He was twisting his grandmother’s ring, his knee bouncing uncontrollably.
“Deborah would like to have an 80’s themed pajama party after dinner,” I noted, trying to take the focus off Finn so he could catch his breath. “Oh, that will be fun! I can get provisions to bring some black lights and make a little glow corner. We’ll set up bean bags and sleeping bags, but make it luxe. Bernard can whip up some retro cocktails with fun names, we’ll do a candy bar… Oh! We can set upSixteen Candleson the projector! And I’ll have leg warmers and big scrunchies ready for them. Maybe I could convince Eli to dress like John Cusack and do a bit with a boombox.”
“I don’t think much convincing will be necessary,” Palmer said with a grin.
“That’s brilliant, Em.” Captain beamed. “You’re gonna smash it. We all are,” he added, rolling up the preference packet and playfully smacking Finn’s arm with it. “Right. Let’s get to it, shall we?”
Palmer and Captain hopped up first, chatting about where to anchor as they made their way up to the bridge. But I stayed back, waiting until they were gone to turn and face Finn.
My chest caved in when I finally let myself really look at him.
“Hey,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his forearm. “Captain’s right, okay? You’ve got this. Don’t stress.”
He swallowed, nodding, but couldn’t even manage a smile.
He couldn’t look at me, either.
Instead, he slid out of the booth, pulling away from my grasp and trudging up to the galley with his shoulders slumped like a prisoner sent to walk the plank.
“Don’t say a word when we get back to the galley,” I whispered to Bernard, both of us balancing plates and flatware in our hands.
“You mean, don’t tell Finn that our little Michelin-Star chef friend called his rustic potato soup sewage water?”
I grimaced. “Exactly that.”
It was our first dinner with our new charter guests, and while most of them were pleased, a couple were not — and those voices seemed to be the loudest. First, Marley — the dentist — wrinkled her nose and picked at the salad presented as the first course, like all the lettuce was still covered in dirt. She barely took two bites, which Finn noticed when we brought her full plate back to the galley.
And Regina, the chef, had sent hers back nearly untouched, as well.
Bernard carried her full bowl of soup back now, and I knew if Finn saw it, the night would spiral.
“Get rid of that before he sees it,” I said to Bernard, nodding to the bowl. “We can save this, but not if—”
My thought was cut short by a frustrated growl from the galley, followed by a clattering of dishes. Bernard and I shared a look before he went one way into the pantry and I ducked around him, dropping off my stack of plates to be washed before I found Finn.
He was a man unglued.
His hands splayed wide on the stainless-steel island, the muscles in his arms strained, his head hanging between his shoulders. The remaining courses stretched out in various stages of prep all around him. He breathed heavily, eyes manic as he scanned each ingredient with a tight jaw. Gisella was next to him, and she tried to touch his shoulder, to whisper something I assumed was encouraging, but he shrugged her off.
His stormy blue-green eyes caught mine only briefly before he stormed over to the stove.
“You can save your breath,” he called over his shoulder, fire lapping at the edges of the pan in his hand as he sautéed something that smelled incredible. “Gi already told me the soup was trash.”
“I didn’t say that!” Gisella let out an exasperated sigh. “And I don’t know why you’re getting all huffy atmeright now. I’m just trying to help.”
He spun in place to face her. “By telling me I shouldmaybe do a little betterwith a chef on board?”
My jaw dropped, and I pinned Gisella with a glare of disbelief. “You did not say that…”
“Oh, don’t act like you’re not thinking it, too,” Gisella shot back with a glare of her own. “I’m his girlfriend. I don’t have to tiptoe around his feelings. The dinner isn’t going well, and he deserves to know.”
“The dinner is going wonderfully for everyone except two guests,” I corrected. “Who, in all likelihood, wouldn’t be pleased no matter what we did. And besides,Iam the chief stew. I am the one whose job it is to communicate with our chef about dinner service.”
Gisella opened her mouth to argue, but I wasn’t in the mood, and I didn’t have the time.
And yes — maybe I was still just a little pissed off at her for kissing Cameron, for hurting both Leah and Finn, and for being a little brat about it.
So, I didn’t give her the chance to speak.