Summer's POV
By the fifth week of filming, she'd learned one universal truth about reality TV:
when things start going too well, the producers panic.
That morning, the host's smile was just a little too bright.
"Good news, everyone!" he chirped. "Today we're shooting a compatibility challenge!"
Summer groaned. "Define compatibility."
"Physical teamwork," the host said cheerfully. "You and your partner will complete a series of tasks—blindfolded, tied together, or both!"
The crew laughed. The other contestants cheered.
Summer shot Ethan a flat look. "If they blindfold me, I'm walking into the ocean."
He grinned. "Don't worry. I'll catch you."
"That's what you said before the raft challenge."
"And you didn't drown."
"Barely."
The assistants handed each pair a strip of fabric and a checklist of "romantic but dangerous" activities:
1. Cook while handcuffed.
2. Navigate a short obstacle course blindfolded.
3. Carry your partner across a shallow river without dropping them.
Summer stared at the list. "This is not romance. This is a lawsuit."
Ethan smirked. "Then let's win it."
---
Ethan's POV
The handcuff part was easy. Mostly.
Summer kept issuing orders like a tiny, exasperated general.
"Left hand! No, the other left! You're stirring too fast—"
"Summer, it's soup, not surgery."
"Soup can explode."
He laughed, the sound half amusement, half disbelief. She was bossy and brilliant and endlessly alive, and he knew the cameras were eating up every second of their bickering.
At one point, their wrists brushed and stayed there a second too long. He didn't pull away.
Neither did she.
They finished with a decent meal, somehow edible, and moved to the next challenge—the blindfold course.
Summer tied the fabric around her eyes, instantly suspicious. "You better not make me run."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, guiding her carefully over the uneven sand. "One step at a time."
Her hand tightened on his arm. "You sound like a yoga instructor."
He smiled. "You're doing great."
For a brief, beautiful moment, she relaxed completely, trusting him to lead her. The cameras zoomed in, sensing the shift from comedy to intimacy.
"Almost there," he murmured.
"I swear if you let me fall—"
"Then I'll fall with you."
Her laugh echoed through the clearing. "That's the cheesiest thing you've ever said."
"Give me time," he said. "I can top it."
---
Summer's POV
The final task was the most ridiculous—crossing the river.
Well, technically a stream, but still enough to embarrass someone on national television.
Ethan crouched in front of her. "Hop on."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It says carry your partner across. I'm following instructions."
"I can walk."
"Not without points deduction," he teased.
She hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. But if you drop me, I'm haunting you."
He laughed. "You'd make a very polite ghost."
The moment she climbed onto his back, the crew started cheering. He waded through the water steadily, every step slow and sure.
Summer tried not to think about how his shoulders felt under her hands, how close his heartbeat was to her ear.
Halfway across, she muttered, "You know, this is mortifying."
"Yeah," he said softly. "But kind of nice, too."
She wanted to argue. Instead, she found herself smiling into his shoulder. "Maybe."
When they reached the shore, the host clapped dramatically. "Team Ethan and Summer—once again, undeniable chemistry!"
The crew applauded. Cameras flashed.
Summer rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide the warmth spreading across her chest.
---
Ethan's POV
That night, after the "compatibility" footage wrapped, the beach turned quiet again. The others drifted toward camp, leaving just the two of them by the fading firelight.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Mostly mortified," she said, but her tone was softer than usual.
"You didn't hate all of it."
"I hated some of it."
He smiled. "The part where you had to trust me?"
"The part where you carried me like a sack of rice."
He laughed. "Graceful rice."
She threw a shell at him, and it bounced off his chest. They both laughed then—easy, familiar, real.
After the laughter faded, she looked at him across the fire. "You really didn't mind the cameras today?"
He shook his head. "No. I think they finally caught something true."
Her smile faltered, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "And what's that?"
"That I'm done pretending this is just a show."
The air between them went still.
She swallowed hard. "You're not the only one who's tired of pretending."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward; it was fragile, the kind that feels like standing at the edge of something vast.
The waves broke gently against the shore, and for once, neither of them cared that the camera lights were still faintly glowing in the distance.