We met them all when we arrived and even recognized one couple: Gloria, the woman who stopped Brooke in the street on our wedding day, and her husband, Clyde Woodhouse. Respectfully speaking, they’ve got to be pushing eighty years old, yet they’d managed to compile backstories on nearly every couple here, wasting no time in giving us a quick rundown on each team—calling their insider informationthe tea—then ranking each of us based on their expectations for our success. Apparently, a young Air Force couple they know from Sugartree are shoo-ins for the whole thing, though Mr. and Mrs. Woodhouse expect to give us all a run for our money.
Sumer Morrison doesn’t appear at all disturbed by Brooke’s and my mutterings, or those of the other contestants, as we all talk quietly amongst ourselves. She’s the consummate professional, running through her scripted lines, pausing when the director requests, and rerunning the shots from different angles.
“The couples will participate in daily challenges, personally filming their experiences while vying for a place in the finale and a shot at the grand prize without ever leaving the confines of their Tinkerbell,” she tells the cameras before they turn towards us. “Alliances will be formed. Bonds tested. And only time will tell if they’ll remainsweetheartsin the end.”
Brooke shifts closer to me as Sumer moves down the line of contestants, introducing each couple one by one. When she reaches us, Sumer’s smile brightens, an excited glimmer shifting her countenance. “And here we have our newlyweds, Owen and Brooke Jones.”
We smile and give the small waves we were instructed to, waiting on Sumer’s expected line of questioning.
“Tell our viewers how recently you were married.”
“Last week,” Brooke answers shyly, curling in even closer when I tighten my arm around her.
“Congratulations, y’all. You’re officially the newest married pair to join our show. And I must say, it’s awfully convenient timing for a marriage game show. Why now? Owen?”
“You’re right.” I glance down at my wife and kiss her forehead, silently vowing again that I’ll be honest for as long as I have her. The more I tell her the truth, the more it hopefully sticks in her stubborn but stunning brain. “It may have been convenient, but the timing was perfect. I’ve always known she was the one for me. It was just a matter of when we’d get there.”
“At your wedding, which we had the honor to attend,” Sumer tells the audience, really playing to the romance, “your dear friends mentioned you had a wedding planned for later in the year, but it sounds like you couldn’t wait another moment.”
She’s not wrong.
I answer Sumer, but I hope Brooke hears my words for what they are. “It shouldn’t have taken the show or anything else. I should have asked you a long time ago, Brooke.”
There’s quiet on set, aside from the light round ofawwsfrom Sumer and the women down the line, but the only response I care about is the woman in my arms whose lower lip is trembling as she refuses to meet my eyes.
“Well, we wish you the best, Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” She turns to the rest of the group. “And in honor of our very first newlyweds, we’re starting the competition off with a friendly round of theNewlywed Game…”
All the couples cheer.
“... right after we settle you into your new homes.”
Suite Hearts, Day 1
There’s little pomp and circumstance as they lead us to our new homes. Our trailers were chosen at random prior to filming via an official number draw.
Brooke and I are in Tink number four. It’s split length wise in a vintage-style, mint green and cream palette. If it were a VW van, it really would be the replica of Brooke’s favorite miniature. It’s picture perfect, too, with window flower boxes and what looks to be a cozy sitting area on top, offering us a bit more space. It’s also parked smack dab between the couple who were beside us earlier and another who look like they’re more prepared to live off grid—barefoot and in the woods—than to participate in a reality TV show.
But I just used that same TV show as a happy excuse to marry my best friend, so who am I to judge?
A crew member shows us to Tink Four and reiterates the rules: No member of the team can step out of the camper at any point in the duration of the game, unless the competition deems it acceptable, or they’ll be disqualified.
I think wistfully of stepping out of the camper in eight weeks with my bride on my arm and the grand prize in our pockets but am brought to reality when a giant timer begins counting down on the large screen.
“What are we in, the Hunger Games?” Brooke says, looking horrified at the timer, then panicking with a random to-do list. “I didn’t know we wouldn’t have more time. Are you sure we can do this? I should have packed more books. Maybe we should slip off our shoes. Touch the grass. Look at the sky.” She bites her lip, eyes flashing between the monitor and the tiny camper that’s meant for two and definitely only houses one bed.
I can hardly wait.
“Oh, we’re doing this.” Without preamble, I scoop her up and over my good shoulder, hardly hearing Brooke’s protests as I do something I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to do: carry Brooke—my beautiful bride—over the threshold of our home and shut the door behind us.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” she says when I put her down awkwardly in the tight space. “You could have hurt yourself.”
“Guess I got excited.”To put it mildly.“Did you have something you were waiting on?”
“I mean… no.” She stomps gently and looks around. “But, Owen, are we nuts? I mean, this is crazy, right?”
She’s been saying that a lot lately, but after years of dawdling, I feel like we’re finally on the right track.
“Oh, definitely crazy.” I hold out my hand, loving how quick she is to slip hers into it.Progress, people!“But we’re together. You and me.”
