“How much more of this?” Skye groaned before allowing the makeup artist, a pink-haired woman with a nose ring, to lead her to a chaise lounge they’d dragged into the surf. On any other day, she would’ve cared greatly if her linen pants were damp, sand sticking to skin, but now, with exhaustion setting in and the nerves of the inevitable, she couldn’t care less.
“Only two more set-ups,” Marla replied, following her.
Skye clicked her tongue. “You said that three set-ups ago.”
Marla grinned. “This isThe Sapphic Match, baby.” She winked, then glanced toward the ocean, her expression softening and turning starry-eyed.
Skye followed her line of sight. And that was when she saw it. A white speck on the horizon, growing larger by the second. The catamaran.
It was actually happening.
They were arriving. There were twelve contestants who had signed up to fall in love with someone tall, someone tanned and beautiful, someone worthy of love. Instead, they were gettingher. Skye Wilder. Thirty-three and emotionally constipated. A woman who was ghosted by a Pilates instructor called Storm a mere month ago. A woman who hadn’t had a healthy, stable relationship since, well, since ever.
She raised her free hand to her hair and tried to smooth her locks. Waves lapped at her ankles. A warm breeze brushed across her cheek, and her stomach twisted itself into knots.
“Here they come,” Marla said, still gazing out at the horizon. “Are you ready?”
“No,” Skye replied flatly.
The boat was close now. Close enough to make out waving arms. Close enough for Skye’s stomach to flip over and over again until she felt sick. This was it. Showtime.
A ship full of twelve hopeful women, who all thought they were about to meet the romantic lead of their dreams. Twelve women who had probably already rehearsed funny one-liners for their introductions. Skye exhaled slowly and clutched the pineapple even tighter.
May the universe have mercy on me.
Chapter Two
Courtesy of a reality show calledThe Sapphic Match, Lucy Calder was on her way to Leilani Cove. It was a privately owned island nestled just off the coast of Maui, with about three square miles of lush rainforest, volcanic cliffs, and well-groomed beaches.
She wasn’t there to fall in love. Well, technically she was, except love, in her experience, was something that happened off camera. Love was messy, slow, and full of intimate conversations held in parking lots, bookshops, and cozy corners of sunlit porches.
It didn’t usually involve forced prompts, drone shots, or close-ups. Still, when the casting call forThe Sapphic Matchhit her inbox, she had applied. Half as a joke to tell her friend Ben, who watched the show religiously. And half because her ex had gotten engaged and was posting pictures of the momentous occasion on Instagram.
It had been a long shot. A one in a million chance of happening. In fact, Lucy had never expected to be chosen. Not even close. Especially not after the aggressive interview process, which included a series of chaotic Zoom calls, a seventy-six-item emotional availability quiz, and a request for a full-body video introducing herself wearing three different outfits. One was a bikini shot while she spun slowly in natural light.
At the time, she’d been pretty sure she’d bombed the final callback when she had said she didn’t believe in love at first sight. But apparently, according to the casting director, that was refreshing. And now, somehow, she was here. Here she was on a boatful of queer women, heading toward a tropical island wherecameras would follow her every move and she’d be forced to attempt to flirt under pressure.
The thought made her chest ache.
She wiped her palm across the back of her neck and stepped forward toward the edge of the catamaran deck. Her sunglasses were hiding the fact that she hadn’t slept for more than four hours. She blamed nerves. Or maybe the many espresso martinis from last night’s mixer. There were parts of the event she couldn’t quite remember. Black holes clouded her memory.
Lucy clamped her hands together and took a slow breath. The sun glittered on the ocean. Somewhere behind her, someone was filming a confession, something the contestants were encouraged to do with the cellphones that they were given specifically for the show. Lucy took a sip of her mimosa and kept her face neutral. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be here. She did… sort of. She was curious. Open. Maybe even hopeful. It was just that she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of a national audience.
A voice piped up beside her. “Do you think she’s hot?”
Lucy turned to see a woman with sleek blonde hair leaning against the steel railing. She was short, sun-kissed, and already a little red on the shoulders.
“I assume so,” Lucy said, catching her eye. “I mean, that’s the entire premise of the show, isn’t it?”
The woman snorted. She then stuck out her hand. “I’m Amy. I don’t think we met last night.”
They hadn’t. And even if they had, Lucy might have forgotten the entire encounter after her third espresso martini.
She shook her hand and introduced herself.
“So, are you doing anything special for your intro tonight?” Amy asked, running her ring-clad fingers through her hair. It fell across her forehead in the most effortless way. Lucytried not to stare. The woman was stunning. Just like every other woman on this boat. And in that moment, Lucy couldn’t help but feel like her odds were shrinking.
“For what?” Lucy asked, shaking herself out of it.
