Page 45 of Winging It with You

“Why?” I ask, the only word I seem to be able to mutter when we simultaneously slow to a stop.

Jenn tilts her head in the direction of a bench just up ahead, nestled beneath an overgrown flowering tree, its branches swaying. Sitting together, my movements a skeptical mirror of hers, Jenn folds her hands in her lap.

“Do you remember what I said to you when we first met?” she asks. While I can conjure up the memory of meeting Jenn and Ellie at the contestants’ welcome reception, for the life of me, I cannot recall what we talked about.

She laughs with a soft little sound that reverberates throughout her entire body. “No, I wouldn’t imagine you wouldwith everything else we’ve had going on,” she says, patting me on the arm. “I’ll remind you. I said you didn’t need to pretend with me and you looked like you were going to choke.” Funny enough, I feel like I could at any moment. “Kinda like you do right now, sweetie.”

I swallow, mulling over my next words very carefully.

“Jenn, I’m not sure what you mean—” I start but she literally shushes me.

“Oh, darling, why waste your breath?” she asks directly. “I overheard Jo on night one yapping away on that phone of hers about liability waivers and needing to swap out paperwork for, what were her words? Something likethe grumpy one’s faux-beau situation…” Yup, that sounds like Jo—especially on that first night. “I don’t know,” she says, now laughing again. “Maybe I got that wrong.”

I choke out a laugh, turning my entire body toward Jenn. “So, let me get this straight. You’ve known this whole time aboutus,” I say, dropping my voice to a whisper, which now feels pointless, “and you didn’t say anything?”

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” she says, playfully nudging me. “Besides, who doesn’t love to be on theinsideof a juicy little secret? Even if no one else knows I know…you know?” she adds with a wink.

“Then why now?” I ask, genuinely intrigued.

Jenn pats her notebook. “Like I said, just wanted to check on you. Who knows, maybenotpretending might be nice. Even for a moment…” There’s something else entirely lingering behind her words.

Huh. Not pretending. The phrase swishes around my brain, because after all this time with Asher and the show, it’s gettingharder and harder to separate what I’ve been pretending about and what I haven’t.

“Sweetie, my husband died last year,” Jenn says both abruptly and a little too causally for the weight of that statement. She places a warm hand on my arm the moment I open my mouth. “It’s fine—well, not fine,” she corrects, her warm facade slipping ever so slightly. “But you know what I mean. We’re…well, we’re managing.”

“Jenn, I don’t even know…I…I’m so sorry.” I stammer out but the words feel meaningless because anI’m sorryfrom a stranger means nothing after such a huge loss.

“I know, I know,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “I appreciate you saying that. I really do. I only brought it up because I wanted you to know I relate. This whole thing—competing on this show, Ellie and I being here together, that was something she was supposed to do with her father, and instead, she got me.” The grief in her voice is unmistakable, any icy edge to her normal cheerful demeanor. So much so that it makes my own throat tighten with each breath. “So, the wholepretending everything is normalthing you’ve got going on? I get it.”

Without any hesitation, I throw my arm around Jenn and pull her tight against me. She rests her head on my shoulder when I do—a simple act that feels entirely familiar.

“So, you and Asher…” she inquires after a moment. “What’s the real story there?”

There’s that word again:real.

The city around us has slowly begun showing signs of life. Pedestrians have started milling around and street vendors have been setting up shop. A familiar smell of smoke and fresh bread fills the air, causing my stomach to rumble.

“It started off as something easy…arbitrary, I guess.”

“And now?” she asks, a hint of smile behind her question.

I’m starting to picture what really being with Asher could be like. The line between what’s real and what’s not grows thinner and thinner by the moment. “It’s…complicated.”

An older man pushing a fruit cart stops in front of us, and the aroma of the chopped pineapple invades our space. “Ananás?” he asks through a toothy grin, offering us a large container of the bright fruit.

Jenn gets up without a word, pulling out some of the folded euros that production made sure we exchanged at the airport and offering them as payment. Their transaction concludes silently—a nod here, a smile there—while I just watch it all unfold from our bench. When Jenn reclaims her seat next to me, pineapple in lap, the quiet vendor continues down the street.

“You know what I think?” she asks, tapping the lid of her container.

“What’s that?”

“Sometimes,complicatedis the word people use when they don’t want to admit something’s actually just…hard,” she says rather bluntly. “And you, Theo Fernandez, don’t seem like the kind of man who shies away from hard things.”

I fight the urge to insert a perfectly timedthat’s what he saidbut decide against it because the reality is, that’sallI feel I’ve done for the last couple of years.

With my family and the hard conversations Iknowin my heart we should be having.

Don’t even get me started on my dating life—or lack thereof. The second something turns from a convenient hookup to, well, more,I’m out.

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