Page 74 of Winging It with You

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 thrownhimself 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!”

Water sloshes everywhere as the first wave of contestants rushes into the shallow water, trailing their paddleboards behind them. The first seabed is probably only fifteen feet offshore, so Asher gets to it in no time. I watch him loop the rope attached to his paddleboard around one side of the seabed now in front of him, something I hadn’t even thought to do.

Arthur and the other camera operators, dressed in matching black waders, follow at a safe distance as they each begin to cut the seaweed. I had originally assumed the actual harvesting would be a simple task, considering the thin texture of the seaweed. But Ellie, for example, keeps glancing over her shoulder at Jenn, who’s fidgeting on the beach, clearly aware that her daughter is struggling with her shears. Jackson, on the other hand, appears to have given up on his shears altogether and has resorted to removing the seaweed by the handful.

But Asher—to my, well…not to my surprise, because that makes me sound like I’ve underestimated him, and Asher Bennett is not someone I would dare to underestimate—appears to be more than halfway done with the task at hand.

Jackson finishes first, followed by Asher, who quickly pulls his loaded paddleboard behind him. They reach the shore around the same time, ready to get this seaweed hung so that we can advance to seabed two.

“Nice job, Ash. You reallyareScuba Steve,” I tease when our eyes meet. Arthur cracks a smile behind his camera in my peripheral vision.

“Help me pick this up,” he says, practically ignoring me as he bends down to grab one end of the paddleboard. Seems like the fire’s back. “One, two, three…”

We lift the paddleboard together, ensuring none of the slimy seaweed tips off as we carry it over to the drying rack.

“Okay, hear me out,” he says, kneeling down after we’ve set the paddleboard at the base of the rack. “I cut all this intentionally, hoping it would make the hanging process easier.” He picks up a clump of seaweed from the pile. “See how this stem is here?” he asks, pointing to the wishbone shape of the seaweed he’s holding. “I cut farther down so we can use this almost as a hook.” Asher hangs the seaweed with ease.

“You’re a genius,” I say, grabbing his face to kiss his salty lips, completely taking him—and myself—by surprise. I’m genuinely in awe of the man before me—the way his mind works and how he thought ahead like this.

“Quit stalling and get to work, Fernandez,” he says. A wave of red pools behind his cheeks as he grabs a handful of seaweed to start hanging it. “But I’m glad you’re finally noticing.”

The two of us work quickly side by side. Asher was right.The way each chunk has been cut definitely makes the hanging easier. I’m trying tonotlet my eyes wander to how our competition is doing, but I can see them struggling to get the seaweed to stay in place out of the corner of my eye.

Our pile rapidly dwindles, and it seems it’s now Asher’s turn to give the pep talk. “When you get to the seabed, I’d recommend opening the shears all the way like this,” he says, spreading the shears as wide as they can open. “And instead ofcuttingthe seaweed, I found it was much easier tosliceit like you would a ribbon or a banana.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” I say, hanging the final piece of seaweed on the rack. Bianca is already heading out and it looks like Jenn might be ready to take off on her heels. “Ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

We hurriedly shuffle through the hot sand, carrying the empty paddleboard to our starting point. Asher hands over the shears as soon as we set the board down in the water.

“Hey, don’t forget,” he whispers, stopping me with his hand on my arm. “Go deep and slice,” he says, and repeats the movement with the shears. As I head out into the cool water, a smile forms on Asher’s face—one that a small part of me would like to outline with the tip of my tongue.

Rather than trailing the paddleboard behind me, like I watched Jenn struggle to do once she reached the slightly deeper water, I hop on top of it, placing the shears directly under my chest, and paddle out like one would on a surfboard.

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