“Ready?” he whispers.
I nod, though my pulse is thundering.
Tina unrolls a scroll (a scroll—seriously?) with excruciating slowness.
“In last place… with a peak of only sixty-five beats per minute… we haveThe Perfectionists!”
A collectiveoooohrises from the camera crew and staff.
Brenda stiffens in her heart-patterned sweater. Steve looks fatally offended.
“Steve, sweetheart,” Tina says, utterly merciless as she hands them their marshmallow. “Were you even alive, or were you mentally doing your taxes? Brenda, next time maybe don’t talk about retirement plans during foreplay.”
Brenda grabs the marshmallow with a tight, murderous smile—the kind that promises a full marital meltdown the second the cameras turn off.
Tina returns to the list.
“Moving up a spot. In eighth place… with seventy beats per minute… Tiffany and Brent!”
A glorious wave of vindictive joy washes through me.
I squeeze Cohen’s hand, and he lets out a low chuckle beside me.
Tiffany approaches the stage like she’s walking to the guillotine. Her white fur coat has somehow lost all its shine. She shoots me a poisonous look, but I flash her my brightest, sweetest smile.
“Lukewarm, kids. Very lukewarm,” Tina declares, handing over their consolation marshmallow.
The ranking continues.
Seventh place: Chad and Kiki.
Tina casually informs them that Chad’s heart rate jumped more for his own reflection in the monitor than for his girlfriend.
She’s not holding back—Tina is thriving in this reality-show role.
Sixth place goes to Bernie and Esther.
The crowd bursts into warm applause as the eighty-somethings collect their marshmallow, Esther smacking Bernie upside the head for “getting too worked up.”
Fifth place: Roxanne and Dave, who are already fighting over who technically raised whose average.
And then there are four couples left.
Us.
Joe and Sarah.
Silas and Daisy.
Lucy and Lars.
The tension thickens; even the cold seems sharper.
“Fourth place!” Tina announces. “With one-twenty-five beats… Silas and Daisy!”
Daisy squeals and hops toward Tina, nearly tripping over the mic cable. Silas follows with his hands in his pockets, shaking his head—but when Daisy nearly smacks him in the face with the marshmallow in her excitement, he smiles. A real one. Tired, but soft.
“Doctor,” Tina winks, “did your heart spike to save her or to kiss her? We adore the mystery!”
