the sous vide. I pulled out the vacuum sealer as Finn handed me spices.
“Lemon olive oil cake,” he answered without hesitation. “We’ll cut rounds and toast them. Mascarpone whip, honey drizzle, thyme. Light, floral. It’ll feel like the Amalfi Coast whispering goodnight.”
The corner of my mouth climbed again, and I shook my head.
I knew he could do it.
Finn clapped once, loudly. “I need all of you if we’re going to make this happen. Let’s move!”
The galley came alive again — knives tapping, burners igniting, steam rising. Each word from Finn was a spark, each movement a gear locking into place. The kitchen was a machine, and he was its heartbeat.
In the chaos, he paused and found me.
His hand reached for mine, rough palm sliding down my arm and over my wrist until he could wrap my hand in his own. He squeezed, his eyes sincere.
“Thank you,” he said. “For reminding me who I am.”
My heart clenched as I squeezed his hand in return.
It was only a second, a quick exchange before Finn broke contact and hustled to jump in on prep. But I stood there a long moment with that touch searing my skin, with his words surrounding me like a cozy, warm blanket on a frigid day.
I exhaled, smoothing my hands over my uniform and taking a moment to get myself together. I knew my cheeks were burning but prayed they weren’t red enough for the cameras to notice.
When I snapped back into action, I glanced toward the walk-in and found Gisella watching me from where she was juicing the cucumbers.
Her gaze narrowed.
And suddenly, the cameras were the least of my worries.