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I know who Trina really is under the laughter and the fire-making skills.
Her smile dims. She blinks like she’s coming out of a trance and ducks her head. Her hair falls in a curtain between us. “Let’s see what they gave us for dinner.” She stands and brushes sand from her legs.
I move to follow her, but she waves me back.
“Let me handle this.” Her voice is back to carrying an edge.
Shoot. I messed up. Again.
She rummages around in a cooler and comes back with several packages. “I can make this work.”
“What can I do to help?” I hate sitting here like a knot on a log. I’m not accustomed to being useless. My team counts on me the same way I count on them. We wouldn’t win the way we do otherwise. Even as a kid I learned how to pitch in and help around the house. I know how to cook a few basic things and clean up after myself.
Getting into the NBA didn’t change who I am at my roots.
That’s the person I need Trina to see. If she’d believe me, I’d flat out tell her right now her article was garbage. But she won’t believe me. Not yet. I haven’t earned her trust.
Why does it matter so much? Maybe it wouldn’t if I knew I could let this whole thing go. It’s not like we’ll have anything to do with each other once this marriage sham ends.
Trina hands me two ears of corn with the husks still on. “Stick those at the bottom of the fire. Not directly in the flames.”
I do as she directs then sit back to wait for my next order. Nantucket nightlife is minimal. Maybe because of the fire. I bet the crew set up deterrents. They wouldn’t want any critters sneaking up on them while they film. Now that would be great reality TV.
Time ticks past in a slow cascade, almost like it’s nonexistent here on Nantucket. Trina does her magic on the food, and soon I smell an amazing aroma.
“Where did you learn to do all this?”
She brushes her hands over her thighs and sits beside me. “I grew up camping. Dad loves the outdoors. He took us out in the woods every chance he got. Taught us how to cook outside, start our own fires. This is like being back home.” Her voice hitches.
I reach out to comfort her but drag my arm back. Stupid cameras. They have my emotions in a jumbled mess. I should comfort her for the show, but I want to do it for myself, and that’s a slippery slope.
I can’t fall for Trina. How ridiculous is that?
The fire crackles and pops, sending sparks into the sky.
“Could you help me with something?” Trina stands and makes her way toward the yurt. We step inside and she closes the flaps. She leans in close and lowers her voice to a whisper I have to strain to hear. “The race was rigged. I can’t tell you how I know, but I know. And I’ll prove it. Those buttons were tampered with, but then they worked fine for you. It’s suspicious.”
I want to argue with her, but she has a point. Her jet ski worked just fine for me, and she operated mine without any trouble. I wouldn’t put it past them to rig the race. “Well, camping is more romantic.”
“Than a yacht?” Her nose scrunches and she raises her voice. “Yeah, that’s great, Liam. Bring those pillows.” She motions toward her ear, like she expects someone to be listening in, then turns away, leaving me gaping after her.
I grab pillows and follow her back to the fire. I give her one and sit on the other while she fishes our dinner out of the fire.
My stomach rumbles. I retrieve the roasted corn and set it aside to cool. Trina peels back the aluminum foil and hands me the packet she assembled.
“We called these campfire scrambles. Basically, you take everything and throw it together in the pouch, then roast it.”
“That’s great, guys.” The voice comes out of nowhere, then Joel steps into the firelight. “We’ll leave you two alone now. There’s a couple of cameras focused on the fire and the surrounding area, but the yurt is camera and mic free.”
Great, they didn’t catch what Trina said.
What, exactly, does she plan to do with the information she digs up?
***
TRINA
Thank goodness the camera crew checks out today. They’ve stopped swarming around us like pesky flies. The unit remains bugged, but outside we’re free.
