“Great,” she muttered.
Chuck reached over her and found the lone tool, a wimpy little Allen wrench, and sighed. “Even better.”
She realized, as they set about wrangling the parts as best they could while TJ called off countdown milestones with increasing fervor, that they had joined ranks with any high-stakes timed reality competition. Whether they were cooking an elaborate dish from a collection of pantry flotsam and jetsam, or solving a puzzle, or making a garment, or even learning choreography, there was always a countdown and something on the line. The handcuffs were an added obstacle. Like having to make soup from toothpicks and a packet of ketchup, or learn a dance blindfolded. She wondered as she handed Chuck screwsto attach one of the couch’s feet what other reality TV tropes the producers were going to subject them to.
Forty-eight minutes later, after what felt like the most bizarre game of Twister ever (Put your left handthere! No, use yourrighthand! Lift your leg! Yourotherleg!), and by some miracle, they had an assembled couch. They’d managed to do it without killing each other or with any injury—which was saying a lot on both counts, all things considered.
“Well, congrats!” TJ said, and unlocked their handcuffs. “I am duly impressed.”
Olivia rubbed her wrist, where she’d surely have bruises from being yanked around for an hour. She couldn’t help the proud grin on her lips. She noticed a similar one on Chuck’s.
“One is better than none,” Chuck said, and nodded at the two other pieces of furniture still in their boxes.
“Indeed, it is, Chuck. And in truth, we didn’t even expect you to get one at all.”
Chuck snorted. “Again, your faith is overwhelming.”
“I call it like I see it.” TJ clapped him on the back. “Well, go ahead and sit on it. Make sure it’s sturdy.”
Both Olivia and Chuck walked over and gingerly perched on the cushions. Olivia was less concerned about their handiwork than she was about the quality of the couch itself. Thankfully, it didn’t collapse.
“Well well well,” TJ said with a flashy grin. “Look at that. Nice teamwork! You’re free to do whatever you want for the rest of the day now.” He dropped his big game show grin and stepped off camera. He stretched out his mouth like it might have been sore from smiling so much.
Olivia was rubbing her wrist when Chuck turned to her.
“Is your arm okay?”
She noted that he too had a red ring around his wrist. “It will be fine. Good thing we aren’t cuffed together the whole time we’re in here.”
He huffed a laugh and combed a hand through his mussed hair. “Good thing.”
“How’s your back?” she asked.
“Not great, but at least the past hour was a distraction. I think I’m going to go stretch in the gym and then lie down.” He got up and left her there with their new couch and the camera crew and feeling guilty all over again.
•••
While Chuck rested for mostof the day, Olivia watched a few movies, pined for the internet, and decided what to make for dinner. He found her in the kitchen around six p.m. flipping a pair of steaks in a cast-iron skillet.
“Is that what I think it is?”
She turned at the sound of his voice from her position in front of the stove. He was freshly showered, his hair wet and matted down, and wearing a black tee shirt that hit his arms in a way that made her take a big gulp of the wine in her hand. She took another sip for good measure because he’d already put on his glasses for the night.
Thoughts of asking him if he was intentionally making things difficult for her entered her mind, but she instead smiled and turned back to the slabs of meat hissing on the stove.
“Sure is. I made garlic potatoes and—”
“Roasted Brussels sprouts,” he finished for her. She glanced over her shoulder to see him take a seat at the island and pluck one of the little roasted cabbages from the serving bowl whereshe’d left them. “My favorite meal,” he said after he ate it. “Between this and the Pop-Tarts, I guess I should make you feel tremendously guilty more often.”
Olivia used a pair of tongs to pull the steaks from the pan and then glared at him as she turned around and set the plate on the island. “How are you feeling, by the way?”
“Much better. I told you I just needed to rest and I’d be fine.”
She scrunched up her nose. “I’m really sorry.”
He shrugged and nodded at the plates. “I thought we had to agree on dinner. How did you manage this?”
She topped off her wineglass and then held the bottle over an empty one, silently asking if he wanted some.