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)
He crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, slapping the envelope against his palm with a smirk. “Well, team, first charter’s in the books.”
A small round of cheers rippled through the crew, though we were all waiting for the real celebration — the number. We all got paid a salary, and we also got a bonus incentive for agreeing to be filmed for the show.
But the real money was in the tips.
Captain smiled at our antics, waiting until we calmed before he continued. “Look, docking went smoothly, cabins were spotless, drinks flowed, and as you saw when the guests disembarked, they left happy. That’s what matters. Now, we all know dinner service the first night wasn’t exactly textbook, but you lot turned it around. The bacchanal was a smash hit — seriously, they didn’t stop talking about it. And Theodora told me this was the most ‘high vibrational’ trip she’s ever had.”
“Guess that means we’re all spiritually richer,” Eli said.
The crew laughed, but I barely heard it.
Because as soon as Captain mentioned dinner service, my gaze flicked to Finn.
He was already looking at me.
The sharp edges of the night we’d torn each other apart in the galley had dulled just slightly, softened by exhaustion and time. There was something unspoken in his eyes — something close to regret, but not quite. His lips pressed together, his jaw flexing, and then he gave me the smallest nod, like a peace offering.
And I smiled. Just a little.
Because the truth was, whatever disaster dinner had been, we’d found our rhythm again last night during the bacchanal.
I hadn’t expected the bacchanal to go as well as it did — not after the disaster that was our first dinner service. But somehow, between the last-minute scramble to get the gold togas steamed and the wine list reprinted, everything had clicked.
Even me and Finn.
Of course, we’d nearly killed each other before we got there.
It started just before service, when I was checking the place settings one last time on the sundeck and Max — the broody, aloof older brother of our primary guest — wandered over with a glass of red in hand. He’d barely said ten words the entire charter, always lurking at the edge of the group like he regretted agreeing to come in the first place. I figured he’d hole up in his cabin again until dinner was over. But instead, he stopped next to me, looking uncharacteristically… amused.
“This table is like something out of a magazine,” he’d said, nodding to the elaborate Roman-inspired décor. “I imagine that’s your doing.”
I’d smiled, brushing imaginary crumbs off one of the chargers. “Part of it, yes, but it’s a team effort for sure. We aim to impress.”
He’d looked at me for a long moment, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, consider me impressed.”
And then, without warning, he’d lifted my hand and pressed a warm, slow kiss to the back of it.
The kiss itself meant nothing. He was tipsy. Grateful, maybe. And judging by the way his gaze dropped just slightly to my lips before he turned and walked off toward the deck bar, I’d say the wine had made him bold. My cheeks had flamed purely from the surprise of it, and maybe a little from the compliments. What girl didn’t love to be doted on every now and then?
But the second I turned back toward the galley, ready to grab the amuse-bouches, I nearly collided with Finn.
Who had a tight jaw, pursed lips, and narrowed gaze aimed right at me.
It put me on the defensive before I even knew what I was being defensive about.
“What?” I’d snapped.
“Nothing,” he’d clipped right back, brushing past me.
Except it wasn’t nothing.
It was very much a something.
And that something came to a head ten minutes later when I popped into the galley to grab the first course, only to find Finn plating with slightly more aggression than usual.
“What’s the ETA on the beet salad?” I’d asked lightly, already bracing for another round of whatever this stupid fight was we had going between us.
He hadn’t answered right away — just wiped the edge of a plate and adjusted the microgreens with unnecessary force.
“Can I help with anything?” I’d tried again, softer this time.
“Are we serving all the guests?” he’d asked, still not looking at me. “Or just the ones who kiss your hand?”
Those words might as well have been the bell ringing.
I’d stared at him, stunned but ready to fight. “Excuse me?”
When Finn finally turned to face me, his expression was unreadable — not angry, not hurt, just… blank.
I couldn’t figure it out.
“Forget it,” he’d said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Forget I said anything. I’m just— It’s been a long day.”
“No, say it,” I’d pushed. “You think I was being unprofessional.”
Strangely, it was like that accusation shocked him — which had me second-guessing that I was correct in the assumption.