Page 75 of Winging It with You

I quickly close the distance between me and Bianca, who is about to reach her second seabed. The water is just above my waist once I reach mine, and I remind myself to tie my paddleboard to the side of the bed as Asher had done.

There are four rows of seaweed growing within the bed, soit makes sense to work one row at a time to make sure I don’t leave any harvestable seaweed behind. Reaching down, I find the hooklike spot as Ash indicated, make my first slice, and place the first bunch of seaweed on my paddleboard.

It’s repetitive work: slice, place on the paddleboard, repeat. But a sense of calm washes over me with each ebb of the ocean—a first for any challenge I’ve been a part of. Being directly immersed in an activity like this, one that is tied so closely to the livelihood of countless individuals and their families, I can’t help but feel deeply appreciative to play a small part in it. This whole experience, seeing so many corners of the world from such a different lens, has fulfilled me in a way I wasn’t quite expecting.

Traveling has always been some form of work for me, whether in my active duty or civilian life. But until now I’ve never felt like I’ve connected with the world around me in such a meaningful way.

Before I know it, I’m almost done with my seabed, and seemingly ahead of everyone else, even Bianca. I scan the rows to ensure I’ve harvested each piece before turning my paddleboard back toward the shore, half walking, half running with the waves at my back.

Asher greets me with another smile, which sends the butterflies I’ve been failing to ignore for weeks into overdrive. “My little trick worked, huh?”

“Like a charm,” I say, making him beam, so I’m forced to dig my feet into the sand to prevent myself from launching at him. We haul the board back over to the drying rack, invigorated by the small lead we seem to have over the rest of the competition, and work in silent tandem, quickly hanging this next batch and shuffling back toward the water for Asher’s second turn.

Arthur hangs back this time. I can only imagine howrepetitive this all must come across on camera, so instead, he appears to be capturing some close-ups of the neat rows of drying seaweed along the beach.

“You boys seem to be getting on better these days,” he murmurs from behind the lens. “More in sync.”

I smile, remembering the epic chaos of the first challenge when Ash and I thought we’d beencommunicating.

“We’re trying,” I say, though Arthur’s attention seems to be on a small crab that’s made an appearance amid all the commotion.

How foolish we’d been, thinking two literal strangers could just dive headfirst into being lovestruck boyfriends without there being any hiccups.

At least I don’t have to pretend the lovestruck part anymore.

I ignore the way that thought twists my stomach into knots.

Looking to Asher in the ocean, he is, and I think will always be, the first in a crowd to catch my eye. He’s kind of a mess with his moppy hair slicked in every which way as he collects the last of his seaweed, and his poor glasses are covered in water droplets.

But damn it, he’smymess. The thought of Asher being mine cracks my chest wide open. This could beit.The moment everyone always talks about. It scares the hell out of me, but he’s mine for however long he wants to be.

With anyone else, self-preservation might kick in.

But Asher? He just might be worth the risk.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” he pants, dragging the paddleboard onto the sand.

“There’s a very real possibility you were a seaweed farmer in another life,” I tease, bending over to help him once again as we make our way back to the racks.

“You know what? I wouldn’t hate that,” he says, fighting a smirk but losing.

Back and forth we go, quickly hanging row after row of seaweed for the third time and hoping that if we move fast enough, we’ll be able to widen the small lead we seem to have.

“I know it’s probably bad karma to say something like this,” Asher says, both hands full. “But we might actually finish first for once!” Excitement fills his voice and flashes behind his eyes.

Well, shit. Now wehaveto win.

Asher hangs the last of his haul up, and I grab the paddleboard, hoisting it over my head with both hands, and do my best to sprint across the beach.

“Theo, wait, don’t you need…” Asher shouts after me but his voice gets lost in the waves the second I reach the shore.

I launch back into the cool water with the shears secured under my chest one last time and, knowing this lead won’t last forever, swim as fast as I can to the farthest remaining seabed. The water is definitely over my head when I reach it, meaning I’ll have to completely tread water to finish this challenge.

Bianca gets to her seabed moments after I get to mine. As I start making my first round of cuts, I notice just how rough the waves are this far out. I’ve swallowed more salt water this round than I’d care to in a lifetime, but I keep at it, alternating between slicing the stems of the seaweed and plopping the clumps onto the paddleboard.

My lungs are screaming in protest and my legs are one tread away from cramping. I need a break, even just a tiny one. I glance over at Bianca and see that she still has a significant amount of seaweed to cut, so I let myself hold on to the side of the seabed, allowing my legs to dangle for a moment.

I take a much-needed deep breath. And then a few more.And when I feel like I can finish this damn thing, I make another round of cuts. But as I go to place the clump I’m holding on my paddleboard, my hand smacks down on the water.

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