Page 16 of Winging It with You

But Asher turns toward me now and silently mouths,Thank you.

“You’ve got some downtime the remainder of the day,” Jo says, swiping across the overly populated calendar on her tablet. “And then tonight, we have a quick preproduction all-hands with the crew, where you’ll meet Dalton, his team, and the rest of this season’s contestants.” I’d wondered if there was going to be some sort of formal introduction to the pairs we’d be competing against. “But I’m begging you,” Jo says, the familiar all-business tone returning to her voice, “please ensure you get some rest tonight considering we’ve got an early showtime tomorrow before wheels up for the first challenge.” We both nod obediently as she rattles off additional travel details. She thenturns on her heel and heads back toward the hotel with Arthur like some hyperpunctual mother hen, Asher and I trailing behind as her ragtag group of little hatchlings.

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Stepping into the hotel’s eventspace—which has been entirely taken over by the production team—instantly transports me back to high school.

Everyone’s nervously scanning the crowd to see where they fall among thecool kids, their chatter an octave higher than normal as they do their best to appear unfazed by it all.

Jo dragged Asher toward the bar after escorting us from the lobby, in some attempt to loosen him up, if I had to guess. He’d shot me a nervous glance, his glasses falling down the bridge of his thin nose slightly as Jo weaved the two of them in and out of the minglers. Arthur ditched all three of us the second we crossed the room’s threshold, his entire face erupting in a shit-eating grin when he joined a group of acquaintances, who seemed to have a bottle of beer waiting for him.

Which left me momentarily alone.

I don’t mind doing my own thing. Don’t get me wrong—I love people. My sister, Elise, would always get so annoyed at me growing up because I’d stop and talk to just about everyone I met out and about, quickly learning the obscure details of their personal lives.

But a few moments of mental quiet here and there are fine by me.

I retreat to the room’s back wall and lean against it, closing my eyes in an attempt to tune out the conversations around me until they’re nothing more than a soft murmur in the background. Mark always joked about how jealous he was that Icould seemingly ignore the world around me as we navigated bustling airport terminals together. I bought him a pair of earplugs.

“I’m glad to see we’re not the only ones bad at faking it,” a distinctive Midwestern voice says from my left. Faking it? How can they tell? I open my eyes to see that I’ve been joined by a pair of women who look like carbon copies of each other, but separated by a generation.

“I’m not…we’re not…” I begin to stammer defensively.

“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.

“Thisis 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 offakingshe 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 inthe 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 Theowantedto 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 ofthat,” 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.

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