Read the first 2 chapters of Stormy Waters!
Below Deck but sapphic! Welcome aboard the Maiden Voyage, where the all-female crew navigates more than just turbulent waters. This series of novellas follows the romantic adventures of these queer women, where every charter brings new possibilities.
Chapter 1
Zoe Freeman spotted them from the aft deck as they cleared the marina gates—a moving cloud of hot pink that pulsed with chaotic energy. She squinted toward the dock and sighed, watching as the group made its way toward the Maiden Voyage with the unmistakable swagger of women who'd already been drinking despite the early hour.
"Incoming," she muttered to Rei, who was adjusting her uniform beside her as they waited in the crew lineup. "Full-scale bachelorette invasion."
Rei followed her gaze toward the approaching group, then let out a low whistle. "Jesus. They look like a flock of flamingos had a collision with a craft store."
"Five days," Zoe said under her breath, more to herself than to Rei. "Five very long days."
She'd worked enough bachelorette charters to know the drill. The bride would be demanding and emotional, riding high on pre-wedding hysteria. The bridesmaids would drink too much, cry over their own relationship drama, and require constant supervision around any water-based activities. Someone would inevitably have a meltdown about something insignificant, and by day three, half the group wouldn't be speaking to the other half.
The last bachelorette charter they'd hosted had ended with the maid of honor throwing the bride's phone overboard during a screaming match about the seating arrangements.
"This group looks like they have money," Rei observed, adjusting her tool belt. "All of them, not just the primary. Designer luggage, professional hair and makeup."
Zoe snorted. "Rich drunk women are still drunk women. It's all the same."
Captain Jordan appeared beside them. "Quiet, please," she announced to the assembled crew. "The primary is eager to take off ASAP, so Zoe, you can start with the safety briefing as soon as they've got their first drink in their hands."
Zoe straightened her uniform shirt and fell into her designated position in the crew lineup. Chef Lindsay caught her eye and grinned, her chef's whites immaculate despite having spent the morning prepping.
"They've already got drinks in their hands. The bride is clearly unsteady on her feet and—" Zoe stopped as Captain Jordan shot her a warning look that could have frozen the Caribbean.
She zipped her lips and fell into line beside Dani, who was practically vibrating with nervous energy. Despite having worked four years of regular charters, Dani still got anxious before meeting new guests, especially groups that had the potential for drama. She and the two housekeeping freelancers had spent the morning perfecting the guest cabins and arranging the welcome champagne service, polishing glasses that were already spotless, and fussing over flower arrangements.
Zoe mentally ran through the maintenance schedule for the jet skis, wondering if she'd remembered to check the oil levels in the tender engines, cataloging the weather forecast for the week ahead. Anything to avoid thinking about how exhausting the next five days were likely to be.
The group had reached the boarding plank now, and Zoe could make out individual figures within the pink mass. The bride was easy to spot—she walked slightly ahead of the others, her posture screaming look at me while she raised a travel flute.
Behind her, seven bridesmaids followed in varying degrees of pink coordination and sashes with "Team Bride" emblazoned in glittery script.
The luggage following told its own story—designer suitcases in coordinating pastels, monogrammed makeup cases, and three portable wardrobes.
"Welcome aboard the Maiden Voyage, Ms. Clarke!" Captain Jordan called out as the bride stepped onto the deck.
"Finally!" the bride exclaimed. "I was beginning to think we'd never get this party started. I'm Vanessa Clarke, and this is my weekend, so I hope you're all prepared to make it absolutely perfect."
She punctuated this declaration by draining the rest of her champagne and looking around expectantly for someone to refill it. The gesture was so brazenly entitled that Zoe had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes.
One of those brides. The kind who thought that paying for a luxury charter meant the crew existed solely to cater to her every whim, no matter how unreasonable or demanding. The kind who would send food back to the galley three times because it wasn't "exactly what I had in mind," even though she hadn't bothered to specify what she actually wanted in the first place.
"Of course, Ms. Clarke," Jordan replied smoothly, her years of diplomatic training evident in her tone. "We're absolutely delighted to have you and your party aboard. Allow me to introduce our crew—"
But Vanessa had already moved on, surveying the yacht's deck with a critical eye that suggested she was mentally cataloging everything that didn't meet her standards. "This is smaller than I expected," she announced loudly enough for the entire crew to hear. "The pictures online made it look much more spacious. And where's the champagne? I specifically requested Dom Pérignon to be waiting when we arrived. Premium Dom Pérignon."
"Right here, Ms. Clarke," Dani interjected, stepping forward with a silver tray bearing flutes of champagne. She'd clearly anticipated this exact demand and had been waiting at the ready. "Freshly opened just for your arrival."
Zoe watched Captain Jordan's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly—the only sign that the bride's rudeness was hitting its mark. After twenty years in the Navy, Jordan had dealt with her share of difficult people, but she'd always maintained that military training hadn't quite prepared her for entitled civilians with more money than manners.
The bridesmaids were a chorus of squeals as they took their flutes, and they were certainly more complimentary than the bride.
"Oh my God, Vanessa, this is amazing! Can you imagine the Instagram photos we're going to get?"
"Where's the hot tub? Please tell me there's a hot tub!"
"Of course we have a hot tub. I'll give you the full tour after the safety briefing," Zoe said. Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as she glanced at one of the bridesmaids.
Tall and willowy, with dark, shoulder-length hair, she moved with a confidence that seemed effortless rather than performative. Unlike the others, her pink outfit was understated—a simple blush-colored sundress. But it was more than just her appearance that caught Zoe's attention. There was something familiar about the way she moved, the tilt of her head, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Something that made Zoe's stomach clench.
Recognition began to creep in around the edges of her consciousness. The hair color was different—it had been lighter in high school, a shade of auburn that she'd worn long and straight. And the braces were gone, revealing a smile that belonged in a toothpaste commercial. But those green eyes, that slightly crooked nose, the way she carried herself with just a hint of swagger...
It couldn't be.
The woman was older now, obviously. Certainly way more polished, sophisticated, and accomplished. But underneath all that, Zoe could see traces of the girl she'd known fifteen years ago. The girl who had made her life hell.
"By the way, this is my sister, Stormy," Vanessa said, linking her arm through the woman's elbow possessively. "She's my maid of honor and the only person I trust to keep me from doing anything too crazy this weekend."
The woman—fuck, it really was Stormy—laughed, and the sound made Zoe nauseous. It was exactly the same laugh that had once made her want to crawl under a rock and die.
Stormy Clarke. The girl who had ruined her junior and senior years. Who had cornered her in the locker room after soccer practice and called her a dyke loud enough for half the team to hear. Who had started the rumor that Zoe was obsessed with her, turning what had been an innocent, carefully hidden crush into a source of public humiliation that had followed Zoe through the halls until graduation.
The girl who had pretended to be interested in her just long enough to get Zoe to admit her feelings, then had laughed in her face and told everyone at Jessica Morrison's party that "the lesbian has a thing for me." The girl who had made Zoe's name synonymous with mockery and shame.
Stormy fucking Clarke.
Zoe's breathing became shallow as memories flooded back. The sick feeling of walking into the cafeteria and knowing that people were talking about her. The way conversations would stop when she entered a room. The graffiti that had appeared in the girls' bathroom: "Zoe Freeman loves pussy" with a crude drawing.
"I doubt that very much," Stormy was saying to her sister. "No one can stop you from doing anything stupid, but I'll do my best."
"I'm sure everything will be fine," Captain Jordan said, clearly trying to regain control of the situation. "But if you don't mind, ladies, we'll begin with a safety briefing before we get underway—"
"Safety briefing?" Vanessa interrupted with a laugh. "Can't we skip all that boring stuff and get straight to the fun part? We can all swim, I promise. I mean, come on, we're not exactly planning to go down with the ship here."
Several of the bridesmaids giggled, and Zoe caught one of them muttering something about the Titanic that was apparently hilarious to her companions.
"I'm afraid safety briefings are mandatory," Jordan replied. "Maritime law requires that all passengers receive safety instruction before departure. But we'll make it as quick and painless as possible."
"Fine, fine," Vanessa waved her hand dismissively. "But make it snappy."
Zoe tried to focus on the captain's words, but her eyes kept drifting back to Stormy. She hadn't looked directly at Zoe yet—why would she? To her, Zoe would just be another crew member. Background noise in her luxury vacation experience.
Maybe that was for the best. Maybe Stormy wouldn't recognize her at all. Fifteen years was a long time, and people changed. Zoe certainly had.
Zoe ran a hand through her curly dark hair, grateful that it was tamed now, and that contact lenses had replaced the thick glasses she'd worn in high school. She'd filled out too, trading her teenage awkwardness for the lean muscle that came from years of physical work on boats.
Maybe she could make it through five days of professional interactions without ever having to acknowledge their shared past. Maybe she could just do her job, keep her head down, and pretend that Stormy Clarke was just another guest requiring her services.
"Our First Mate, Zoe Freeman, will be handling your safety briefing," Jordan said, shattering her hope.
Zoe stepped forward slightly and nodded to the group, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Please follow me to the main salon. It will only take—"
She stopped mid-sentence as Stormy's gaze finally landed on her. For a moment, confusion flickered across those green eyes—the same eyes that had haunted Zoe's teenage dreams and nightmares in equal measure. Then recognition dawned, slow and inexorable, and Stormy's face went completely white.
The moment stretched between them like a taut wire, fifteen years of history compressed into a single, devastating second of eye contact.
Zoe wanted to run. Wanted to tell Captain Jordan she was suddenly violently ill and needed to be replaced immediately. Anything to avoid spending the next five days in close quarters with the person who had single-handedly made her teenage years a waking nightmare.
Instead, she cleared her throat and finished her sentence with as much composure as she could muster. "—It will only take fifteen minutes."
Stormy was still staring at her, lips slightly parted in shock, but the other bridesmaids were already chattering about jet skiing and Instagram photo opportunities, oblivious to the drama unfolding between their maid of honor and the crew member.
Five days, Zoe reminded herself grimly. Just five very long days.
Chapter 2
The radio chatter crackled through Zoe's headset, marine traffic control coordinating the morning's departures from the busy Key West harbor. She scrolled through the pre-departure checklist—engine room systems green, navigation equipment online, GPS plotted with the first waypoint toward the Berry Islands. Captain Jordan's voice interrupted as she communicated with the harbormaster, requesting clearance to depart.
This was Zoe's element. The departure procedures, the precision required to maneuver sixty meters of luxury yacht through crowded marina traffic. She forced herself to focus on the technical aspects—wind direction, current drift, the positioning of fenders and dock lines. Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that Stormy fucking Clarke was sitting in the main salon not thirty feet away.
"Freeman, prepare to cast off forward spring," Jordan commanded from the bridge.
"Aye, Captain." Zoe jogged forward along the starboard side deck, checking that the dock lines were properly arranged.
She tried to push away the memory of Stormy's face when recognition had dawned in her eyes. That moment of pure shock, as if seeing Zoe had physically slapped her. Good. Maybe she'd felt even a fraction of the humiliation she'd put Zoe through all those years ago.
The engines rumbled to life beneath her feet, their twin diesels purring. She ran through her mental checklist one more time—all safety equipment secured, tender properly stowed, guests accounted for.
"Casting off bow line," she said through her walkie-talkie, releasing the heavy rope from the dock cleat and hauling it aboard.
It didn't matter that Stormy was here. It didn't matter that seeing her had transported Zoe right back to trying to disappear into her locker. That was ancient history. She was thirty-two now, successful in her career, respected by her colleagues, and completely over it.
"Spring line away," Jordan said.
Zoe cast off the aft spring line and began coiling it neatly on deck. The Maiden Voyage began to drift slowly away from the dock.
The morning sun was climbing toward what promised to be another scorching Caribbean day, the harbor waters reflecting the light in a way that made her squint despite her polarized sunglasses.
"Stern line," she called, and released the final mooring line. The Maiden Voyage was free now, dependent on Captain Jordan to navigate them through the marina traffic and out into open water.
Zoe made her way back toward the bridge, checking that all lines were properly stowed and the deck was clear of any obstacles. She climbed the stairs to the flybridge where Jordan stood at the helm. The harbor was busy this morning—fishing boats heading out for their daily catch, day charter boats loaded with tourists, and several other luxury yachts making their own escapes to the Bahamas.
"Freeman, I need you to monitor marine radio channel sixteen," Jordan said without taking her eyes off the water ahead. "There's a cargo vessel coming through the main shipping channel in about twenty minutes. I want to make sure we're well clear before they reach our position."
"Copy that, Captain." Zoe adjusted her radio and began monitoring the traffic control chatter, tracking vessel movements and positions. This was second nature to her—the complex dance of maritime traffic management, the constant awareness of other vessels' intentions and capabilities.
The intercom crackled to life. "All crew, we are now underway. ETA to first anchorage is approximately six hours."
Six hours until Zoe would have to deal with whatever chaos the bridesmaids would undoubtedly create once they realized they were trapped on a boat together for five days. Four hours of relative peace while they either nursed their hangovers or continued drinking, depending on their individual constitutions.
But even as Zoe tried to focus on the technical requirements of their departure, memories kept intruding. Flashes of high school hallways, whispered conversations that stopped when she walked by, the sick feeling of being watched and judged.
Stormy Clarke had been beautiful in high school. And Zoe had been a nobody. A scholarship kid from the wrong side of town, wearing thrift store clothes and working after-school jobs to help her family pay the bills. She'd been good at math and science, which earned her respect from teachers but mockery from her classmates. Especially the popular kids, who seemed to view academic achievement as somehow beneath them. She'd hidden her sexuality carefully, desperately aware that being different in any way would make her even more of a target.
Another memory resurfaced. Jessica Morrison's party, senior year. Stormy approaching her in the kitchen, smiling that perfect smile, asking if she wanted to go somewhere quieter to talk. Zoe's heart racing as they'd walked out to the pool area, thinking that maybe, impossibly, her secret crush wasn't as one-sided as she'd believed.
"So, you have a thing for me, huh?" Stormy had asked, still smiling. "It's kind of sweet, actually. Pathetic, but sweet."
The humiliation had been immediate and crushing. But worse was what came next—Stormy walking back into the party and announcing to a group of her friends that "the lesbian has a thing for me," then laughing as if it was the funniest joke she'd ever heard.
Zoe forced herself back to the present, checking their GPS position and confirming their course heading. Ancient history. Water under the bridge. She was a completely different person now, successful and confident.
"Course looks good, Captain," she reported to Jordan. "We're clear of harbor traffic."
Jordan nodded, her attention focused on the radar display.
"Hello? Hello? Excuse me! First Mate person!"
Zoe sighed and glanced at Captain Jordan before heading outside and looking down to see Vanessa Clarke picking her way across the deck toward the stairs. She'd changed out of her arrival outfit into a hot pink bikini.
"Go ahead," Jordan said. "I've got the bridge."
Zoe made her way down the stairs to the main deck level.
"It's Zoe," she said, forcing her voice to remain professional and pleasant. "What can I do for you, Ms. Clarke?"
"I want to use the hot tub," Vanessa announced without preamble. "Now. But it's not turned on. Why isn't it turned on? I specifically requested that everything be ready when we arrived."
Zoe glanced toward the sundeck where the Jacuzzi sat, currently filled with water but not yet heated or circulating. Of course she wanted to use it now, while they were still navigating harbor traffic and Jordan needed her attention on the bridge.
"I'll be happy to get that started for you as soon as we're clear of the harbor," she said. "For safety reasons, we don't run the hot tub systems while we're maneuvering in traffic."
It was a reasonable policy—hot tubs required electrical and filtration systems that were better activated once the yacht was in open water and all departure procedures were complete. The circulation pumps drew significant power, and the heating elements could stress the electrical system during the high-demand period of departure. But Zoe could see from Vanessa's expression that reasonable wasn't going to cut it.
"That's ridiculous," Vanessa said, her voice rising. "I'm paying for a luxury experience here, and I want to use the amenities. How long is this going to take?"
"About fifteen minutes to clear the harbor, then another few minutes to get the system running and—"
"That long?" Vanessa's eyes widened as if Zoe had just told her she'd have to swim to shore. "That's completely unacceptable. I want it running NOW!"
Zoe knew that arguing with drunk, entitled passengers was never worth the energy.
The bride continued her tirade, gesturing wildly with her champagne flute, and Zoe studied Vanessa's face for similarities to her sister. The same green eyes, though Vanessa's were harder. The same aristocratic bone structure, the same way of holding herself as if the world existed for her personal entertainment.
"I understand your frustration, Ms. Clarke. I promise I'll get it running as soon as it's safe to do so. In the meantime, perhaps you'd like to enjoy the sunshine on the aft deck? Lindsay has prepared some excellent brunch options—"
"I don't want brunch. I want the hot tub." Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her as if pure force of will could bend maritime safety protocols to her desires.
Of course Stormy's sister was a nasty piece of shit. The thought slipped through Zoe's mental defenses before she could stop it. Birds of a feather and all that. Entitled, privileged, used to getting their way through tantrums and demands.
Stormy was like that in high school too, along with her crew of friends. The girls who drove brand-new cars their parents bought them for their sixteenth birthdays, who spent spring break in Cancun while Zoe worked double shifts at the marina to help her mom with the electric bill. The girls who treated everyone else like background characters in their personal dramas.
"Let me see what I can do for you," Zoe finally said. She pressed the button on her walkie-talkie. "Captain, requesting permission to activate the hot tub systems early for our primary guest."
There was a brief pause before Jordan's voice crackled back. "Granted. Everything looks clear, so we can make an exception."
Zoe clipped the radio back to her belt and turned to Vanessa with what she hoped passed for a genuine smile. "Ms. Clarke, if you'd like to head up to the sundeck, I'll get the system running for you right away."
