Page 8

Dane

Four challenges in, and I can't stop watching her.

The way she bites her lip when she's solving a puzzle makes me think about other ways I'd like to see those lips move. How her eyes light up every time we figure something out together—I want to see that look for very different reasons.

The quiet confidence in her movements that makes my hands itch to touch her.

We've crushed every challenge. The paddleboard relay where she laughed so hard she nearly fell in.

The cocktail-mixing competition that Claude and Hortensia spectacularly lost ("That's not how you make a Manhattan!

" "Well, in Manhattan we—"). The riddle hunt where Ivy's quick thinking left everyone else in the dust.

But it's not just that we're winning. It's how easy this feels. How natural. Like we've been partners for years instead of days.

"Final challenge!" Brittany announces, pointing toward a steep trail. "First team to reach the waterfall lookout wins!"

The path looks brutal—all switchbacks and loose rocks. Victoria's already adjusting her designer hiking shoes. Marcus is stretching like he's about to run a marathon.

We could win this. No question. We will win this.

Ivy’s fast, sharp, and competitive in the sneakiest way. And me? I’d carry us both up the damn mountain if it meant crossing that line first.

Losing isn’t in my DNA. Not after years of clawing my way through juniors, college, the draft. Not with a mother who treats second place like social exile.

It’s just a game, sure. But I already know the real prize: watching Ivy’s face when Jessica blames Marcus for not winning and sends him straight to the doghouse. That alone is almost worth it.

But then I see them.

The Hendersons.

They’re looking at the climb with quiet resignation.

"Almost fifty years married," Mrs. Henderson says softly to her husband. "And we've never won one of these things."

"We've had fun trying, though." He squeezes her hand. "Remember that ski race in Aspen?"

"You broke your arm."

"Worth it. You were my nurse for six weeks. The most beautiful nurse ever. Grumpy, though."

They share a look that makes my chest tight. That's what love should look like after fifty years—still playful, still tender, still choosing each other every day.

I glance at Ivy. She's watching them too, something soft in her expression.

"Ready?" I ask, though I already know what she's thinking.

She meets my eyes. Nods once.

We don't need to discuss it.

Like she knows what I'm thinking.

And I know she knows.

And she knows I know she knows.

Jesus, what is this—Philosophy 101?

But we don’t need to say a word. Somehow we’re already on the same page. Weird. Good weird.

The climb starts fast. Marcus and Jessica take an early lead, though they're bickering about pace. Claude’s practically carrying Hortensia, who insists this “wasn’t on the invitation.” Victoria and Axel are right behind us, making it look unfairly effortless.

Halfway up, we slow our pace. Let others pass. The Hendersons are pushing steadily onward, and we fall into step behind them.

"Need a hand?" I ask when Mr. Henderson stumbles slightly.

He eyes me suspiciously. "We don't need pity."

"Not pity," Ivy says quickly. "Just... team spirit."

Mrs. Henderson smiles knowingly. “You two are sweet. Most couples would have raced ahead.”

Ivy shrugs, a little flustered. “It’s just a game.”

"We've been around long enough to spot throwing a game," Mr. Henderson says. "But... if you're offering..."

We position ourselves on either side of them.

I support Mr. Henderson while Ivy helps his wife navigate the trickier spots.

Every time we adjust positions on the trail, her body brushes against mine.

The heat of her skin, even through clothes, is driving me crazy. She has to know what she's doing to me.

As we climb, the Hendersons share stories—of their marriage, their adventures, the secrets to lasting love.

"Communication," Mrs. Henderson says firmly. "And knowing when to shut up."

"Compromise," her husband adds. "Like pretending to enjoy opera."

"Or pretending to enjoy football."

"I knew you were faking!"

“But only there, sweetheart.”

They laugh, and it’s warm and genuine. Then Marsha glances over her shoulder toward the rocky path ahead, where Marcus and Jessica are still arguing at full volume.

“Wouldn’t you just love to see that couple lose?” she mutters, sotto voce. “They don’t seem like very nice people.”

Ivy just smiles. “I think some of us have already had more important wins today. Don’t you?”

Marsha hums. “True enough. Who are they anyway? Bride’s side or groom’s?”

Ivy steadies her hand on a slick patch before answering. “Marcus actually works at the same company I do—he’s an architect. I’m a designer. My firm did some renovation work for the resort. I thought I was the only one they sent… but obviously not.”

“Hmm.” Rick grunts. “Well. Enough about them.”

And just like that, we’re back to talking about anniversary trips and their three kids and the time Rick got stuck in a kayak in Switzerland.

Ahead, we can hear cheering—someone's reached the top. I don't really care anymore.

Ivy stretches, her tank top riding up to reveal a strip of skin that makes my cock twitch. Focus, Whitmore.

When we finally crest the ridge, the view steals my breath. The waterfall thunders into a crystal-clear pool, mist creating rainbows in the late afternoon light. The ocean stretches endless and blue beyond that.

"First place!" Brittany announces. "Marcus and Jessica!"

They're already posing for photos. Victoria and Axel took second, though they seem more interested in each other than the victory.

Claude and Hortensia never made it to the top—something about Hortensia refusing to sweat.

"And third place… Rick and Marsha Hendersons!"

Marsha’s eyes go wide. "Really?"

"Really really," Ivy says, grinning.

Rick actually tears up. "Fifty years," he whispers. "Finally won something."

"You earned it," I tell him, and mean it.

As everyone heads back down for the awards ceremony, Ivy and I hang back.

She's flushed from the climb, a light sheen of sweat making her skin glow. All I can think about is how she'd look flushed for other reasons.

The waterfall roars beside us, but somehow I hear her perfectly when she says:

"That was nice. What we did."

"Yeah." I step closer, drawn to her like gravity. "You know what else was nice?"

"What?"

"How we didn't even need to discuss it. You just... knew."

She looks up at me, and something shifts in the air between us. "We're good at that. Reading each other."

"Maybe too good."

Water droplets catch in her hair like diamonds, trail down her neck.

I want to trace their path with my tongue.

She's beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache—all fire and grace and quiet strength.

And for the first time in years, I let myself imagine what it would be like to stop fighting my feelings. To just… fall.

"We should head back," she whispers, but doesn't move.

"We should."

Neither of us moves.

The waterfall keeps falling.

And I keep falling too.