I lift his palm to my mouth and playfully bite where his thumb meets his wrist. “You asked! Don’t be a bully about my breakfast choices.”
“Well, as far as day after drinking food preferences go, that may be the worst answer I’ve heard. Eggs, bacon, a Bloody Mary… hell, even cold pizza would be more acceptable.”
“Make fun of me all you want. I don’t need you to make my breakfast, anyway.” I pop up out of his bed, nearly tripping on the sheets we were tangled in before I find a pair of shorts and tug them on. “I can make my own damn pancakes.”
“You better not.”
“Watch me.”
But before I take a step, he wraps me up from behind, his warm arms taking me back toward the bed as I giggle and pretend to try to get away. He hauls me up into the top bunk in a feat of strength and balance unmatched by anyone I know.
“Iwill make you pancakes,” he growls in my ear, spanking my ass for good measure. “With bananas and whatever other weird shit you want in them.”
“Right now?”
“Right now,” he confirms, and then he turns me in his arms, sweeping my hair from my face as his eyes settle on mine. “And tomorrow. And every day for the rest of your life, if that’s what you want.”
I blinked out of the memory and swayed a bit, reaching my hand out for the edge of the table to steady myself.
“Whoa, there. You alright?”
I nodded, righting myself as I came back to the present, back to the stack of perfectly cooked banana pancakes in front of me.They were even dusted with powdered sugar, and there was a ramekin of raspberry compote to top with instead of syrup.
I instantly recognized it for what it was: not just a plate of pancakes, but an apology.
It was Finn’s way of starting over.
My pulse stuttered with the memory of the night before, all the words he said dancing in a dizzying blur in my mind. For two years, I thought he’d lied to me. I thought he’d played some sick game to get what he wanted from me before leaving me behind.
Now that I knew the truth, I realized it was nobody’s fault.
We were both young. Emotions were high. Time was short. I was stubborn and he was prideful.
But it was what it was — a messy, unfinished story neither of us knew how to end. And those pancakes? They were an invitation to write a new chapter.
Leah and Bernard poured into the mess, both groaning at the sight of the feast Finn had prepared for us. I greeted each of them before plopping two pancakes on my plate and smearing them with the compote. I grabbed a fork next, told my crew to meet me in the main salon after breakfast, and then padded barefoot up to the galley.
I climbed the stairs with the plate balanced carefully in both hands, my stomach a knot of nerves and nostalgia twisting tighter with every step. It was just breakfast, I told myself. But it felt like something more.
Cooking had always been how Finn expressed himself when no words would work, and I was trying my damndest not to read too much into whatever the hell he was trying to tell me with these pancakes.
I paused just outside the galley to gather myself, smiling a little at the symphony of sounds coming from within. I could hear the rhythmic chop of a knife against the cutting board,the soft scrape of metal on wood, the faint hiss of something simmering on the stove.
And then, I saw him.
Finn moved through the galley like a gold-medal-winning figure skater — fluid, effortless, completely at home. His hair was damp, unruly from a quick shower and half-hidden beneath the hat he wore backward. He’d already worked his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing forearms I knew too well. I hated that my pulse jumped at the sight of him, that after all this time, all this hurt, my body still reacted like a violin only he could play.
For a moment, I just watched. It was impossible not to — the way he chopped herbs with quick, sure strokes, the way his brow creased in concentration, the way his lips moved silently as he mentally ran through the day’s prep. It was so painfully familiar, like a song I’d forgotten existed but knew all the words to once I heard it play again.
Then, as if sensing me, Finn glanced up — a quick flick of his eyes toward the doorway before he returned to his work.
But a beat later, he froze.
He looked back at me, this time really seeing me, and the shift in his expression sent a bolt of heat through my chest.
I swallowed hard, lifting the plate in a small, uncertain offering, my smile shy and unsure. “I’m surprised you remembered this.”
Finn’s gaze flicked to the pancakes, then back to me.