“Fucking hell, Leah, that arse deserves a standing ovation!” Bernard said loudly over the music, splashing water at Leah. She was twerking her ass in the hot tub, hands braced on the edge to keep her steady as she danced. I hollered, too, marveling at how talented she was at making her booty shake while the rest of her torso was perfectly stable. She was blessed with juicy curves, and as a more athletic build myself, I was mesmerized watching her move.
Cameron looked ready to propose where he watched her from his corner of the Jacuzzi. I jokingly reached over and pretended to wipe drool off his chin. That was when Gisella came running across the teak and all but jumped into the hot tub, joining right in with Leah without missing a beat. We all cheered, and Palmer leaned back against the edge with his arms spread wide. “This is what they mean when they talk about the good life.”
It had been a perfect night out — no drama, no one so inebriated they were being an asshole or throwing up or passing out, and most importantly, no thoughts of my dad making me turn into a sad drunk. Dinner had been filled with great conversation and laughter, and instead of going out to a club, we’d all decided to head back to the boat and enjoy the hot tub we were usually serving the guests in.
Now, it was like a Vegas afterparty. Eli acted as DJ on his portable speaker, playing mostly EDM. Bernard had whipped up some strong cocktails for each of us — after we took a round of tequila shots, of course — and Finn was throwing together some snacks. There was dancing and laughter and not a single frown in sight.
“God, I’m starving,” Leah said, a bit breathless after her twerk session as she sank down in the hot water. “Where’s Finn?”
“Finn! Finnn,” Gisella sang, and then Bernard joined in, followed by Cameron, Eli, Palmer, and finally me until we were all calling for him so loudly, I was afraid we’d wake Captain Gary. Finn eventually appeared in the main salon, visible to us through the glass doors, and we erupted into cheers. He smirked and shook his head as the doors slid open. He was balancing two trays of food, everything from grilled paninis and potato chips to pickles and bar nuts.
“Oh, my God, I love you,” Leah proclaimed, snagging a panini with cheese melting over the edges of the crust off one of the trays before Finn even had the chance to set it down. The rest of the crew followed suit as he chuckled.
He acted coy, like it was no big deal that he’d gone to work while the rest of us changed into our swimsuits and continued to fuck off. But I saw it in his eyes, that pride that cooking gave him, that joy he experienced at the sight of someone enjoying what he’d created.
Finn was such a strange type of familiar to me now. I knew so much about him and yet hadn’t a clue what he’d done for the last two years. He’d lived life without me, just as I had without him. There was a separation that could never be undone.
But there was a bond that couldn’t be broken just the same.
I still remembered the first time we met, the first day I knew what it was like to be in a world where Finn Pearson existed.
My duffle bag digs into my shoulder as I make my way through the boat, eyes wide and taking it all in. I pass through the galley on my way to the bridge to greet the captain, and that’s when I see him.
He’s bent over an open drawer, organizing knives by size, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, brown hair curling around theedges of a backward facing hat. I don’t even say a word and yet somehow, he senses me.
He looks up.
Our eyes lock.
The earth shifts beneath my feet when I take in those ocean blues, when a smile curls on his lips.
“Hey there,” he says, straightening to his full height. “You must be a stew.”
I smile back, nerves fluttering. “That obvious?”
“Only ’cause you’re still looking around like this boat is full of gifts for you to open on Christmas morning instead of months of hard work and exhaustion.”
“Guilty. I’m afraid I love this job.”
“Have to, don’t you?”
We share another smile.
“I’m Finn,” he says.
“Ember.”
He cocks his head. “Like a burning ember of flame?”
“Wow. Never heard that one before.” I roll my eyes.
“Fiery. Just like your namesake. And you’ve got the looks to match, too.”
He winks with that, and I snort, stepping past him with a smirk. “Flattery won’t get you out of doing your own dishes when you make a big mess, Chef. And you can cool it on the name play.”
“Mm. If you hate Ember so much, I’ll call you something else.” He leans against the counter, eyes tracing me like he already knows everything about me.
I find I kind of want him to.