Page 26 of Special Delivery

“The rules are simple. Each member must carry an egg on a spoon. You have to go around these obstacles and back before transferring the egg to your partner’s spoon. The couple who finishes first without breaking their egg is the winner of the first game and a serious contender for the overall title.”

An eye-roll fights to escape as Anthony and another crew member act out our task for the first game. Each course has four cones you have to maneuver around, which seems redundant. Still, when they hand out spoons, everyone rushes to get one. Paige emerges from the small crowd, looking victorious with two spoons and an egg lifted high in the air. She takes one look at my relaxed posture and the hands in my pockets and lets out the world’s longest sigh.

She hands me a metal spoon, and I weigh it in my hand. The bowl is nice, but the handle is too wide. It’s not one I would personally pick for my own home, but it’ll have to do the trick. Paige is already at the start of our course.

“You go first, so I can catch up for your lost time,” she comments, and I shake my head.

Her confidence in this stupid game is astonishing. I look over to other groups. Mom and Roger are giggling romantically, not bothering with the spoons, while Jordan is showing Emma the right way to carry the egg. It’s not my interpretation of the scene, but something that Jordan mentions multiple times. I guess it runs in the family.

“Everyone ready?” Anthony calls out.

Paige confirms for us, placing the egg onto my spoon. She casts a glare that screams ‘Don’t fuck this up.’

I don’t have time to respond before Anthony shouts, “Three, two, one, go!”

I haven’t done an egg race since I was a kid, so I start slow, trying to gauge how much the spoon can wiggle while still keeping the egg safe.

My partner obviously deems it too slow because she yells, “Come on, Ryan. Faster!”

A ‘that’s what she said’ joke gets stuck in my throat, but I pick up the speed. Once I pass the final cone and start my way back, I’m on a roll. Paige still groans loudly when I get back. She grabs my hand to transfer the egg, and my annoyance suppresses the tingle that sparks through my arm at the contact.

She starts off strong, zipping and zapping around the cones, but my attention snaps to Roger, who’s now lying on the floor along with his egg. Mom drops to her knees laughing, and I’m stunned for a second. Pure, unadulterated joy beams from her, and a knot in my chest unravels.

A string of ‘Fucks’ coming from my left breaks the beautiful moment. Paige kicks the sand as Anthony announces Jordan and Emma as the winners of the first game.

Like a good sport, I give them a polite clap, though Jordan definitely doesn’t deserve it. Not after what she pulled on the boat. She’s dead set on the idea of making Mom look bad, and it’s exactly why I needed to be on this vacation. She lands a kiss on her wife’s lips and darts a smug look at Paige. After another long sigh, my partner signals me to the side with a snap of her head.

“Look,” she starts as soon as we’re out of earshot. “I know we have our differences, but I really want to win this, so I need you to lock the fuck in.” Her eyes glare with intensity, and I barely suppress a chuckle. She looks adorable this pumped up. But I’m not an idiot.

“And why would your victory be important to me?”

“It’s your victory, too, dumbass.”

I let out a snort. “I’m not really a competitive person. I just want us all to have fun.”

Her nose scrunches with disgust before she pulls herself together, pointing an index finger at me. “Well, you throwing this on purpose would make me look like an angel for doing my best, and you’d look like an immature brat who doesn’t care enough about his mom to respect the fucking game.”

A scoff escapes me, though I know she’s right. I need to put in the effort. My mom would be disappointed if I threw this. Pissing off Jordan wouldn’t be too bad, either.

“Fine,” I mutter, and her face brightens.

Throughout the day, I’ve been unlocking Paige’s new facial expressions. I still haven’t found one that looks bad on her.

Anthony hands us an ice bucket with water bottles, and we each take one, replenishing our fluids. While we did the egg race, the other crew members were busy building the second course. This one consists of three water-filled troughs, with two towels next to them. Around thirty feet from them are three empty plastic buckets. What the hell is this?

Our trusted game leader is somehow already there, ready to instruct us again. I follow after Paige who practically marches through the sand to the next course.

Anthony lifts his hand to bring our attention to him. “The goal of the second game is to fill the empty buckets”—he points to them—“with the water from the troughs using only the towels. The first team to fill their bucket wins.”

It sounds pretty simple. I’m determined to show that I actually am doing my best. Anthony counts us in, and Paige and I both drop to our knees next to the trough, dunking the towels underwater. Most of what we collected drips onto our sand-covered feet on our way to the bucket, but I wring out the rest. Paige bites into her bottom lip as she stares at my straining biceps, struggling to wring out every last drop.

“Stop distracting me,” I mutter.

Her neck and chest flush and her brows lower, determination coursing through her. We work like a well-oiled machine, not paying any attention to others, until Anthony yells, “And we have a winner. Congratulations, Paige and Ryan!”

My eyes drop to the bucket, realizing it’s full, and a grin forms on my face.

“Fuck, yes.” Paige pumps her fist in the air, taunting her sister. She’s absolutely ridiculous, but I have to admit victory tastes good.