Chapter 10 Paper Rings #2
“Okay,” Sumer croons into her mic in her sultry, Southern voice.
I half expect her to stop everything we’re doing and sing one of her record-breaking hits, but no such luck.
Apparently she loves love and will stop at nothing until she squeezes every juicy romantic story from each of the couples here.
“Brooke, for twenty extra points and the chance at fine dining on your first night in the Tinkerbell, who made the first move?”
The clock starts ticking down from ten while I have a minor emotional meltdown. We’re gonna lose. I’m officially stumped.
Eight.
We don’t have a first move, right? There’s no first move if you aren’t a real couple. I could say Owen, since he’s the one who insisted we get married. But, technically, I was the one who initiated… So, maybe it was me?
Five.
I scribble his name, then mine, then his again, wondering what answer he’s going to go with.
Three.
I finally settle on Owen. After all, he did kiss me in Tots the other night before we’d even discussed the logistics of our engagement. But as the timer is about to run out, the memory of a kiss many, many years ago flashes through my mind.
Owen saying my name. My hands in his hair. My lips, crashing into his. Pulling him closer, needing him closer.
It was me. I made the first move.
One.
The buzzer sounds, locking in my glaringly wrong answer. Sumer bounces on her toes with excitement and Todd squats low, getting what has to be the worst possible angle of Owen and me from below.
“Okay, for twenty extra points, Owen, who made the first move?”
Owen clears his throat. I say a silent prayer that he takes pity on me and lies, but then I remember Owen’s vow of honesty at the start of our agreement. So, yeah, all hope is lost.
“Uh, Brooke did,” he admits, resignation in his voice.
Curse his integrity!
“Oh really?” Sumer is too delighted by this news. As are Sadie, the wife from Tinkerbell Five, and Gloria, who seem to know each other.
“I would have too, honey! Look at him!” Gloria shouts as Sadie rears her head back, laughing so hard her full, afro blowout, hits her unsuspecting husband in the face when he turns to look at his wife.
Sumer waits for the women to stop commending me for securing such a snack of a husband before she turns back to get my response. “And, Brooke, what did you say?”
My muddled answer flicks to the screen, the women laugh louder, and I deflate.
Goodbye Grits.
“Uh oh. We’ve got mixed answers here. Owen,” Sumer says, one delicate hand resting on her hip. “What gives? What moment do you think started it all?”
Owen turns in his seat, and I follow his lead, better to laugh off my blunder than to sulk in embarrassment. And if he was honest before, he’ll surely be honest with the rest of it. “She, um…” Owen almost sounds embarrassed himself. “She gave me a haircut.”
Sumer chuckles. “Well, it doesn’t get much more sexy than that, and Brooke did confess earlier that she loves your hair.” The crowd laughs again. “Brooke, what do you have to say? Is this true…? Your man is a professional baseball player, but a haircut was the breaking point?”
To put it mildly.
Aside from the night it happened, until right this moment, Owen and I have never spoken about our first kiss.
For all these years, it's been the big, unspoken taboo in our relationship. Not a mistake. I’d never consider that kiss—what I thought was a one time incident—a mistake.
I just knew it wouldn’t change the trajectory of our lives, so there was no point in acknowledging it.
I couldn’t.
That night is our Voldemort. Our Make-Out That Shall Not Be Named.
Yet, here I am, about to admit it all. “It’s true.” I try to laugh, but a sort of gasp-sob comes out instead. Owen links our pinkies again. A reminder that he’s with me, and he, of all people, knows how hard this is for me. Which is why he probably interjects before I spill my guts.
“I was glad she did. I was terrified,” he confesses, drawing my eyes to his. “I thought if I took the chance, she’d run, but…” He licks his lips, running his teeth along the soft curve of his mouth after. “But she kissed me, and it changed everything… for me.”
For me, too.
Tears fill my eyes. To the camera and our competitors it probably looks like I’m emotional remembering the start of our relationship fondly, but, really, it just hurts.
There’s a deep ache cracking open my chest knowing so many years have passed since that night, and I still don’t feel any braver than I did at eighteen. I don’t think I ever will.
So, we clearly won’t win tonight, but if we want to win the grand prize and get out of this thing somewhat unscathed, Owen and I are going to need to put some distance between ourselves. Starting as soon as we’re done here tonight.
“I can sleep on the floor.” Owen grabs a pillow, holding a light, spare blanket he procured from the teeny closet. Throwing the pillow on the ground, he begins to maneuver himself, one-armed, to the floor.
“Owen, no.” I grab his waist, halting him halfway to the cold, fake hardwood. “I’ll take the floor. You take the bed. You shouldn’t sleep on the hard floor while you’re still recovering.”
His smirk makes me want to throw my resolve in the trash. “I’m not letting my old lady sleep on the floor.”
Rolling my eyes, I push him to the bed. “Go. And do not ever call me your old lady again.”
“Man, Brookey. I had no idea you’d be so aggressive in the bed—”
“Do NOT finish that sentence, Owen Jones.” I grab my pajamas from the bench, needing only to take a measly five steps to the other side of the camper.
He stumbles onto the bed, laughing.
“We’ll just… share,” I concede, not seeing another way. “We can share a bed. No big deal. No. Big. Deal.”
Very big deal.
“Agreed,” he says sleepily from where he’s cozying up in our very small bed. “I think you’ll find me an excellent spooner.”
Owen is a few inches over six feet, and he’s fit. Like, big muscles. Many defined abs. Bulging biceps. Honestly, if we don’t spoon, I doubt we’ll fit.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say with all the cool confidence I do not feel. “Owen?”
“Yeah, Babe?” He lifts his head to full attention. “You okay? I was just kidding. I know you don’t want to spoon.”
“It’s not that. It’s…” Such a fun boundary we are about to cross for the first time in our relationship. “I have to go.”
His face moves from playful to pure panic. “What are you talking about? We just got here. We have eight weeks—”
“No.” I shake my head and tilt my head to the bathroom. “I have to goooo.”
“Oh.” He can’t hold back his stupid grin as I melt into the floor with embarrassment. Why can’t I just be like a dude?
Hey, man, I have to pee. Be sure to listen in.
He pops up from the bed, sneaking by me to open the bathroom door. Holding out his hands like he’s Vanna White and I just solved the puzzle. “Your throne, my lady.”
I stomp to the bathroom and shut the door, succumbing to my fate but pouting as I sit. Until I hear the water in our kitchen running and Owen says, “I’m just going to sing a bit until you’re done.”
And he croons “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” until I slip into the bed to sleep next to him for the first time.