PRODUCER:
Are you happy with your deck team after this first charter? Feeling confident in a good season?
PALMER:
I’m feeling… cautiously optimistic. We had a good start, but I’ve got a green deckie, and his roommate likes to horse around more than work. Still, they got the job done, and I think with a little guidance, they’ll all make Captain proud.
PRODUCER:
And what about Gisella? You two hitting it off?
Palmer shifts, sips water.
PALMER:
Gisella is interesting. I haven’t quite figured her out yet. But like I said… I’m cautiously optimistic. At least, until someone gives me a reason not to be.
“All crew, all crew — meet me in the main salon for our first tip meeting.”
Captain Gary’s voice crackled over the radio on my hip as I stripped the bedding in one of the guest cabins, and I smiled a bit when I heard various hoots and hollers ringing out from around the boat. It was everyone’s favorite part of any charter.
We’d made it.
It was time to turn the boat, count our cash, and enjoy a night out.
I poured up tall glasses of champagne for everyone, delivering them to the main salon on a tray and letting Bernard hand them out. We all clinked our glasses together in a rowdycheers!before kicking back on the couches, all our attention on Captain and the fat envelope in his hand.
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.”