News

Hello my lovelies,

I can't believe that it has been almost two years since I posted the author's note and the first chapter of this story. Phew... time flies... I still can't believe it.

However, I wanted to stop by to tell you a few things:

First and most important: thank you for all your lovely comments and support. I read every single one of them – and occasionally, I can't keep my fingers from writing a reply.

I was – and still am – really blown away by how enthusiastic you were about the characters. How you wanted Charlotte to leave Luke – I can only tell you how much I dreaded writing about him, but he had an important role in this story. Now, he can rot in hell. 

I hope that while reading this story no phones or other devices where harmed – because I am not going to replace them. 😜

And I think I might have dodged a revolution at some point, but I am not sure. My husband likes to tell me I am forgetting things as I am getting old (yes, he calls being in your early 30's old! 🤨) Perhaps it's the post-pregnancy brain. Who really knows?! 

So, thank you, thank you, thank you. (And I really mean it, from the bottom of my heart.) ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Well and now to the other part... You didn't think I would leave you empty handed, would you? There is a new story. The Henry in this story was a friend who turned into a best-friend and husband. He was giving Charlotte time. He was considerate, thoughtful and empathetic.

Oh, that new Henry... He is all of that and even more. Let's just say that he knows what he wants. He is definitely not afraid to flirt. And he doesn't mind to comment on his Jimmy Fallon interview - yes, that interview with his favorite cardio.

Here is a little sneak peek into one of the earlier chapters of the story, so you can make up your mind, if you want to head over to read it:

I grab my towel and sling it over my shoulder, heart still racing—not just from the workout, but from the way I've felt his eyes on me the entire time.

I tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on the reps, on my breathing, on anything other than the man behind me. But his attention has a way of settling over my skin like sunlight—warm, weightless, and completely impossible to ignore.

I make my way to the door, telling myself to keep walking, to just say nothing and move on with my day.

But then I do the exact opposite.

I glance back at him. "Why didn't you switch to the treadmill?" I ask, trying to sound casual, like I'm not even really curious. "Thought that was your cardio of choice."

His brow lifts, just a little, and I know instantly—he knows what I'm referencing.

He tilts his head with a slow smile. "Ah. That old interview," he says, voice thick with amusement. "Fallon asked what I do for cardio and I said—what was it?" He pauses like he doesn't remember, but I can see it in his face—he remembers exactly what he said. "No, I run, that's the savory answer."

Savory answer. That's the word he used. I remember it because it was so specific. Not rehearsed. But honest.

"But," he adds, stepping off the bike, his tone dropping into something far smoother, something with edges, "if I remember right, the audience understood that there's another kind of cardio I enjoy more."

I freeze. Just for a second.

Because I do remember. I remember the way he said it, the way the audience laughed and Fallon leaned in like he wanted the scoop and then realized what Henry had hinted. Henry just smiled and watched as Jimmy Fallon tried to save the situation. He let the implication hang in the air like heat lightning.

That was the first thing I thought of when I saw him for the first time on this boat—sitting on one of the couches outside the master suite, hair pushed back, shirt clinging to his chest, pretending not to notice me while I very much did.

And now here he is, standing in front of me, all casual mischief and completely aware of what he's doing.

I blink hard and try to recover, heat creeping up my neck. "There was some talk about burning calories," I mutter, aiming for unimpressed and landing somewhere closer to flustered.

His grin deepens. "Yes, that I try to burn a lot of them. And just between us, it's scientifically proven that the other form of cardio does burn more calories."

I shake my head and push open the gym door. "You're ridiculous."

He follows behind me, laughing softly. "And yet, you watched the whole interview."

"I didn't watch the whole thing," I lie, already regretting everything.

"Mmhmm," he hums, clearly delighted. "Just the important parts."

Description:

"You always this composed?" he asks lightly. "Even after cooking for nine people and pretending a galley the size of a shoebox is your kingdom?"

I let out a soft laugh. "Composed is generous. It's mostly adrenaline and an unhealthy relationship with espresso."

"I'll add that to the list of things I admire."

Ida is used to high pressure - the kind that comes from working for Alistair Chapman, self-made billionaire with a penchant for getting exactly what he wants. Food is her language, her armor, and sometimes the only thing that keeps her grounded in the chaos that is her life. So when she takes the offer to cook on board of Alistair's yacht for almost three weeks, she's not expecting to be completely knocked off balance by a ridiculously handsome, infuriatingly charming British actor.

Henry is supposed to be on vacation. No scripts, no interviews, no paparazzi. Just sea air, quiet mornings, and maybe a few pastries he won't feel guilty about. But then he meets the yacht's chef-strong, sharp, and clearly determined not to be impressed by him. The woman who cooked that dish he hasn't stopped thinking about. The one who, against all odds, might just be the most captivating part of this so-called escape.

With stolen glances in the early gym hours, sun-drenched conversations on the side deck, and meals that taste like memories, their connection begins to simmer. But is a yacht in the Mediterranean the worst place - or the only place - for something real to begin?

Lots of love ❤️