Below Deck Ch. 03

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Author’s note: I sincerely appreciate those that have left their comments and words of encouragement. I look forward to posting more chapters of this story and genuinely hope you enjoy reading them.

-Greta

I look around, confused about where I am for a moment. I glance down and realize that I’m still in yesterday’s dress. Classy.

I lay in the silence for a few minutes, thankful that I took the only cabin without a bunkmate; There’s an uneven number of crew members as the captain has her own master cabin down the hall.

After a shower, I change into my uniform — black slacks and a white short-sleeved blouse, adorned with epaulettes — or shoulder pieces which each of us wears that signify our individual rank.

I pull my creamy blonde hair back into a high ponytail with a quick glance in the mirror and head out of the cabin.

I make my way into the galley, where I find James, our chef. “Morning, sunshine!” he greets me cheerily in his Liverpool accent. “There are eggs and toast in the crew mess if you’re hungry.”

“Morning, James. Thanks, but I’m not really a breakfast person,” I smile as I shake my head.

He leans in. “Just between you and me — I’m not either, hey,” he says with a wink.

“Anyway, here’s Captain Kathryn’s coffee and toast. You’ll be bringing it up to her in the Bridge every morning.”

My mouth goes dry. The thought of having a reason to be within a foot of her on a daily basis makes my stomach do a flop again.

“Oh really?” I question. “The captains I’ve worked with in the past always came down and collected their own breakfasts …” I trail off.

“She requested for you to bring it up to her. Says she’s too busy to leave the Bridge first thing in the morning,” he shrugs.

That’s … plausible, I guess.

I take the mug and plate and climb the long staircase up to the Bridge. For the first time, I’m realizing how isolated it really is.

I knock.

“Yes?” I hear as the butterflies intensify.

I open the door and stand in the doorway.

I see the large leather captain’s chair at the front of the room slowly spin around.

“Lucca … Hi.” She gets up but just stands there, looking me over.

Her dark hair is once again pulled back into a severe bun, and I see her for the first time in uniform – which is no different than the one I’m wearing, except with different markings on her epaulettes. Yet somehow, she looks completely dissimilar. Even though I must have seen upwards of two hundred crew members in this exact uniform on an almost daily basis in my past six years on boats, she’s the only person I’ve ever come across who looked like she just tumbled out of a yachtwear catalogue. How did she possess the ability to make such a plain uniform look so tantalizing?

“You look nice in your epaulettes,” she says softly as she finally meets my eyes.

“I have your breakfast, Captain,” I state the obvious as I ignore her question for fear of blushing.

Finally, she walks over to me and takes the mug in one hand and the plate in the other. She sets them down on the table next to us before turning back to me and asks, “How’s the interior looking this morning?”

As she poses the question, her eyes come to rest on my neck. She reaches out with both hands and tugs gently on the chain holding my small silver anchor pendant. As her slender fingers graze my neck, I freeze at her touch, trying to register the nature of it.

It only takes a moment before I realize that she’s adjusting the chain so that the clasp is sitting at the back and not at the front, where it had been.

Was she moving unnecessarily slowly, or was that just my imagination?

I realize that I’d been silent all this time and order my mind to focus back on her inquiry.

“The guest cabins are being worked on and I’ll be moving forward with inventory. The Stews seem like a great pair of girls.”

She now has one hand under her chin and is supporting that arm with her other one, as she tilts her head to the side, slightly.

“And you think you’ll be able to handle them?”

The question catches me off guard.

“Yes … of course,” I respond inquisitively.

She’s silent for a moment. She continues looking back at me, maintaining the same pose.

Now dropping her arms to her sides, she comments, “Glad to hear it. Because Chief Stew is a role that requires leadership and is one which demands total amenableness from those under you…” she trails off.

“So … then I guess that amenableness will apply to you as well?” I can’t help but retort facetiously with an innocent smile. I’ve purposefully just committed a double-entendre and am slightly surprised by my own audaciousness. But if she’s not gay, she won’t catch it, I reason.

Kathryn is silent for a moment as she flicks her tongue over her lips. My eyes are drawn to them. I hadn’t realized before how plump they were, as up until this moment I’d been too engrossed with her eyes. I feel myself wishing that it beylikdüzü escort was my tongue brushing her lips instead of her own. Stop it.

Not breaking eye contact, she retorts, barely audible, “And what would give you the impression that I’d ever be under you, in any capacity?” with a slightly raised eyebrow.

I inhale sharply. It certainly sounded like she understood the double-entendre … and threw it right back to me.

A second later and I’m second guessing what I had just heard. Did she simply think that I was misunderstanding the yacht hierarchy? Oh god, I hope that’s not it.

This woman was impossible to read.

Horrified at the possibility of having offended her rank, I backtrack.

“Yes, the girls seem to respect my rank and they understand what they’re here for.”

Silence again.

Then, an amused smile. The dimple is back, and it feels like a year since I’d last seen it instead of only a day.

Kathryn moves over to the table on our right and sits down. She grabs her coffee mug and raises it.

She stares straight ahead. Just before taking a sip, she murmurs, “Likewise, acquiescence from those under me will be chief,” as she brings the mug to her lips.

My heart is in my throat now. She just did it again.

Did … did she really just reuse the double-entendre and reference me via my title?

After placing the mug back down, she says casually without looking at me, “See you at dinner tonight,” and begins flipping through the paperwork in front of her.

I just mutter a quick “See you later,” exit the Bridge and close the door behind me.

I stand there on the other side for a moment, my heart racing.

Am I hallucinating? But … Kathryn’s carefully crafted remarks couldn’t have had just the one meaning. Right? Right?

The level of her wit was astounding, and much to my surprise – unbelievably sexy.

As I proceed down the stairs, I can feel just how turned on I am, and my soaked underwear confirms it. I head down the hall to my cabin in a daze as I process our interaction. I had never been this wet from someone that hadn’t even touched me. Or, barely touched me.

The thought of seeing her this evening renews my butterflies.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

The day flies by uneventfully as the crew begins to fall into routine. Cabins are finished, the outside of the boat is washed and detailed, and provisions are onboarded and organized in preparation for the guests’ arrival.

As I’m getting changed for our dinner off the boat, I hear a knock at my door. “Come in,” I respond indifferently.

In bounces Quinn donning a purple tube top and a long flowy white beach skirt.

“All ready for tonight?” She smiles excitedly as she leans against the doorframe.

“Just about,” I reply as I readjust my bra and pull on a blue long-sleeved blouse. My skinny black slacks feel snug as I walk awkwardly over to the dresser to pull on a silver bangle.

“New trousers?” Quinn laughs as she watches me. “I hate breaking in new trousers.”

“First time wearing them,” I affirm as I check my hair in the mirror. I’ve decided to wear it down tonight, and it falls in long golden layers just below my shoulders.

She watches me for a moment. “Your hair is so gorgeous. I wish mine would have just made up its mind — either make me a blonde or make me a redhead … but instead it chooses to have an identity crisis with whatever color this is,” she says as she flips her hair.

I just smile as I remind her how unique the color is, and she beams at the compliment.

We head up from below deck and find the rest of the crew gathering in the Main Salon.

“Everyone here?” I ask as I start to survey the room.

“No. We’re just waiting on Captain,” Peter, one of the deckhands, answers.

“No, you’re not. I’m here,” I hear Kathryn say from behind me as she glides into the salon.

I turn around and gasp to myself. The combination of her form-fitting black dress and her dark hair falling loosely in waves around her shoulders takes my breath away. At this moment I can’t decide if she looks sexier in her uniform or in her stylish choice of civilian outfits. It dawns on me that this woman could even make a potato sack look like it was ready for Vogue.

“Who’s hungry?”

A chorus of “I’m starving” and “I could eat a horse” goes around the room as we all file out onto the aft deck and off the boat.

Kathryn stands at the railing, allowing everyone to disembark before her. I’m the last to do so as she flashes me her dimpled smile while placing her hand on the small of my back, ushering me towards the passerelle before following. Her light touch sends an electric charge through my body, and I find myself yearning for more of it.

The restaurant that we’ve reserved is a ten-minute walk and we settle into a collective pace, pairing off to chat with whoever is closest to us.

I strike up a conversation with Willa, asking if she’s ever had French cuisine before.

I can’t help but only-half avcılar escort listen to her response as I watch Kathryn move slightly in front and to the right of us and begin chatting with the chef. Even in the dim light, I’m able to study her better now without the distraction of her gaze. For the first time, I realize that she must be quite a bit older than my thirty-three years; My guess would be early forties. No older, I think to myself. Her flawless, makeup-free skin lends a youthful appearance, but it is only from this angle that I notice the laugh lines around her eyes which tell a slightly different story.

“Chief?” I hear Willa say.

“Sorry?” I turn my attention back to her as I wonder how long I had been staring at Kathryn.

“I said, in your experience, what would you consider a safe dish to try that’s not seafood?”

“Oh, right. The boeuf bourguignon is always a safe bet as there’s not much to it. Or the chicken confit. Plenty of good options if your palate is on the simpler side,” I reply quickly, hoping she didn’t notice that I hadn’t been listening.

“Good to know,” Willa says shyly as I link her arm in mine. “Stick with me, kid. You’ll be fine,” I smile down at her as we near the restaurant.

The Maître D leads us to our table, and I feel myself get nervous. I desperately want to sit next to Kathryn, but don’t want to be obvious about it, either.

Or is sitting next to her in and of itself too obvious? I question myself. I decide it’s better not to, at the risk of exposing the massive crush that I so clearly had on this woman.

I take a seat at the very end of one long side of the table, with Quinn on my right. This feels safe.

Kathryn then proceeds to sit down on my left, which is at the head of the table.

Of course the captain’s going to sit down at the head. What was I thinking?

Our hands, now resting on the table, are inches apart. I’m able to get a good look at her long, elegant fingers. Her nails are short and perfectly manicured without polish.

I’m suddenly lost in the image of those fingers unbuttoning my epaulettes, gliding over my body until they slip down into my panties and pump slowly in and out of me.

What the hell is wrong with you?

I will myself back into reality and realize that the waiter has already started going around taking drink orders.

I hear Kathryn say, “I’ll take a Manhattan, thank you.”

Of course she will. Somehow, her drink order suits her.

A little while later, food orders are placed, and the crew are all hashing out the day’s mishaps amongst themselves.

I’m just listening intently, suddenly too shy to say anything to Kathryn on the other side of me.

I can feel her looking at me before I hear her speak.

“You must be the only woman on the planet to have ever ordered a Californian wine while sitting in a restaurant in the middle of France,” she laughs as she makes the observation.

“I guess it reminds me of home,” I answer sheepishly.

“But you’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Let’s see if we can’t help you encounter some new things.” I think I catch a twinkle in her eye.

Dinner pushes onward and it’s not much later that plates are being cleared and people are stretching in their seats.

“Who wants to do shots at the bar?” Bobby asks excitedly, lulling everyone from their food-induced sedation.

Most of the crew agrees as Quinn drags Willa towards the back of the restaurant with the rest of the group.

Both Kathryn and I stay behind. We look at one another, briefly surprised to see the other person remaining.

“Not a shot girl?” She asks curiously.

Already feeling my three glasses of wine, I reply, “In my past experience I’ve come to the conclusion that liquor doesn’t mix well with wine. Come to think of it, liquor by itself doesn’t mix well with me.”

She chuckles.

“And no shots for you?”

“I’m the captain.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean — “

“I’m the captain,” she repeats, clearly expecting this answer to suffice.

It’s only now that I glance down at her drink. I suddenly recall that she had only ever ordered one, and that it’s still half-full. Strange.

She lifts an arm around the back of her chair and turns towards me, making herself comfortable.

“So, my little Chief Stew. Tell me what I need to know about Lucca.”

My mouth goes dry. Hearing what sounds like a term of endearment disorients me.

As I continue to try to find the right words, she speaks again.

“Is there a lonely boy waiting for you back on land?”

The image clears my mind and makes me giggle out loud. “Most definitely not.”

This response elicits a raised eyebrow. “Oh, no? You strike me as quite the heartbreaker.”

I laugh again. “I don’t know about that. My ex-girlfriend and I have been broken up for almost two years now. She gave me the ultimatum of switching to a career on land or ending the relationship. I chose yachting, because this is where my heart lies.”

I’m looking esenyurt escort back at her, only now just realizing that I’ve all but told her I’m gay.

“I see,” is all she responds. She’s quiet for a moment, looking back at me intently.

She breaks the silence. “It’s a tough life for those left behind. No two ways about it.” She pauses. “The sea can be a cruel mistress: You can love her; you can hate her – but it can be impossible to leave her.”

I nod as I take in her words. Her perceptiveness is impressive, and I can’t help but wonder if she had meant that in more ways than one.

I’m dying to ask her about her own love life but decide against it as my superior. Instead, I opt for a safer route.

“Do you have any children?”

Little smile. “No. No kids for me.”

“That’s too bad. Just didn’t meet the right guy, or…?” I instantly kick myself for crossing the line that I hadn’t intended to cross.

Still holding the smile, she replies, “Kids just wouldn’t fit into my lifestyle,” cleverly sidestepping my question. Damn.

“I was never a child person, myself. I always preferred being around adults,” I say, attempting to steer the conversation away from making it seem like I’m prying.

“Mmm,” Kathryn mutters in response. “Yet the irony is that you’re now a mother hen, of sorts; I imagine that being a Chief Stew must feel a lot like that, or at least when it comes to your Stews and how young they tend to be.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong. Being Chief meant that my days were mostly spent dictating, supervising, guiding, advising, encouraging, and correcting.

Kathryn continues. “It’s a position that I hold in very high-esteem, actually. In the short time you’ve been here I can already see how qualified you are. How knowledgeable you are. How much your crew already respects you. That’s certainly something that earns my respect, and I can tell you — it’s not something that’s earned very easily.”

Her eyes are piercing into me now, and I feel my cheeks go red at the compliment. She seems to enjoy it as she tucks some of her hair behind one ear.

Changing the subject, I ask, “How did you get into being a captain? How long have you been doing this?”

Her face is serious now as she elaborates. “I’ve been a captain of these large vessels for eleven years. I started out on fishing boats as a deckhand before eventually becoming a captain there. At some point I decided to go the little bit more refined route and retrained on yachts.”

Her answer surprises me. Kathryn is so elegant, so polished; The last thing I could picture her being was a deckhand on some fishing trawler, her slender frame overtaken by a pair of oversized rubber waders.

She must have noted the surprise on my face because she explains, “I’m not always as genteel as I appear to be in uniform,” with a wink.

My breath catches at her remark as I find my mind begin to picture her out of her uniform — out of everything.

Before I let it get too far, I say, “Well aren’t you just full of surprises.”

At that, Kathryn leans in. “You have no idea.” Her eyes feel like they’re penetrating into my soul now as our faces are just inches apart.

Out of nowhere, there’s a loud whooping from behind us and the crew is back at the table.

“Shall we call it a night then?” She says as she breaks eye contact and pushes her chair back, standing up.

Kathryn and I are the last to leave the table and exit the restaurant. We bring up the rear as the crew slowly ambles the half mile back towards the dock.

“Thanks for sharing a little bit about yourself tonight, Captain,” I say to her as we walk.

“And same to you, Lucca. I enjoyed getting a little insight into the woman behind the name, especially since you really won’t be seeing me much. Other than for our charter guest briefings, of course.”

“I won’t be seeing you?”

I can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth, despite knowing that outside of guest briefings, there’s no real reason that I would be seeing Kathryn. This is far from abnormal — other than the routine dinner with the captain at the beginning and very end of the season, s/he is not someone that typically fraternizes with the crew. I was never really sure why; I only knew that this was the way it had always been.

Kathryn is studying me now as we continue walking. I’m looking straight ahead, in a feeble attempt at recouping any last bit of remaining dignity.

“Do you want to see me?”

Her question makes my heart skip a beat. How do I respond in a way that lets her know how much I desperately want to spend more time with her, yet not appear excessively needy?

My mind is still searching for the right response when I feel an arm thrown roughly around my shoulders, and it takes me by surprise. Lost in our short-lived conversation, I hadn’t even noticed that Quinn had stood back and was waiting for me to catch up to her. Great timing.

“Hiya, Chief. Good night tonight? Mine was lovely.” She gives me a mischievous smile before continuing. “I met this cute Irish lad over at the bar when we were doing shots. He’s here on holiday. We pashed for like ten minutes straight, and I got his number,” she giggles.

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