Page 8 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
I nodded.
“Ah man, he hated that job. He’s been working so hard to rack up his sea time, you know? It’s not unlike being a chef in some ways, trying to find the right experiences on your CV to get the job you want.”
Seb wasn’t alone in hating that job. The captain, Carl, had been difficult to work for, and a little cruel. Seb and I had talked—even bonded—over the fact that our jobs were dead ends. I was supposed to be cooking grand meals for charter guests while we hopped from island to island, and Seb was supposed to be racking up sea time to acquire his captain’s license. InsteadOdysseyhad languished in Antigua, mismanaged by either Carl or the brokers who booked charter trips.
We kept up the conversation while we worked, Roy telling me about his home life in Bristol and asking me all kinds of questions about my previous work. He was easy to talk to, but he kept his eyes on his job, smiling down at his workstation and only sparing me a glance now and again.
When dinner was ready, we prepared a buffet on the island of the galley. We moved seamlessly around each other now, only occasionally having to stop when I didn’t know where something was stored. Roy made the call on the intercom, notifying the rest of the crew.
They filtered in, loud and rambunctious, so different from the other boats I’d been on.Eikwas small and tight-knit, like a family, whileOdysseyhad been uncomfortable and sparse—toward the end, we’d had only half the crew we normally would’ve kept.Themiswas going to be something completely different, like a big family getting together for the holidays. I didn’t even have my experiences back home to ground me. My family had always been small, just my parents and I, who worked themselves to the bone to keep the orchard afloat.
Roy and I stood in the galley as the yachties passed through the buffet line. The ones I hadn’t met yet introduced themselves. Everyone joked with Roy, and he was obviously well-liked. There was a smattering of inside jokes that bounced around the crew, with lighthearted teasing.
Will, one of the stews I’d met earlier, who was in charge of bar service, pointed to a dish and looked at Roy. “Vegetarian chicken?”
“Vegetarian chicken,” Roy confirmed, mirth in his eyes.
Seb passed through the line, fist-bumping Roy and giving him a wide grin and some teasing. As soon as he saw me, though, his face fell.
“Chef,” he stiffly acknowledged me.
The disdain rolled off him, and the room seemed to quiet by a few decibels. I hesitated to give a response. His “chef” was cold and impersonal, but I’d look like a tool if I called him “deckhand.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed. “Seb.”
He moved down slightly, looking over the next serving platter full of tacos.
“Marcella made those ones,” Roy said helpfully as Seb reached for the tongs.
Seb paused. Hefucking paused.
We both looked at Roy, and he grinned, far too cheeky for someone putting fuel on the fire.
My eyes met Seb’s and held for a moment before he dropped his gaze and grasped the tongs.
I relaxed—a fraction—and the noise around us picked back up again, the crew more rambunctious. Avoiding my eyes, Seb finished serving himself and climbed the stairs to the upper lounge, where most of the deckhands had gone.
“Chef.” Roy gestured me toward the buffet. He watched me pick through the remaining food, though I had plenty of choices. Yachties worked up an appetite working all day, so the crew chef always made enough for seconds or thirds. I took a little bit of everything. This would be my first taste of Roy’s work.
Of course, we had discussed my preference sheet too, and Roy’s—I’d be cooking for him on his days off. Roy picked at his food, trying not to watch me eat but too distracted to really focus.
“Good job on the chicken. It’s very tender. And I like your chimichurri sauce.”
“Thanks.” He smiled and turned more enthusiastically to his food. “Glad you like it.”
I looked around the mess hall, glad for my first day. Even with Seb around, I could see myself fitting in here. The galley was perfect, the food was good. I just hoped that my other dream—traveling and seeing the world aboardThemis—would come to fruition.
Five
“This isthe shortest way back to your room.” After dinner service, Roy led me through a doorway into the guest hallway. He tapped his fingers along the walls on either side. “Two guest cabins on each side.” We passed through the atrium again and into another cabin. “Big guest cabin here, his and hers bathrooms.” I did the math—with the cabin on the bridge deck, that meant six cabins total.
We cut through a storage room, and there we were, back in the hall outside my cabin.
“Are you getting all settled in?” Roy said as I opened my cabin door and stepped in. He leaned against the doorjamb.
“Yes, thanks. A few more things to unpack and some items to shop for, but it’s looking good.”
Roy looked around and whistled. “Someday this will be my cabin.” He looked at me and flushed. “I mean, not this one. Justacabin. A chef’s cabin. Maybe not on this boat.”
