The table laughed, and just like that, all attention shifted to him.
“But my granny… God rest her soul. She could cook like no one I’ve ever met. Sunday dinners at her house were a religious experience, and then she moved in with us and brought that magic to our home every night.”
I snapped my gaze to him then, frowning, my heart thundering for a different reason now. It’d taken him almost a month to tell me about his grandmother when we’d worked together on our last boat, longer than that to admit what she’d meant to him. And even then, he was hesitant to talk too much about her. It was too hard. It hurt too much. The wound was too fresh from her passing.
But he was doing it now, after only two charters, with a bunch of strangers.
Did he just feel more comfortable with them?
Or was he doing it to save me?
I knew it was the second, even if the smarter part of me didn’t want to latch onto that like it provided some kind of hope for something I knew would never exist again. But the truth was, Finn knew my issues with my father intimately. He knew the quiet resentment I held for my mother for never offering me anything else. She was always so content to just let my father run the show, and he’d done so with an iron fist.
Finn knew that. He knew me.
And he saw me struggling. He saw what no one else did, that my hands were trembling and I desperately needed the attention off me.
So, he was doing what he could to make that happen.
The realization made me dizzy, my heart dancing in my rib cage even as my brain attempted to squash it with the heels of its boot.
“Gran taught me everything I know. Every dish I make, every recipe I write, it’s all a tribute to her,” he said. His voice was low, eyes a bit distant as he stared at the dark beer his hand was wrapped around.
Gisella covered his wrist, her brows tugging inward. “I didn’t know that.”
Finn tried to smile, but the lift of his lips fell quickly. “Not many people do.”
His eyes found mine, and the conversation spun off from there, but it was muted to my ears. It was like time had stepped its feet into quicksand and slugged to a stop around us.
I was still fuming from his words at the beach, but now, that anger was clouded by gratitude. I hoped he could see it even though I couldn’t say it. I hoped my silentthank youwas loud enough for him to hear.
His expression softened just enough to let me know he understood, and my eyes stung.
Leah frowned from her seat beside me. “You okay, Em?”
I waved her off with a laugh, blinking the wetness from my eyes before any tears could form. “Yeah, girl. I’m just ready to dance.”
“Yes!” Bernard shouted, pushing up from his seat and throwing his napkin down like a gauntlet. “Let’s go. I’m ready to shake my arse.”
A chorus of cheers followed as Bernard did just that, hiking one leg up on his chair and giving us a little twerk. I let myself get swept up in the celebration, grateful for the distraction.
But as we left the restaurant and spilled into the night, I felt something precarious stirring inside me, like a distant roll of thunder warning of an impending storm.
I was just one little huff and puff of breath away from losing the balance I was barely holding onto.
And Finn might as well have been the big bad wolf.
CHARTER CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
SEASON 4, EPISODE 3
CHARTER 3
EMBER REED: CHIEF STEW
PRODUCER