Page 10 of Winging It with You

“Oh, you don’t have to pretend with us, dear,” the older of the two says. She’s middle-aged with kind eyes and a joyful smile. When she places an oddly comforting hand on my forearm, an unexpected pang rattles around my chest as I think of my own mother.

“ This is all so exciting, don’t you think?

” she says, removing her hand from my arm and waving it around the room.

My gaze shifts to her companion, who I’m assuming is her daughter, as she shakes her head, looking entirely inconvenienced by the whole situation.

She’s inherited her mother’s fresh-faced features, but instead of long, chestnut hair to frame her heart-shaped face, hers is box-dyed a black so deep it’s almost blue, with blunt bangs she’s fiddled with a dozen times already.

“I think it’s okay to be a little nervous about it all. I know I certainly am.”

Relief washes over me when I realize what sort of faking she was alluding to. “It’s very exciting, ma’am,” I say, looking down at her small hand still on my forearm.

“Goodness, look at me, just chitchatting away,” she says, shaking her head as if she’s just recalled a more urgent thought. “Where are my manners? You’re probably wondering who in the heck these charming and attractive strangers are who’ve invaded your space like a couple of nosy Nellies.”

“Really, Mom? Charming and attractive?” her daughter groans, tilting her head back against the wall in annoyance.

She can’t be older than her late teens. “I apologize for my mother—she doesn’t get out much,” she says to me, looping her arm through her mother’s.

Despite her sharp tone, it’s clear there’s a lot of love between them.

“Shush, sweetie. I’m Jennifer Hale, but please, feel free to call me Jenn.” Those drawn-out Midwestern notes cling to her every vowel. “And this snarky young lady right here is my pride and joy—my daughter and competition partner, Ellie.”

“Theo Fernandez,” I say, shaking their hands one after the other. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“Likewise, Theo Fernandez,” Jenn says, a soft smile spreading across her kind face. “Now, dear, who are you here with and why do I have to yell at them for leaving you all alone over here?”

Ellie barks out a laugh. “Have you considered the possibility that your new friend Theo wanted to be alone? I know it’s a difficult concept for you to understand, Mother.”

Jenn ignores her daughter’s quip. “Nonsense. Theo wouldn’t be standing all the way over here if he didn’t secretly want someone like us to come and talk to him. Isn’t that right, Theo?”

“You caught me,” I say, putting my hands up, which only makes Jenn’s smile widen.

“I like you,” she says, patting my shoulder. “Now seriously, are you a part of the crew or are you competing this season?”

“I’ll be competing this season with…him, actually.” Right on cue, Asher makes his way back to where we’re standing, a cocktail glass in each hand. “Jenn, Ellie, this is my boyfriend, Asher,” I say, hoping I didn’t place too much emphasis on our new romantic label.

“Hello,” he says coolly, passing me whatever much-appreciated and expertly timed drink he’s brought. As I put the flimsy cardboard straw between my teeth, the smooth bite of gin hits my taste buds. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I just got a gin and tonic. Hope that’s okay,” Asher whispers.

I wouldn’t say gin and I are enemies, but after a few questionable nights out with Mark over the years, we certainly aren’t friends. Nodding, I take another sip from the straw. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Well, don’t you two make quite the pair,” Jenn says, which sends a soft flush of pink behind Asher’s cheeks. He seems tired, indifferent even, but he smiles reluctantly at Jenn’s compliment.

Her daughter rolls her eyes. “And that’ll be enough of that ,” Ellie says, dragging her mother away by the arm. “Later, boys,” she calls over her shoulder before the two of them saunter off toward a nearby table.

Asher visibly relaxes the moment we’re alone.

“I’m just going to issue a blanket apology for whatever hell I’ve gotten you into,” he says, the small crease just above his glasses smoothing. “Do you think all this is going to be hard?”

I arch an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“The whole boyfriends thing. On television.” A flush of red creeps up his neck.

“I think it’s only going to be hard,” I say, softly tapping my index finger against his temple, “if we allow ourselves to get stuck up here.”

His eyes bore into mine now, and for the first time, I take note of the copperish flecks floating in the deep pools of green. Precioso .

“So, your plan is to just wing it?” he asks, and I can tell he hates everything about that.

“Winging it has gotten me to where I am today…”

Asher looks at me skeptically. “Traversing the globe with a complete stranger after having agreed to accompany him on a reality TV show? Hmm…Your excellent decision-making skills aren’t impressing me, mister.”

I lift my glass in his direction. “To winging it,” I toast.

“Or something like that.” Asher smiles gently, tapping his own glass against mine. “So, I’ve been thinking.”

“Is that supposed to surprise me?” I interrupt. “Because if so, you’re going to need to try harder than that.”

Asher leans against the wall. “Oh, fuck off,” he says abruptly. An attempt is made to sound authoritative or serious, but a smile tugging at each corner of his mouth gives him away. There he is.

“The sharp tongue on this one,” I murmur against the rim of my own glass.

I watch as Asher retrieves a small notebook from his back pocket, setting his drink down on a nearby high-top table. “It’s probably best if we get to know each other a bit better,” he says, opening the notepad and tapping his finger against the page.

“You have…a list? A written list of questions?” Of course he does. “When did you have the time to do this?”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Lay ’em on me,” I say, crossing my arms.

Asher gives his list a once-over. “What is your favorite day of the week?”

“Sunday.”

I watch as he scribbles down my answer in the margin of his notepad. Nerd.

“ Why?” he asks, an eyebrow cocked.

“Because it’s the one day I give myself permission to not feel guilty for doing absolutely nothing.”

He smiles. “I like that…Okay, next question. Chunky or creamy peanut butter?”

My answer is typically divisive. “Chunky,” I say quietly.

“Get out.”

I literally laugh out loud. “What?” He looks at me like I just stole money from the elderly or said I don’t believe in climate change. Which, of course, I do.

“I’m serious. That’s heinous, Theo.” But he’s smiling again, and I think I like Asher a whole lot more when he smiles. He takes his time jotting down some remark next to his peanut butter question—something character-damaging, I’m sure—then continues his line of questioning.

“Where are you from?” he asks, angling his body in my direction.

“Just outside Madison, Wisconsin. We grew up on a lake.”

He smiles and I’m curious to know why. “Do you have siblings?”

“I have an older sister, Elise. She and her husband, Stefan, have been together for what feels like forever, so I’ve always considered him to be like a brother too.

Elise just opened her own pediatric clinic in our hometown and Stefan is a chef.

Their schedules couldn’t be more opposite, but they make it work for their kids.

” I can’t help but smile when my niece’s and nephew’s faces pop up in my mind. “I’m rambling, I’m sorry!”

Asher just smiles, jotting down another note, Guncle , and underlining it. “And your parents? What do they do?”

I haven’t been this intensely interrogated in a while. “My mom’s a schoolteacher and my dad is a carpenter.”

The familiar smell of sawdust and pine floats to the surface of my memory, sending a wave of nostalgia straight to my core. Summers and weekends spent side by side with my father in his woodshed as he crafted pieces of furniture from nothing, conveying each step of the process as he went.

My mother would bring us horchata when the weather was nice and then take her usual spot reading or knitting on the dock my father built.

“And how are they going to feel about you gallivanting around the world with some boyfriend they’ve never met? Won’t they be confused?”

“Oh, I don’t see it being a problem.”

Which isn’t a lie. It’s playing by the unspoken rules my family has seemingly agreed to.

Don’t talk about it. Don’t shake things up. Be the old Theo they all know and love.

He quietly raises an eyebrow at the ambiguity I know is lingering behind my words.

“Seriously, my parents aren’t the ask-about-your-boyfriend type,” I say when I can’t bear the silence any longer. “They don’t ask about my love life and I don’t volunteer the information.” Not that there’s anything to discuss anyway. “It works just fine for everyone.”

Asher is a perceptive man, or at least I believe him to be, because he changes the subject without a second thought. “What musician would people be surprised to learn you have downloaded on your phone?”

“Too easy,” I say, relieved to be wading back into shallower waters. “Ashley Tisdale.”

He cocks his head at the immediacy of my response.

“Okay, wait,” he says, leaning forward. “Are we talking High School Musical Ashley Tisdale? Or…”

“All of it,” I say, unlocking my phone and opening my music library before passing it over to Asher. “The Tis must be protected at all costs.”

I watch with zero shame as he scrolls through my extensive collection of certified bops. I like what I like.

“Alright then, someone’s clearly a fan,” he teases, handing my phone back to me.

“What can I say, I’m a man of exceptional taste.”

“I can see that,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip. “Moving on from Disney starlets, if that’s okay with you?

“I’ll allow it.”

Asher shakes his head. “When you were growing up, did you have to have your bedroom door open or closed?”