One
There were five of them left, standing shoulder to shoulder in the garden set like a particularly glamorous police lineup. It didn’t feel glamorous to Callie Price. She kept catching the unmistakable tang of nervous farts. Was it one serial offender or a group effort that was creating the toxic cloud, she wondered. Callie herself had not dropped one. Nerves didn’t hit Callie that way. She was a teeth grinder. She was currently working her way through the last of her enamel.
‘You ready for this?’ whispered Priya, the contestant to her left.
‘Yup,’ Callie lied.
‘Jesus, I’m not. Kind of hoping I don’t get picked if I’m honest. I’m knackered.’ Priya was a former model and, despite being the competition, was someone Callie quite liked. They were pretty good at skirting around their mutual objective—the eligible male who had been deemed the big prize, Sam Grey. It helped that Priya was very outspoken about what a joke she found all this to be. Off-camera, of course.
The host’s voice rang out from somewhere behind the glare. ‘Sam has made his decision.’
A murmur rippled through the group. Callie kept her face neutral, though her stomach had been a fist for the past hour.
Sam stood at the far end of the set, immaculate in white. He looked calm, practically breezy. As well he might. He wasn’t there to be selected like a prize pig.
Callie watched him grin as the host handed him the velvet tray. On it sat the tokens of approval, silver keys, the gimmick of the show,Key to My Heart. It was an old-school reality romance competition: one guy sharing a mansion with twelve girls he whittled down week by week, rather than the partner-swapping type of show that tended to be more popular now. But the show had been going for fifteen years and, somehow, it still had enough juice for at least this season.
The last week had been a string of overly adventurous dates, the kind that required you to sign a waiver promising you’d never sue the show if you ended up quadriplegic. Callie had been sent bungee jumping. She considered herself lucky. Her only responsibility was to step off the edge and scream her lungs out. Another contestant, Cara, on the other hand, had been made to walk across hot coals. The poor woman was still complaining that her Plan Z money-making scheme of selling fetish foot pics was now probably off the table.
But somehow, the next round of tests would be worse. Callie had been telling herself she’d never get this far, and despite what winning would mean, she hoped it was true.
‘Sam! Please give three contestants the key to your heart…’ the host said solemnly.
Callie forced her eyeballs to resist the urge to roll.
Sam started down the line, calling names one by one.
‘Cara.’
‘Priya.’
Each woman stepped forward, received her key, a quick hug, and a whispered line for the cameras. Priya tried to look happy, but she didn’t fully get there.
Callie half listened, half watched the blinking red light above camera two as it came down to her and another woman, Zuza. Her thing was being the cold but sexy villain. She was quitenice off-camera. Loved knitting, always working on hats for her chihuahuas. She’d done Callie a scarf.
‘Callie.’
Callie blinked, forcing her body into motion.
Sam was giving her that same easy smile he’d worn since week two, broad and open.
Callie stepped forward. The lights made her dizzy.
Sam held out the key, the light catching on it and hitting Calie right in the left eye. ‘I wanna see where you come from,’ he said softly, just for Callie, though they both knew the mic would catch every word.
Callie took it, her fingers brushing his. Big, warm, slightly calloused, the kind of hand that looked like it could do manual labour or give a gentle shoulder massage.
‘Thank you,’ she managed.
The host clapped.
‘And cut! That’s us, everyone! Brilliant work!’
Callie turned to Zuza. ‘Sorry, mate.’
She shrugged. ‘At least I get to see the dogs.’
Neil, one of the producers, appeared at the edge of the garden set with a grin that set Callie’s teeth on edge. He mouthed, ‘Congratulations!’
