Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Captain Gary chuckled. “I have full faith you can pull it off, Cheffy.”
Palmer took over then, reading off more of the guests’ demands while on board. Although I’d already seen all of the requests, it wasn’t hard to play up my anxiety for the cameras trained on us now. These weren’t just regular charter guests. They weren’t going to nap on the sundeck and go to bed after dinner. These guests were specifically chosen to bring us drama in one way or another, and with a primary who thought of himself as a god and a girlfriend who apparently only wanted to eat witchy berries — they were not taking it easy on us with this first charter.
Captain wrapped up the preference sheet meeting with me still in a daze, fingers absentmindedly playing with my piercings as I stared at all the requests and ran through a mental list to make sure I had everything I needed to pull off what they wanted. I’d asked the provisioner not just for the party supplies to get the theme right for the Roman Empire Bacchanal, but I’d also hired a local sommelier to come aboard with an expensive and exclusive selection of wine.
I knew Alistair’s type before even setting eyes on him. He loved the power that came with being rich. He wanted to feel like he got to experience things in life that no one else did. It was my job to make him feel like this yacht charter was worth bragging about.
This was it. My first time at bat as chief stew.
I bit back a smile as that realization hit me. I’d worked so hard for this opportunity, years of literal sweat and tears under my belt to get me here. I didn’t care if the charter guests asked for specific colored M&Ms or gold-painted pony rides on the beach — whatever they wanted, I was going to make it happen.
I was going to prove myself worthy of this title — and of my father’s respect.
“What the hell am I going to cook for this girl?”
I blinked, realizing that Captain Gary and Palmer had already left the crew mess and it was just Finn and me left at the table. He was staring at the preference sheets just like I was, shaking his head as he looked through what Theodora couldn’t eat.
“Macaroni and cheese?” I suggested.
“Cute, but she said no dairy, remember? Or gluten.”
“Gluten-free macaroni,” I said, snapping my fingers. “And vegan butter.”
Finn rolled his lips together against a smile, and my stomach lurched at how familiar that grin was even after going two years of my life without seeing it. I’d blocked him on social media after realizing I couldn’t survive a night drinking without making a fool of myself in his DMs.
I’d had to quit him cold turkey, and even now, I didn’t feel clean sitting this close to my former addiction.
“Could you imagine? I just slather some gluten-free pasta with a heap of organic butter and call it a day?”
I smirked. “Garnished with a sprig of parsley for aesthetic.”
“Sounds like a Michelin-Star meal.”
I tapped the preference sheet. “What about a salad?”
“No leafy greens,” he reminded me.
“Fine. A nice, juicy steak?”
“No red meat.”
“Tofu scramble?”
Finn leveled me with a stare. “She doesn’t eat soy.”
I threw my hands up. “Air?”
That finally pulled a full-bodied laugh from him, his head tipping back as his shoulders shook. I tried not to let the sound of it affect me, but it was impossible — it had been my favorite sound once.
“Perfect. I’ll serve her a nice plate of oxygen, seasoned with despair.”
“If you’re still as good as you were in Greece, it’ll be the best plate of oxygen she’s ever had,” I said, and without thinking, my hand found his wrist and squeezed as an encouraging smile found my lips.
Of course, that smile slid off my face like butter on a hot skillet when that touch resonated, when Finn stopped laughing and stared at the point of contact. I swore I felt the heat of it crackle between us, like a live wire sparking, something dangerous and familiar in the way his gaze lifted — slow, hesitant, burning.
For one breath, neither of us moved.
For one breath, I considered what would happen if I let my touch wander up, if I leaned into him and pressed my lips to his just to see if it felt the same.
But on the next breath, I remembered his girlfriend was on this very boat with us.
I cleared my throat, yanking my hand away. My fingers clenched reflexively before I busied them in my ponytail. “Well, I think we both need a good night’s rest to face these guests tomorrow. See you in the morning.”
It wasn’t just the stark realization that he was dating Gisella that had me scurrying off that bench. It was me remembering who I was now, who I had been after he’d left me broken and how long it’d taken me to recover. It was memories of late nights and whispered confessions, of hope curdling into heartbreak, of the years I spent trying to forget him — only to find him in front of me now, close enough to touch and yet so untouchable, unfamiliar and yet so familiar it hurt.