Page 9 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
“That’s okay, Roy. I get it. That’s the dream, right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You want to switch rooms? I have a shorter walk, but you’d have a roommate.”
I laughed. “No, thanks.”
Roy made anaw shucksmotion and we both grinned.
“Right then. Get some sleep, Marcella, and I’ll see you in the morning. Welcome aboardThemis.”
* * *
My first fullday on the job and I was up early. Roy and I worked together on breakfast, just like we had worked on dinner the night before, but after all the crew had come and gone—including Seb, who really just glared at me while grabbing a plate and going to eat in the smaller upstairs lounge—I let Roy handle cleanup on his own.
Dom and I sat down at one of the bigger tables and began an information dump. “Have you had a chance to look at the calendar for the next couple of months? It’s not super busy, but as we’ve discussed, a few big things are coming up.”
I nodded and we walked through the schedule. Next week things would really be kicking off for us with a one-week charter along the coast. Our schedule was moderate; Dom was generous, giving us time off between each event. If all went to plan, I’d have a day off in Split after the end of the charter. I couldn’t stop smiling, and Dom laughed at my excitement.
Then we’d move to Corfu, one of the larger Greek isles, and Natasha and Justin would fly in for a long weekend—a weekend I was sure was planned to test my chops and see if we were truly compatible. A few weeks after that was the regatta. Having to work on a large-scale event like this so early was intimidating, and I asked Dom about the planning.
“Justin will talk you through it when they come into Corfu. I know you have experience cooking underway, at least on a smaller sailboat, but there will be some surprises here. It’ll be a busy week for all of us with prep, execution, and cleaning.”
“What will we do as the spectator boat on the first day?”
“We’ll be out early in the morning. The Boyds have invited some of their closer friends to accompany them, plus there are course photographers and judges, and a limited number of tickets were sold to the public. We’ll have fifty guests total. The second day of the regatta, Justin and Natasha will be on their friends’ boat out on the racecourse, so you’ll have the entire day to prepare for the evening’s big event, and we’re capping the guest list at a hundred people. Passed hors d’oeuvres and buffets. You can talk to Justin about any additional staffing needs you have.”
“Good, okay.”
Dom switched gears. “What are your intentions for today?”
“I’ll be going over the preference sheets for the charter and starting the first drafts of the menu. Roy and I will be going around to the stores to pick up some of the smaller specialty items and to get the lay of the town. I’m meeting with the provisioning company this afternoon, or at least their rep here in Tivat.”
“Sounds like a full day. Do you have any questions?”
I shook my head.
“Sweet as. Then I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll see you at the upper staff lunch. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need help.” We shook hands, and Dom left the crew lounge. I stacked all my paperwork and packed up my laptop before getting up to find Roy.
The galley was spotless and empty, but on the whiteboard there was a note.
Marcella, meet you at the stern at 10. —Roy
Below that, someone else had written:
“There is no sincerer love than the love of food.” —George Bernard Shaw
I chuckled to myself. The love of food had gotten me here. In fact, it had gotten me to a lot of places. Seb aside, this job was full of promise. I couldn’t wait to get started.
* * *
Steppingout onto the deck ofThemis,I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked around for the rest of the upper crew. Roy was serving lunch to the stews and deckhands downstairs, but Dom had organized a lunch outing for the management staff. I knew that it would be beyond just a team lunch—it was everyone getting to know me.
As soon as my eyes adjusted, my heart skipped a beat. It was like going back in time: Seb stood to the side of the deck, facing away from me, hose in one hand, sudsy brush in the other; he was shirtless, his tanned skin on display in the Mediterranean sun.
It was part of his job, I knew, but he hadalwaysbeen like this onOdyssey,and it was so hard to pull my eyes away. He’d gotten me into this mess—into so many messes—did he have to rub it in, really?
“God, put a shirt on,” I muttered under my breath.
Too loudly apparently. The brush paused, and Seb turned around to glare at me. “This is my domain, not yours, Marce. You don’t get to tell me how to do my job.”
