Chapter 13 Stargazing
STARGAZING
MYLES SMITH
OWEN
“Good morning, Suite Hearts,” Sumer Morrison sings into the mic that splays through the speaker in our Tink.
Brooke and I startle, jumping from the bed like we were caught making out as teens, and not just a grown man and his wife waking up to the woodpecker outside their window, then spending the better part of the morning whispering secrets in the dark.
“It’s Day Fifteen which means we have our first offer ready for you on your roofs. Please be out in five and ready to make a deal.”
I can’t help but growl at the interruption, though I can’t be mad when for the fifth day in a row, Brooke said yes to being my wife when I asked her this morning.
She giggles, sticks her finger in my side, then jets out of the bed before I can retaliate. Resituating my sling, I chase her quickly to the ladder and wrap my good arm around her waist before she can escape, pulling her back flush against me.
“You are…” I bury my face in her neck, letting myself breath her in and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
“Faster than you? Adorable? The best wife ever?”
I can’t argue with any of it.
“Yeah,” I sigh, wiggling my fingers against her stomach where I know she’s most ticklish. “You took the words right outta my mouth.”
She squirms and squeals, but I manage to keep my hold on her until I’ve fallen to the floor, pulling Brooke to my lap as she wrestles to get away. “Owen, stop,” she shrieks, pushing halfheartedly on my good shoulder. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
With Brooke straddling me and smiling like she is now, I’d gladly accept another injury if it meant we stayed like this for the entirety of our day.
“Worth it,” I sigh, wrapping my good arm around her waist so that she’s nice and close.
I hate the sling on my arm and the restriction it creates to fully holding her.
I’m a good multitasker, but with one hand I can’t keep Brooke exactly where I want her and pull back the hair from her face.
Or trace the curve of her lips with my fingers.
I might be an eternal optimist, but with the way she’s looking at me right now, I don’t think I’ll have to.
I’ve been careful to give Brooke consistent affection since we started the show.
The same light touches and friendly kisses I’ve given at any point during our years of friendship, finding her lips only when there’s a camera or others present.
She seems okay with it all, and though I do love our moments of closeness, I’m always painfully aware that Brooke is never the one to initiate any of that affection. Not even a hand-hold.
Other guys might lose heart, but I’ve seen what my wife looks like when she wants to kiss me.
My mind is seared by the way those chocolate brown eyes went from fear to fire when she let go in that moment of decision years ago.
I want a repeat of that. I can almost taste the memory of her on my lips.
And the longing in her eyes right now tells my heart to stay the course.
But this thing between us is fragile. I don’t want Brooke to finally kiss me of her own accord in a moment of impulsivity.
I want her whole heart and intention. After a life of living on fault lines that could, and did, shake her world without notice, I want her to finally feel and know that she’s on solid ground. With me.
I meant what I told her, all those weeks ago, on the night of our surprise engagement: The love I have for her is about much more than the physical relationship I’m desperate for.
I’m not interested in anything that makes Brooke feel as if she's not the most important person in my life, which includes not letting her act on the buzz of electricity simmering between us thanks to the last four perfect days we’ve shared.
She slowly leans forward. It’s totally counterintuitive, and physically hurts to stop what I’ve been praying would happen for years, but I squeeze her waist and rest my forehead on hers. “Brooke.”
Her breath hitches. She clears her throat and starts to pull away, the pain of rejection flushing her cheeks. I can’t have that.
I tighten my one-handed hold on her waist. “Will you go on a date with me? Please. Tonight?”
“Um…” The sudden tension in her body slackens as she swallows and nods. “I’d like that.”
“Me, too.” I kiss her forehead, the only affection I’m capable of if I’m to stay resolute. “How ‘bout we go make a deal upstairs and, then, plan our first date.”
First date… It feels like a dream.
“Okay,” Brooke says, pulling herself from my lap and beginning the climb upstairs. “But you’re paying, mister.”
I follow my wife upstairs, glowing with the fruits of my labor. We have a date!
When we reach the roof, it appears we’re the last to arrive, as the other couples smile knowingly at us.
Next door, Dakota lifts what I know to be his daily hot tea in salute—a morning ritual I’ve learned he never misses—and smiles like he knows a secret. “Hey, Joneses! Sounds like y’all are havin’ quite the morning.”
Brooke snorts and covers her face. I love it.
Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I bring her close, tilting her face to mine and thanking the good Lord for Dakota Remillard and his acute observational skills, because with all these onlookers and his assumptions out in the open, I’m safe to kiss my wife. So I do.
It’s just a peck, but it’s on Brooke’s lips, and I linger just to take the edge off.
“It’s been perfect,” I say against her mouth, only taking my eyes off Brooke when she bites down on a smile and looks around us shyly.
In her special brand of monotone, Haven drones from next door, “Your color vibrations are in harmony today.” Her husband clicks his tongue in the side of his cheek and pops a toothpick into his mouth.
Where is he getting these toothpicks? Did they come with our Tink, too? Or were they in his personal belongings?
“I don’t know about all that color stuff,” Mrs. Woodhouse hollers, hands planted on her hips, “but we all could hear your morning activities, and it sure sounded positive.”
“We were just wrestling, Mrs. Gloria.” Brooke looks like she wants to throw herself down our ladder.
“That’s cute,” Sadie says, nudging her husband in the ribs. “We call it that sometimes, too.”
Dakota actually giggles. The Woodhouses chuckle in the way that tells me they’ll be speculating on our wrestling life at length later. And Brooke’s face is the color of Haven’s cleansing juice.
I don’t get the chance to defend my wife’s honor—although we are married, so any wrestling we do… if we were wrestling… would be acceptable and our business alone, thank you very much—as the producers call us to attention and quiet the set.
Sumer steps up to the podium in the center of our trailer circle and uses a megaphone to speak to the crowd of twenty. “Suite Hearts, on each of your roofs, you will find a mystery box and your first official offer of the game.”
Brooke and I make our way to the metal box with a red heart printed on the lid, likely placed there by the crew late last night using the ladder on the back of the trailer.
When Brooke surprises me, linking our pinkies and giving me a little squeeze as Sumer starts talking, I honestly don’t care what offer is made.
You couldn’t pay me any amount of money to leave this tiny trailer early.
“Here’s your first offer,” Sumer continues.
“If you step outside of the Tink today, you will leave with a free, seven-night, all-inclusive resort vacation and ten thousand dollars. Or, you can take whatever is in the mystery box and stay in the competition for another day. You have five minutes to decide, and the clock starts now.”
The countdown begins on the jumbotron, and all the couples turn into two-person huddles.
“No deal,” I declare decisively. Todd, who’s essentially in our huddle right now with how close he and his camera are, pumps his fist in the air.
Appreciate the support, my dude.
“Owen, ten thousand dollars and a vacation? That would be huge for you. You work so hard and—”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“You don’t?” Brooke chews on her lip, but she looks up so hopeful, I want to fist pump, too.
“‘Course not. We’re in this until the end.” I squeeze her hand. “And then after, right?”
She nods. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Todd”—I twist towards our cameraman—“are you sure? Feeling good about it?”
He grins but doesn’t respond.
Brooke’s contented smile turns mischievous.
“I think Todd secretly wants us to win. What’s in the box, Todd?
” She slips from my hands and scoots closer to Todd, who would have to back off the roof completely to escape her.
“Are we gonna like it? Do you think it's a cool ten thousand? Would you take the box?”
Todd is the King’s Guard, and he will not budge.
The timer blares and everyone grows silent. Sumer makes her way around the circle, asking each couple the same question, “Will you accept my offer?”
Tink Eight, a young Southern couple with three kids, and Tink Nine, retired empty nesters, take the deal and celebrate by touching the grass with their bare feet for the first time in fifteen days.
The rest of us are left to open our boxes, which hold one thing: an orchid.
Sumer smiles into the primary camera as we all watch on the main screen.
“You each have been given a healthy orchid, ready to bloom. If you can keep your orchid alive until the finale, you’ll leave with ten thousand dollars, and for every new flower on the plant, you will receive an additional ten thousand. Good luck.”
Brooke hugs our orchid—lucky flower—as if hugging it will provide it all the nutrients it needs to thrive. And her hugs are awesome. I bet it works.
“I think I’ll go find a home for this guy,” she says, holding it close as she makes her way to the ladder.