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)
It was reality TV gold.
Laundry was another disaster. At some point during turn day between charters, Gisella had tossed her brand-new red bikini into a load of whites Leah had going, turning every last towel, sheet, and guest robe a lovely shade of pink. Leah had nearly burst into tears, Bernard had dissolved into a fit of laughter so long I was afraid he’d need an oxygen mask to breathe again, and Captain Gary had taken one look at the stack of blushing linens before shaking his head and muttering, “Just tell them it’s the latest trend in luxury.”
Thankfully, provisions had been able to save the day, delivering fresh linens to fill the gaps for what we didn’t have on board. It would cost us, though, and no yacht owner liked to be surprised with things like that from a charter season. Still, it was better than some of the things that could rack up a bill — like a bad docking or a tender running aground.
At the end of both charters, the guests left happy — and left decent tips, too. We were exhausted but satisfied as a crew, and with charter five under our belts, we were officially over halfway through this shortened season.
Captain Gary had pulled me aside after the guests disembarked, checking in on me and the interior while taking a moment to tell me again how proud he was of me. Like Leah with the laundry debacle, I’d nearly lost it, but the tears I held back were of joy. It felt incredible to be recognized for my hard work, to have everything running so smoothly on my watch.
I was doing exactly what I came to do.
Where Captain was proud of me for the interior, I was proud of me for something I couldn’t brag about to anyone.
I’d barely thought about Finn outside of work hours.
I was keeping my distance and keeping my focus on the charter guests and the interior.
And when I caught him looking at me, when I swore his eyes held something deeper… I reminded myself what I already knew.
Finn Pearson wasn’t mine anymore.
When Captain dismissed me from the bridge after our little chat, I’d let out a slow breath full of relief, like I’d been a raft filled to the point of nearly popping and finally got to release the pressure.
Five charters done, four more to go.
We had a night off ahead of us, another fat tip in our pockets, and no guests for the next eighteen hours. I had just enough time to unwind before the next wave of stress hit.
But first, I had a call to make.
After an afternoon of deep cleaning and turning the boat for our next guests, I slipped away to my cabin, pulling the door shut behind me. Gisella was still on deck, finishing up her duties before she’d start getting ready for our night out and it would be a tornado of hair spray and flying clothes in here. She and I had found our own little truce of sorts, even joking with one another and talking a bit at night before we’d pass out.
She wasn’t so bad, and maybe I hated that most of all.
I did wish she was cleaner, though. I was just as bad as she was at destroying this little cabin when we were getting ready to go out, but I’d tidy my space back up in the end. She, on the other hand, seemed to be testing my patience with how much makeup she’d smear on the bathroom counter, mirror, and towels before I’d break down and clean it all up.
The crew quarters were unusually still — no clinking dishes from the galley, no banter from the mess. Just silence. The kind that left too much room for thinking.
I sat on the edge of my bunk, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. I didn’t even have to search for his name — Dad was pinned at the top of my contacts. It had been since I got a phone. He was reliable, steady, the person I would call first when something went wrong or when I had something to celebrate.
My leg bounced as I stared at the phone, chewing the inside of my cheek. I could already hear his voice in my head — clipped, calm, faintly amused, like he was always a step ahead and I was just trying to keep up.
Calling my father shouldn’t have felt like such an ordeal, but it did. Because it was never simply checking in. It was always a test. I felt as if I needed to have my report card ready, posture straight, all emotions tucked neatly away.
I took a deep breath.
And then I hit call and flopped back onto the bunk, staring at the ceiling. It rang twice, and then that voice pierced through my anxiety.