I guess you can relax a little more now, then, yeah? With everything running so smoothly.
Gary laughs, shakes head.
CAPTAIN GARY
Ah, you’ve done it now. That’s a bloody jinx if I’ve ever heard one.
By the time charter four wrapped, we had found our rhythm.
It wasn’t perfect — not by a long shot — but the chaos felt more controlled. Palmer and the deck crew had Cap beaming with their docking, not a single line touching the water and every meter of distance being called correctly. Leah seemed hell-bent on proving herself after being down a charter, the laundry executed perfectly and cabins polished to perfection, and Bernard had fully settled into his role as my second stew. I could trust him implicitly with dinner service, knowing he would not just help me pull off every theme with the table scape, but that we’d work together seamlessly to provide luxury service to every guest.
I did hear Palmer complaining to Cameron about Gisella one morning as they uncovered the chairs on the sundeck, something about her moving with zero sense of urgency. I had yet to ask for her to do more for interior than run a few platesat dinner service or help Leah touch up cabins in the evenings. She was a deck/stew, which meant she was just as much at my disposal as Palmer’s, but I was happy to run the boat without her help as much as possible.
And Finn and I had found whatever this new normal was between us.
We spoke when we needed to, coordinated service with tight efficiency, and put on a united front for the cameras. But beyond that, I stayed away.
I had to.
Because if I’d learned anything from that late night in the galley, it was that my body wasn’t my ally when it came to Finn Pearson. And if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up making the kind of mistake that couldn’t be undone.
But just because we were all working hard and finding our groove didn’t mean there wasn’tplentyof entertainment for the production crew to capture.
The fourth charter had the usual guest dramatics. One of the primary’s friends insisted on wearing heels everywhere — on the deck, on the tender, even on the jet ski. The entire crew watched in horrified fascination as she attempted to climb onto the swim platform in four-inch Louboutins for a picture, only to slip and send one flying into the water. Eli had to dive after it before it sank, and I had to dry the pair out with a hairdryer while she wailed about their impending ruination.
On our crew night out after that charter, sparks flew between Leah and Cameron again, the two of them giggling to each other at one end of the table at dinner before grinding on one another the rest of the night at the bar. I’d turned in early that evening, catching a cab back with Palmer who seemed just as intent on getting sleep as I was.
During the fifth charter, poor Eli lived out his most embarrassing moment of the season. He’d been tasked withrepositioning one of the jet skis, a simple enough job. Or, at least, it should have been. But within minutes of him pushing off from the yacht, he’d realized he didn’t have the key.
Or his radio.
Production had a field day capturing the footage of Eli slowly floating away as he waved his hands in the air and whistled, trying to get someone’s attention. Of course, not a single producer or cameraperson said a thing. It wasn’t until Gisella spotted him, and she’d had a full-on laugh before radioing for Palmer.
It was reality TV gold.
Laundry was another disaster. At some point during turn day between charters, Gisella had tossed her brand-new red bikini into a load of whites Leah had going, turning every last towel, sheet, and guest robe a lovely shade of pink. Leah had nearly burst into tears, Bernard had dissolved into a fit of laughter so long I was afraid he’d need an oxygen mask to breathe again, and Captain Gary had taken one look at the stack of blushing linens before shaking his head and muttering, “Just tell them it’s the latest trend in luxury.”
Thankfully, provisions had been able to save the day, delivering fresh linens to fill the gaps for what we didn’t have on board. It would cost us, though, and no yacht owner liked to be surprised with things like that from a charter season. Still, it was better than some of the things thatcouldrack up a bill — like a bad docking or a tender running aground.
At the end of both charters, the guests left happy — and left decent tips, too. We were exhausted but satisfied as a crew, and with charter five under our belts, we were officially over halfway through this shortened season.
Captain Gary had pulled me aside after the guests disembarked, checking in on me and the interior while taking a moment to tell me again how proud he was of me. Like Leah withthe laundry debacle, I’d nearly lost it, but the tears I held back were of joy. It felt incredible to be recognized for my hard work, to have everything running so smoothly on my watch.
I was doing exactly what I came to do.
Where Captain was proud of me for the interior, I was proud of me for something I couldn’t brag about to anyone.
I’d barely thought about Finn outside of work hours.
I was keeping my distance and keeping my focus on the charter guests and the interior.
And when I caught him looking at me, when I swore his eyes held something deeper… I reminded myself what I already knew.
Finn Pearson wasn’t mine anymore.
When Captain dismissed me from the bridge after our little chat, I’d let out a slow breath full of relief, like I’d been a raft filled to the point of nearly popping and finally got to release the pressure.
Five charters done, four more to go.