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)
Cameron smirks.
PRODUCER
What do you mean by that?
CAMERON
Oh, come on… I’m not the only one with eyes.
The beach picnic was going off without a hitch, which was both a relief and a small miracle.
The guests — a wealthy family from the Midwest celebrating the father’s sixtieth birthday — were easygoing, the kind of laidback rich that made for a drama-free charter. They didn’t have any outrageous demands, there were no passive-aggressive complaints, and they seemed genuinely excited over the setup Cameron and I had put together. White linen tablecloths flapped in the salty breeze, the crystal glassware catching the golden sunlight, and Finn’s spread of fresh seafood and gourmet sandwiches had been met with enthusiastic approval.
And for the first time since this charter kicked off, I had a break from Gisella.
Maybe that was why things were going so smoothly.
I pushed the thought away as I worked on clearing the table, surveying the guests where they now lounged near the shoreline. John, the primary, was waist-deep in the water with his wife and son, all three of them laughing at something Cameron was saying from where he stood on the shore. The rest of the family was sprawled out on the lounge chairs the guys had set up, sipping the light spritzer I’d whipped up and soaking in the late afternoon sun.
“Not bad for your first official beach picnic as chief stew.” Finn’s voice came from behind me, low and warm like the sunshine hitting my neck.
I turned to find him standing close, arms folded over his chest, a small smirk playing on his lips. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing forearms dusted with flour and a small streak of something — maybe olive oil? — on his wrist. His apron was long discarded, leaving him in just his white polo and tailored navy shorts. The sight of him like that made sparks flutter low in my belly. He was relaxed, his job done for now, the guests fed and happy.
Food wasn’t just his job, it was his passion, his love language.
Up until now, I swore I felt something dark and weighted holding onto him. Maybe it was the death of his restaurant. He just seemed… lost. Half-whole, almost. But now, standing in the shade of the pop-up tent covering the leftover food, he looked like the old Finn.
The one I fell for years ago on a boat miles from here.
“Not bad at all,” I agreed, exhaling. “Though I can’t help but wonder if that’s because Gisella had nothing to do with it.”
I cringed internally as soon as I said the words. The last thing I wanted was Finn to think I was some jealous ex, but my comment had nothing to do with them and everything to do with the fact that Gisella was supposed to be making this charter easier on me, and so far had done nothing but the opposite.
“Harsh,” he said, but it was with a laugh that made the stress of explaining myself float away. Gisella was his girlfriend, but maybe he could see past that and acknowledge that she wasn’t exactly an A+ student on this yacht.
“Honest,” I corrected.
Finn hummed in response, his smirk deepening.
I crossed my arms, mimicking his stance. “Still, with the way things have been going, I half-expected some kind of disaster. A tipped-over champagne bucket, a seagull stealing a sandwich, a rogue wave sweeping the whole table out to sea.”
“All things out of your control, even if they did happen.”
“As chief stew, it’s my job to be in control of everything.”
“You’re doing a great job, Ember.” Finn’s voice was quieter now, sincere. “Really. You should be proud.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the praise. For some reason, it meant more coming from Finn, just like I knew it would if it came from my father.
Because they knew me. They knew how hard I’d worked over the last several years, how much this chance meant to me, how far I was willing to go to make my dreams happen.
No one in the world knows you like I do.
I swallowed, muttering a thanks before I finished clearing the table. I ran out to check on the guests, refilling drink orders and double-checking on what time they wanted to head back to the boat. When they were content again, I joined Finn under the shade once more.
“They won’t stop talking about the food,” I told him, my smile widening when his cheeks flushed a little. “John is making jokes about offering you a job as head chef for the family.”
“Is he joking, or is he serious?”
“If it’s the latter, you’re going to break his heart. I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t be satisfied cooking for just one family.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the Midwest is where I’m meant to be. I feel like I could thrive in… where was it they’re from again?”