Page 16 of Winging It with You

Theo

Three miles off the coast of Buenos Aires

Buenos Aires, Argentina

“Can we get an extra life jacket over here?” Jo yells into her headset.

Once Arthur successfully parked and managed to drop us off at the marina, we were quickly ushered across a large dock built into the island’s peninsula.

We climbed the set of stairs leading up to an expansive boat deck, where several of the other teams had already begun getting into position, and followed Jo to our spot.

“An adult extra-large should be fine,” she barks after taking another glance at me.

How humbling. Jo shrugs innocently when she realizes I’ve been hanging on her every word.

Ellie catches my eye through all the commotion and gives a small wave, rolling her eyes at everyone running around with filming about to begin.

Asher and I are sandwiched between the Army pals and the newlyweds, both of whom appear to be squabbling like old couples.

“Here,” Jo says, pushing the life jacket she’s been holding into Asher.

He looks at it like it’s venomous. “Must I?” But she ignores him and he does as he’s told, quickly securing the offensive flotation device around his tall body and fastening the clasps one by one.

A PA runs across the deck toward us with another life vest in tow, which Jo quickly rips from his grip and tosses at me.

“Okay, listen up,” she says, pulling her tablet out of her bag.

“I can guarantee that neither of you is going to be too pleased about today’s challenge.

” Before either Asher or I has a chance to react, she preemptively cuts us off.

“I don’t want to hear it. After the whole ice cream fiasco, I need you two to give a little bit more than this , okay? ” she says, gesturing at us.

I glance at Asher, who’s now fiddling with the straps of his life preserver while I fasten mine. He’s pale. Paler than normal, which is saying something. The boat then lurches forward, and I wonder if he has an issue with motion sickness.

“When you say this…” I ask, turning my attention back to Jo.

“Guys, seriously,” she says, folding her arms. “I’ve had dental procedures with more convincing chemistry.” A laugh catches in my throat, but when I look at Asher, I see he’s shoved his hands deep in his pockets, either uncomfortable or annoyed.

Or both.

“You two assured me that when the cameras were rolling, you’d sell one hell of a love story. It’s time to pay up,” Jo says. “I’m looking at you, Asher Bennett.”

His head snaps up when Jo singles him out.

“If there’s any part of you that wants to make it to the finale, you’re going to need to try a little harder. Understood?”

Asher nods, his cheeks reddening at the public callout, and I fight the urge to say, Yes ma’am. The snap behind Jo’s tone makes me stand up a little straighter, and the others have stopped to observe the two grown men who just got scolded by their stage mother.

“Go easy on them, Jo,” chimes in Arthur, who, unlike his counterpart, is all smiles this morning.

He tinkers some more with his portable sound equipment.

“I’ve got you boys hooked up with a nice little waterproof camera on your boat.

I mounted it myself. Hated doing it, though,” he says, his lips pulling into a thin line.

“It’s the first time it’s being used so do me a solid and don’t break it. ”

Out of nowhere, Dalton comes careening through the chaos of crew members finalizing whatever shot they’d been setting up. “Alright, people, let’s get this over with,” he calls out impatiently.

Jo steps between us and places a hand on each of our shoulders. “Do not let me down.”

I’m not usually one to feel the pressure of others’ expectations, but as Jo backs away, her eyes shoot daggers at Asher and me, and I immediately have the urge to make her proud.

Zoom in on Dalton.

The show’s intro music fills the open air from the speakers along the boat’s perimeter and Dalton takes his mark in the center of it all.

We’re rolling in three…two…

I watch Dalton’s face transform. From one second to the next, he’s changed the annoyed grimace for which only Asher could give him a run for his money into the dazzling and charming face of a master of ceremonies.

“Good morning and welcome to yet another exciting episode of The Epic Trek ,” he says.

The main camera operator sidesteps around him, panning to ensure the expansive ocean paints the perfect backdrop.

“I’m your host, Dalton McKnight, and tonight, we are surrounded by hundreds of miles of ocean as our contestants face their next challenge. ”

Hundreds feels like a stretch considering we were only moving for about fifteen minutes, but okay.

“In just a few moments, each of our teams will be dropped off on their own sailboats that have been anchored off the Puerto de Buenos Aires. Using whatever is available to them, and with the help of some basic instructions, they’ll work together to assemble their sails, navigating their way back to our starting point in La Boca. ”

I sling an arm around Asher’s shoulder and lean in close. “We got this in the bag.”

Doubt takes center stage on his face as he mouths, The bag? at me but remains quiet, allowing Dalton to continue his monologue.

“Remember, while both speed and accuracy are important in all our challenges, no one on The Epic Trek is ever fully safe,” he says, turning his attention from the camera to us.

“Our loyal viewers at home will help decide which teams advance to our next challenge”—I keep forgetting that this isn’t just a race and that the votes from the viewers are taken into consideration—“ and who will be sent home.”

The camera operator swings wide, panning to us at Dalton’s cue as we stand lined up alongside the other contestants.

Jo not-so-subtly signals our attention and mouths, Chemistry , her facial expressions extra dramatic from beyond the view of the operator.

I remember to smile and inch a breath closer to Asher.

His hand brushes mine, soft and hesitant, but it’s the first time he doesn’t jump out of his skin at my touch.

In fact, it feels like he’s purposely keeping his hand in place as the camera’s lens lands directly on us.

His fingers lace through mine for the first time, the slightest tremble behind his touch, and when I look down at the simple gesture and then back up to his waiting gaze, he just shrugs like the act means both nothing and everything.

A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, one that spreads as if it’s deciding in real time whether it wants to reveal itself.

But when it does? I’m thankful the cameras have found a new subject, because no one needs to watch me forget how to breathe in high definition.

All this receives an enthusiastic double thumbs-up from Jo.

Dalton wraps up his spiel, and we continue toward our respective boats.

But all I can think about is how it feels to have Asher’s hand in mine.

The firmness of his grip and the way I can feel the severity of his nerves.

I find myself thinking of something reassuring to say, something that will remind him that we’re in this together or that he can count on me.

But the moment passes as production begins dropping each team one by one onto much smaller boats.

Of course, we’re last.

“Remember,” Jo calls after us as we climb down the rickety rope ladder to our own boat. “We need chemis…”

But the sound of the waves slapping against the boat’s hull drown her out.

We step down onto the wood of the small sailboat and bob up and down in the chop of the rough water.

Jo and the crew get farther and farther away from us, becoming pinpoints where the sky meets the sea.

Nostalgia washes over me as my so-called sea legs adjust to the unnatural movement of the boat.

I haven’t been on a sailboat like this in years—not since my sister and I would spend nearly every waking hour on the lake on the old Sunfish my father surprised us with when I was in middle school.

Elise and I would take turns piloting the boat around the lake, jumping off the deck into the water to cool off when the Wisconsin sun became too unbearable.

Asher, however, has immediately claimed his post on the built-in bench, his knuckles white as he grips its ledge, a look of abject horror painted across his face.

“You okay…babe?” I ask, adding the relationship-appropriate pet name when I notice the camera Arthur mounted.

“I’m fine,” he whispers through tight lips. Every muscle of his lanky body is tense and rigid. Judging by the way he’s also breathing, slow and intentional, it’s clear he’s anything but fine.

“It helps if you look at the coastline,” I say, sitting down next to him.

“Huh?” Asher cocks his head but keeps his eyes glued to the boat’s deck.

“For motion sickness,” I say softly. “It helps to scan the coastline and keep your eyes moving instead of looking down. Try it.”

He doesn’t move.

“Come on, Ash,” I say, the nickname slipping out accidentally, but I can’t guarantee it won’t become a thing. “Just try it. I promise it’ll help.”

Slowly, he lifts his gaze, maintaining his controlled breaths of the salty air in the process. I watch his shoulders relax slightly as he shifts his head from side to side, taking in the distant coastline just like I instructed.

“Better?” I ask, hoping it helped a bit. Do I rub his back? I know I’d like that if the roles were reversed, but since I haven’t quite gotten a grasp of what Asher’s comfort level with physical touch is, I all but sit on my hands.

“Better,” he says between inhales. Relief flashes behind his wide eyes when they meet mine. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” I linger next to him longer than I probably should considering we are officially mid-challenge at this point, but a large part of me is concerned that he’ll get sick.

“So,” he says, wiping his palms on his pant leg. “Shall we?”