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 likethataccusation shocked him — which had me second-guessing that I was correct in the assumption.
But if he wasn’t judging my professionalism, then what the hell was his problem?
“I think,” he’d said, exhaling hard, “that you’re amazing at your job. And I think you know that. But I also think you’re completely oblivious to how people look at you when you’re in your element.”
I’d blinked, throat tightening, caught off guard by the way his voice dipped on the word “amazing.” But before I could respond, he’d closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s… it’s fine. I’m sorry. Let’s just work together on this, okay? We have one night to save this charter. Are you with me?”
I’d nodded slowly, my chest still tight, brain scrambling to catch up with wherever the hell he was. “Yes. I’m with you.”
And somehow, with those words and a silent agreement to push pause on our feud — we’d found our groove.
From that moment on, we moved in sync, passing plates and glances like we hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours circling each other like animals backed into a corner and ready to strike. The guests were delighted. The food was phenomenal. Thewine flowed. The bacchanal was everything they’d hoped for — indulgent, lavish, a little ridiculous in the best way.