“Okay. I’ll try,” I say, moving my eyes to Amara.
She gives me an appreciative, if a little surprised, nod. “I was certain you’d back out,” she chirps, looking between us. “Grant goes first. Then he hands you the spoon. Same spoon, same egg.”
Grant doesn’t waste time. Shooting me one last smirk, he blindfolds himself and takes the spoon in his mouth. Unlike Colt, he’s not graceful. Every few steps, there’s a wobble, an almost disaster, but he reaches the end quickly and spins on one leg, starting back. My dread intensifies the closer he comes, inevitably bringing my turn with him.
The moment he hops down onto the deck, he thrusts the spoon toward me. “See? Easy peasy,” he says, the challenge evident in his voice. “Make me proud, pumpkin.”
“Call mepumpkinagain and I’ll shove this egg so far down your throat it’ll tickle your intestines.”
Amara lets out a half-gasp, half-chuckle and Grant grins, pretending to lock his mouth and throw away the key.
Colt’s still with my father, Amara’s instructions are clear: stay with your team until the end of the task. I’m not sure how this stops any foul play, since there’s no way to cheat, but no one disobeys, eager to please the bride-to-be.
Taking a deep breath, I let Amara tie the blindfold. It’s thick and doesn’t let in much light. Maybe that’s for the best. They say looking down is the worst thing you can do when you’re afraid of heights.
At least now I can’t see anything.
Slowly, I pop the spoon in my mouth, chantingit’ll be over in one minuteon repeat in my head. With a deep breath, I let Grant help me onto the board and, using the band-aid method, I quickly take a step forward.
The faster I walk, the sooner it’ll be over and the better the chance we’ll win. Too bad one shaky step is all I manage.
The blindfold doesn’t help.
It makes things worse because my imagination compensates for it tenfold. My heart races like a frightened horse, vertigo hits, and my legs feel like lead. I’m shaking so hard that the spoon slips from my mouth to clatter away under my feet. Two seconds later there’s a soft splash below. Probably the egg.
My stomach churns so hard I feel sick. I know one step back is all I need to take, but I’m frozen, paralyzed. Panic grips me, a tight band around my chest and I’m hyperventilating.
“Get me down,” I squeal, the board beneath my feet shaking with me. “Please. I can’t... I can’t move.”
“Trust you to overreact,” Grant huffs behind me. His big hand cuffs my wrist and he helps me down, taking little care to make sure I keep up with his moves. Yanking the blindfold off me, his narrowed eyes bore into mine and his grip tightens. “You’re fine. Chill out. It’s not even that high.”
“Hands off,” Colt growls, his voice dripping with anger as he materializes behind Grant.
“We’re just talking, man. She panicked, so—”
“Panicked?” Colt echoes, stepping around Grant to get to me, his eyes searching mine like he can read my mind if he tries hard enough. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s too high,” I mutter, my tense body slowly relaxing. “I’m not good with heights.”
Grant scoffs beside us. “I thought you’d been dating a while... I’d have thought your many fears would be something Colt’s familiar with by now. Didn’t youflytoMiami?”
There’s an edge to his voice. A challenge of sorts, like he’s not buying our relationship. Like he suspects we’re leading everyone by the nose. Or it’s just me reading too much into it, freaking out that we’ll get discovered.
Conor’s words come back to me like an echo.
“Only you know the truth, and you might end up overcompensating, making a show, so no one doubts you. Don’t do that.”
I close my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. I’m overthinking. That’s all. I’m doing something wrong, and I’m scared it’ll blow up in my face.
“He knows I don’t like flying,” I say, grasping Colt’s hand and squeezing his fingers. “But heights isn’t the same thing... I mean, it’s not like I hand out a list of my phobias to everyone I meet.”
“You should. You’re afraid of your own shadow, Addie,” my mother cuts in, standing nearby. “Grant’s right, though. It’s rather odd Colt doesn’t know such a basic thing about you. First your allergy, now this... seems you two don’t talk much.”
I grit my teeth, choosing not to argue. Instead, I look over to Amara and her notepad. “Who won?”
TWENTY-TWO
Colt
