Page 39 of Winging It with You

Theo

Nusa Lembongan Seaweed Farm

Bali, Indonesia

“Here, throw these on,” Jo says, pushing a rubber-coated bundle into my arms. I untangle the wad of fabric, revealing two bright-blue wet suits, which I hold up for Asher to see.

We caught an overnight flight to Bali and I’m fairly certain we’re all going on a collective four hours of sleep at this point.

“Great,” he says, melting in his chair. “More water.” I toss one of the suits at him.

“Fingers crossed this time won’t end in us being lost at sea.” I rather forcefully pull the tight spandex up my legs and over my shorts.

He scowls at me and does the same. “You’re still bringing that up? We got rescued by the coast guard one time.” But even he can’t hide his toothy grin.

“Oh, I’ll be bringing up nearly being lost at sea with you for the rest of my life.”

These little back-and-forth moments between us are the only things keeping me going the last few weeks. I know I can count on Asher to have some snarky remark ready to go—and to have the last word, always.

“Let’s go, people,” Russell shouts, emerging through the flaps of the tent, the expected stressed expression painted across his face.

“A little help here?” I ask, struggling with my wet suit’s zipper.

Asher comes over and, using one hand as leverage on my shoulder, yanks up my difficult zipper with the other. Before he leaves, he plants a lingering kiss on the back of my neck.

“What was that for?” I ask softly, leaning back into him.

“Oh, you know…just in case we die.” His chin is now rested on my shoulder, and I can feel him smile.

“Ha ha.”

“Now do me,” he says. When I turn around, I notice an instant flush of red flooding his cheeks. “I mean…don’t do me. Oh, God.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Can you please zip my zipper?”

“Well, go ahead and turn around so I can do you,” I tease. He groans but does as he’s told. I slide his finicky zipper closed and let my hands rest on his shoulders. I find myself feeling more emboldened to do what’s natural with Asher—to say what’s on my mind or follow my body in each moment.

But on some level, I think I’m still holding back.

All this—everything we’ve been through together—is starting to feel real. And as easy as it is to get swept up in the moment, I haven’t allowed myself to get this close to real with anyone since Ethan. The thought alone is enough to make me take a metaphorical and physical step back.

He must sense a shift in my energy, because he turns to look up at me with his inquisitive eyes. “All good?” he asks.

“All good,” I offer with a smile, and Jo starts to lead us down toward the beach with Arthur circling around us, his camera stabilized firmly against his chest. “Did you think we’d get here?”

The shoreline in front of us reveals some of the bluest water I’ve ever seen.

Miles and miles of beautiful Indian Ocean stretch before us, blending in with a nearly cloudless sky.

A lovely contrast to the lush greenery lining the water’s edge.

Since setting up shop in Bali, everyone has groaned about the heat and humidity, but I don’t mind it.

Especially since the coastal breeze seems to stir up a sweetness in the air wherever we go.

“To the semifinals?” he asks, pulling at his wet suit collar.

I nod. Dalton is already on his mark, not so subtly hiding his irritation while we all make our way down toward our designated spots.

I’m sure if he had it his way, the cameras would always be on him.

I swear I’ve seen him roll his eyes more than once as contestants, myself included, were the subject of a crew member’s focus.

“?‘Shocked’ would be an understatement,” he says, and then quickly leans up to plant an unprompted kiss on my cheek.

But even that can’t calm the wave of uneasiness as we head into whatever challenge production has planned next.

It seems that each one proves to be more and more harrowing.

I get the whole shock value of it all—fear and drama—and everything that comes with pushing someone outside their comfort zone sells, but it doesn’t make it any less grueling.

A man I don’t recognize stands next to Dalton, and judging by his half smile—and the fact that he seems incredibly antsy with all the commotion—I take it he’s ready for this to be over.

Asher and I, sandwiched between Jenn and Ellie and Bianca and Jackson, halt and stand in a half circle around the semi-raised platform Dalton and his companion are on.

“And we’re rolling in three, two…”

“Welcome back, trekkers. We’re here for this season’s semifinal challenge episode of The Epic Trek . As always, I’m your host, Dalton McKnight…”

I roll my eyes, not even caring anymore if Arthur captures it on film.

Dalton’s announcer voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and while I know I could never do his job, every time I see him, I wonder how the hell he’s still in this industry considering how he behaves when the cameras aren’t rolling.

“Our contestants have been traveling the world for the last three weeks, and today,” he continues, ensuring every syllable is as enunciated as possible, “we’re standing on the shores of southern Bali, where the calm waters between the islands of Nusa Lembongan and Ceningan have created ideal conditions for generations of local seaweed farmers. ”

Seaweed?

I glance past Dalton. Just beyond the contestant staging area are three rows of what look like floating flower boxes in the shallows of the clear water. Each row consists of four of these boxes and they appear to be anchored in place, bobbing up and down in the subtle sloshing of the water.

“As the world’s largest seaweed producer, over one million coastal farmers in Indonesia, like Bima and his family here,” he continues, patting his companion on the back, “rely on the growing industry to make ends meet during fluctuations in tourism.”

Bima steps forward now. “For years, my family and I have cared for and harvested these waters. The seaweed before you,” he says, briefly turning toward it, “has been growing for just over a month and has reached its ideal weight for harvesting. Today, each team will collect the seaweed from their floating seabed and hang it by hand so it can be dried and eventually sold.”

Both Dalton and Bima step down from their platform and walk toward the water’s edge, causing the camera crews to reposition themselves.

“Contestants will alternate using a paddleboard to harvest each seabed. Once you’ve removed all the seaweed from the bed, you will paddle back to shore to your waiting partner and work together to hang the seaweed out to dry.”

There are rows of triangle-shaped drying racks in the distance where I’m assuming we’ll hang it all.

“ All the seaweed from each bed must be hung before the waiting partner can move on to the next,” Dalton adds.

I bump Asher with my shoulder. “Seems simple enough, right?” I whisper.

“Famous last words,” he hisses back.

He’s right. Nothing about anything we’ve done together has been simple, but I’ve done my best to remain optimistic.

“Here, take these,” I say, handing Ash a pair of rubber gloves and shears. “Why don’t you go first?”

“And why is that?” he inquires suspiciously, holding the gloves like he’s ready for them to bite.

“Because there are four seabeds and if we’re alternating, the farthest one out will be mine.” I know he’s not the strongest swimmer, and while I don’t know how deep the water is, it’s not worth risking it. Plus, I hate watching him struggle.

“Good point,” he says, failing at hiding the smile now forming.

I place both hands on his shoulders and lock my eyes with his, doing my best to block out Arthur’s quick spin around to ensure he captures my precompetition pep talk.

“You’ve got this. Just try to gather the seaweed and paddle back to shore as quickly as you can, and I’ll be waiting right here ready to help you get it all hung up.”

“Sir, yes sir.” He’s mocking me, and he even adds a half-assed salute in the process.

“Let’s just take this one seabed at a time,” I add, ignoring him.

He pats me on the cheek with his now-gloved hand. “Aka follow the rules directly from Mr. Dalton McKnight himself. Got it.”

I want to tell him to be careful. That these challenges have been making me more and more nervous recently because there is so much that could go wrong.

That I worry about him relentlessly.

But Jo comes around to usher Asher toward the water’s edge before I have the chance. “Come on, Scuba Steve. Let’s get you lined up.”

The rows of seabeds bob up and down with the waves ahead of us.

“Contestants, get ready,” Dalton shouts. His voice is annoying under most circumstances, but having it ricochet off the water grates on my nerves.

Asher looks back momentarily and gives me a small, resigned shrug.

I’ve learned that, much like the movement of the shallow water before us, his competitive spirit comes at random—both a blessing and a curse considering our current circumstances.

On one hand, seeing a fiery rage behind his green eyes is a total turn-on.

I’ve watched as he’s thrown himself headfirst into the unknown and surprised just about all of us with his grit and determination and, oddly, his strength.

But on the other hand, I’ve learned to admire his growing ability to let go of the things that aren’t in his control.

“On your marks…” Dalton’s voice rings through the air. I watch Asher straighten his spine and take a deep breath, turning over the pair of shears he’s holding.

“Get set…” Adrenaline rushes through my veins, and I’m not even the one about to do anything.

Bianca, who like me, is standing by as her brother is about to kick off the challenge, leans in, expertly knowing when she’s in view of multiple cameras. “Don’t worry, Theo,” she calls over her shoulder. “Production preemptively called search and rescue for the two of you.”

I ignore her.

“Go!”