First date… It feels like a dream.
“Okay,” Brooke says, pulling herself from my lap and beginning the climb upstairs. “But you’re paying, mister.”
I follow my wife upstairs, glowing with the fruits of my labor.We have a date!
When we reach the roof, it appears we’re the last to arrive, as the other couples smile knowingly at us.
Next door, Dakota lifts what I know to be his daily hot tea in salute—a morning ritual I’ve learned he never misses—and smiles like he knows a secret. “Hey, Joneses! Sounds like y’all are havin’ quite the morning.”
Brooke snorts and covers her face. I love it.
Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I bring her close, tilting her face to mine and thanking the good Lord for Dakota Remillard and his acute observational skills, because with all these onlookers and his assumptions out in the open, I’m safe to kiss my wife. So I do.
It’s just a peck, but it’s on Brooke’s lips, and I linger just to take the edge off.
“It’s been perfect,” I say against her mouth, only taking my eyes off Brooke when she bites down on a smile and looks around us shyly.
In her special brand of monotone, Haven drones from next door, “Your color vibrations are in harmony today.” Her husband clicks his tongue in the side of his cheek and pops a toothpick into his mouth.
Where is he getting these toothpicks? Did they come with our Tink, too? Or were they in his personal belongings?
“I don’t know about all that color stuff,” Mrs. Woodhouse hollers, hands planted on her hips, “but we all could hear your morning activities, and it sure sounded positive.”
“We were just wrestling, Mrs. Gloria.” Brooke looks like she wants to throw herself down our ladder.
“That’s cute,” Sadie says, nudging her husband in the ribs. “We call it that sometimes, too.”
Dakota actually giggles. The Woodhouses chuckle in the way that tells me they’ll be speculating on ourwrestling lifeat length later. And Brooke’s face is the color of Haven’scleansingjuice.
I don’t get the chance to defend my wife’s honor—although we are married, so anywrestlingwe do… if we werewrestling… would be acceptable and our business alone, thank you very much—as the producers call us to attention and quiet the set.
Sumer steps up to the podium in the center of our trailer circle and uses a megaphone to speak to the crowd of twenty. “Suite Hearts, on each of your roofs, you will find a mystery box and your first official offer of the game.”
Brooke and I make our way to the metal box with a red heart printed on the lid, likely placed there by the crew late last night using the ladder on the back of the trailer. When Brooke surprises me, linking our pinkies and giving me a little squeeze as Sumer starts talking, I honestly don’t care what offer is made. You couldn’t pay me any amount of money to leave this tiny trailer early.
“Here’s your first offer,” Sumer continues. “If you step outside of the Tink today, you will leave with a free, seven-night, all-inclusive resort vacation and ten thousand dollars. Or, you can take whatever is in the mystery box and stay in the competition for another day. You have five minutes to decide, and the clock starts now.”
The countdown begins on the jumbotron, and all the couples turn into two-person huddles.
“No deal,” I declare decisively. Todd, who’s essentially in our huddle right now with how close he and his camera are, pumps his fist in the air.
Appreciate the support, my dude.
“Owen, ten thousand dollars and a vacation? That would be huge for you. You work so hard and—”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“You don’t?” Brooke chews on her lip, but she looks up so hopeful, I want to fist pump, too.
“‘Course not. We’re in this until the end.” I squeeze her hand. “And then after, right?”
She nods. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Todd”—I twist towards our cameraman—“are you sure? Feeling good about it?”
He grins but doesn’t respond.
