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)
“I know,” she whined, giving me a wink. “Also a shame that I already adore my chief stew, so I’d do anything for her.”
“I’ll get you on service next charter, make sure you see some sun.”
“It’s really okay. I love laundry. I love the quiet routine of cabins. But, yeah, if we have a beach picnic or something… tag me in, okay?”
“Promise,” I said. Then, I looked around at the restaurant, excitement blooming in my belly. “Ever had real Italian food before?”
“Never,” she confessed with a dreamy sigh, gazing around the same as I was. “But I was born ready to devour pasta and cheese.”
We dissolved into a fit of giggles, ducking inside the restaurant that was already teeming with life.
Trattoria del Mare sat on a quiet cobblestone street, tucked between towering buildings with weathered shutters and wrought-iron balconies overflowing with vines and flowers. Twinkling fairy lights draped from the awning, their soft glow mixing with the flickering flames of candlelit tables. The scent of garlic, fresh basil, and simmering tomatoes wafted through the open-air dining space, the sounds of glasses clinking and light laughter serving as the soundtrack.
The hostess greeted us with an easy smile and a buonasera, leading us past a wall of climbing bougainvillea to a large table in the back courtyard where ivy crawled up stone walls and a soft Italian love song played from hidden speakers. A bottle of chilled limoncello and a basket of warm, crusty bread were already waiting for us when we sat.
Eli pulled out my chair before dropping into the one beside me, draping his arm right back over my shoulders like it was second nature. “This place is lush,” he murmured, plucking a piece of bread from the basket and tossing it onto my plate. “It’s about to be a long night. You’re gonna need fuel, babes.”
I smirked at him, grabbing the bread and taking a giant bite right in his face. I moaned. “Still warm.”
Eli paled at that, his eyes on my mouth. “Christ, Ember. I’ve never wanted to be a carb so bad.”
“You want her to take a bite out of you?” Palmer challenged from across the table where he and Cam were already scanning the menu.
“If she makes noises like that? Hell yes.”
“Oh, my God, stop,” I said, shoving at his chest. I nodded to the menu. “Figure out what you’re eating.”
“Yes, Mommy.” Eli then panted like a dog and let out a little bark.
Bernard twisted open the bottle of limoncello, shaking his head and pouring shots for the table. “To a fat tip and a night we won’t remember,” he declared, raising his glass.
Everyone clinked their shots together before throwing them back. The tart, citrusy burn warmed my chest, and I couldn’t help but smile when I sat my glass down. I looked around, taking in the lights and the music, the faint scent of the sea, the pleasantly warm night air.
I was in Italy.
Sometimes it was easy to forget when I was caught up in the job. We worked long hours, long days, long nights — but in off times like this, I got to really soak it all in.
I kept smiling as I let my eyes wander over the crew, thinking about how we’d done pretty well working together. There were hiccups with that first dinner service, and my stews needed a little more training in the cocktail and cabin-cleaning departments, but it was promising that no one was fighting or not pulling their weight — at least, not yet.
It was almost easy to forget the cameras were with us. I was getting used to them, to the mic always clipped to my shorts and the wire under my shirt. Tonight, that mic was hanging on to the back of my skin-tight jeans for dear life, the cord visible where it snaked up my exposed back and then under the white crop top I had on. That top zig-zagged in the front, framing my cleavage in a way that I couldn’t be mad at Eli for looking earlier.
Everyone was dressed up, ready to let loose and celebrate our first charter under our belt. And everyone was in good spirits.
Except for Gisella and Finn.
They were huddled together at the opposite end of the table from where I sat, Gisella speaking in hushed whispers, her expression sharp as she gestured with one hand. Finn’s head was slightly bowed as he listened, his fingers tapping the rim of his empty shot glass. Whatever she was saying, he wasn’t arguing back, but he didn’t look happy, either.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away before I got caught staring again.
It doesn’t matter.
It’s none of my business.
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.