Chapter 17

Kaydie is crying when she leaves. Like, really, really crying. She holds Krystin for a long time, and Krystin feels the shoulder of her dress dampen. Josh stands awkwardly on the other side of the room, still holding the golden scissors. He looks down at them, clasped between his thumb and forefinger, then places them gingerly on the gilded platter.

The delicate clatter rouses Kaydie from Krystin's shoulder. She shudders out a breath, then dabs the corner of her eyes so as to not disrupt her makeup, which is already irreparably disrupted.

Kaydie turns to hug Krystin first, then turns to Lauren and McKenzie. She looks at the ground as she walks to Josh, the red string still hanging from her wrist. He asks if he can walk her out, and she nods again, limply.

The cameras, and Jim, follow the two of them outside the chateau. When they're gone, the three women stand in silence.

Lauren is the first to speak. "That was intense."

McKenzie agrees solemnly. She hardly looks at either of them, her fuchsia lips drawn into themselves. Krystin thinks they must be thinking the same thing—that she didn't think Kaydie felt so strongly about Josh. But why wouldn't she? It's eight weeks in, and he just met her parents.

Lauren clears her throat. "Maybe her mom really hated him."

McKenzie scoffs. "As if. How could anyone hate Josh?"

"I'm not saying it's likely," Lauren replies. "Just that it's possible."

A PA helps them all take their mic packs off. Krystin holds herself still as they peel the tape from her skin.

Holland strides over to them, iPad in hand. "All right, ladies, it seems like Josh is gonna be outside with Kaydie for … a while, so I'm just gonna tell you that Honeymoons will be taking place in Costa Rica!" She shakes a half-hearted jazz hand in the air. "Woo!"

The women are silent. McKenzie looks like she wants to melt into the floor. Lauren, on the other hand, cranes her neck around Holland as if she could somehow see through the walls to Josh and Kaydie's conversation.

Holland's hand is still jazzing. Finally, she drops it, along with her smile. "Exciting stuff. Anyway, flight's tomorrow afternoon." Then she rejoins Penny in the corner.

"Wonder what's taking them so long out there," Lauren says, eyes wide to feign innocence, but Krystin knows better.

McKenzie crosses her arms. "Kaydie was a puddle when Josh cut her string. What do you think?"

"We don't know what their relationship is like," Krystin offers, attempting diplomacy.

"Yet." Lauren smooths the front of her dress. Without the mic, the satin lies flat against her body. "We will in, like, two weeks."

McKenzie shakes her head. "I don't wanna think about that right now."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean, ‘why not?'" McKenzie's words are razored. Krystin almost expects blood to dribble from the corner of her lips. "He's my boyfriend. I don't want to think about him being anyone else's."

She doesn't wait for a response, just leaves the two of them standing there in the string-cutting room. Even surrounded by production, Krystin feels gooseflesh rise, as if her skin is jumping out of itself to get closer to Lauren. She rubs her hands against her arms vigorously.

Lauren looks at Krystin pointedly. "Cold?"

Krystin drops her arms. "Kinda."

"Well …" Lauren steps closer to her, hooking her arm around Krystin's elbow. To anyone watching, it would look like they were simply the best of friends. "Good thing I know what makes you hot."

And all of a sudden she is. She feels blood flush her cheeks, and it feels like a layer of her skin is about to burn off. She lets Lauren lead her out of the room.

McKenzie's door is already shut when they reach the residential wing. Lauren releases Krystin's arm and presses an ear against the door.

"‘Teardrops on My Guitar,'" Lauren whispers. "A little basic, but still a classic. She's down bad."

When they turn into their room, Lauren spins around and kisses Krystin so hard she stumbles backward, accidentally slamming the door behind her. Krystin's lips part easily as Lauren slides her hands around Krystin's waist.

The silk of Lauren's dress feels like water under Krystin's hands. Her fingers trace the neckline, slipping effortlessly underneath. She can feel Lauren's heartbeat, the thrum under her sternum. Krystin matches her rhythm. They trade breaths.

Krystin drops kisses along Lauren's jawline.

Lauren sighs. "I …"

Krystin hums a response from the crook of Lauren's neck. "Hmm?"

"Missed you," she finishes.

Lauren's never said that before. The confession elicits something like a whimper from Krystin. She tangles her fingers in Lauren's hair, pressing her into herself.

Lauren grips Krystin's hips, sliding a knee between her legs. "Did you, like … miss me?"

Lauren tastes good, so good, sweet and bitter and hot. "Yes."

Krystin means it. She can hardly breathe, but she manages; she's at once desperate and utterly calm. And she wants Lauren.

She reaches to her side, gliding the zipper of her dress down until it's a shell that she kicks to the ground. Lauren leaves constellations across Krystin's collar, chest, stomach, mouth. Krystin quivers under her touch, until Lauren slips her fingers inside her, and she feels relief.

Krystin likes a lot of things about sleeping with Lauren. She likes laying her head on Lauren's chest and bobbing up and down with her breath, like when she takes a float out into the middle of the lake and feels the waves bubble underneath her. She likes that Lauren is soft, and smells like sugar. She likes that it feels like the best part of a sleepover, when you're both tired and peaceful and letting half-stitched thoughts unravel as they leave your lips.

Krystin never considered herself a particularly sexual person, mostly because the few times she'd had sex with men, she hadn't enjoyed it. But this … she can hardly recognize these feelings. Her body is moving on instinct, her mind trailing behind.

They haven't even taken off their string-cutting ceremony makeup, though now both their dresses are on the floor. Krystin's pretty sure some of her fake lashes have dislodged. Her arms shimmer from Lauren's body glitter.

"So," Krystin says, letting the word take its time in her mouth, "maybe we should talk about Hometowns."

Lauren shifts under her. "Um, okay. Was there something you wanted to, like, know?"

No. Yes. "How did it go?"

"It was … fine." Lauren thinks. "Josh talked to my dad about working in sales."

"That sounds nice."

"Does it?"

"I mean, they have something in common."

Lauren laughs. "Sure."

Krystin draws abstract shapes on Lauren's stomach. "What else?"

"We went to the mall. Then my mom got shitfaced at the Olive Garden."

Krystin gasps. "You got to go to an Olive Garden? No fair!"

"We leave for Costa Rica in fourteen hours, and you're jealous of a mid-priced American chain restaurant?"

Krystin pouts. "The closest one to us growing up was forty minutes away. It was only for special occasions. And, like, when you're there … you're family."

"Pff. Okay, what about your family?" Lauren segues. "I'm sure it was nice to be back in Montana."

"It was," Krystin says, and it's the truth. "We didn't really get to do much. My parents liked Josh a lot. He, like … fit in."

Lauren doesn't respond right away. Krystin can hear her heartbeat spike a little. "That's … good, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely." Krystin draws a flower around the freckle below Lauren's left rib cage. "Um, Delia was there."

Maybe she's imagining it, but Krystin thinks she feels Lauren's heartbeat spike a little more.

But Lauren just releases a steady breath. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I didn't know about it beforehand. She was just … in my house, sitting with my parents like nothing happened."

"Sounds like you haven't lost your best friend after all."

"That's the thing, though." Krystin props herself up on Lauren's chest. "It didn't feel that way. We just had the same fight we had months ago, again." She pauses. "With cameras."

Lauren sucks air through her teeth. "Yikes."

"And it was so frustrating, like, she just kept drinking wine on my couch, saying the most cryptic shit, like she knows something I don't, or—" Krystin can feel herself getting worked up again. She looks down at Lauren, whose expression is entirely blank. "Whatever."

Lauren shifts under Krystin's weight. "I mean. Does she?"

"Does she what?"

"Know something you don't."

"If she did, wouldn't I not know what it is?"

Lauren makes a sound that's supposed to sound like a laugh. "Okay."

Krystin's cheeks feel hot, and not in the way they did about thirty minutes ago. "What, do you, like, agree with her or something?"

"Krystin, I don't even know her. Actually, all I know about her is that she's been a shitty friend to you."

Krystin relaxes a little at the words. They feel like they did in Buenos Aires, like honey melting on her mind. "She said I wasn't ready to get married. I'm just …" She rubs her eyes, then remembers her makeup, then remembers she doesn't care. "I'm sick of people telling me what not to do. No one ever tells me what to do instead."

A lock of Krystin's hair spills forward onto Lauren's chest. Lauren twirls it between her fingers.

"Well, only you know that," she says. "Right?"

"I don't, though."

Lauren plays with the hair a little longer, then drops her hand. "Krystin," and the way she says it sounds just like Delia. Krystin fights the urge to rip herself away from Lauren.

"What?"

"Are you ready?"

"Are you?" Krystin feels the conversation rapidly unfolding before her, and she can't catch up to it. "Why are we even talking about this?"

An expression of hurt creases Lauren's face before she has the chance to mask it. "You wanted to. You're the one who said we should talk about Hometowns."

"Well, I shouldn't have. This is stupid." Krystin wants to peel herself away, but she feels glued to Lauren's skin. And she can't help but feel that any action would mean something, when she wants it to not mean anything at all.

"Maybe it isn't."

Krystin feels something like tectonic plates shifting under her, and then realizes it's just Lauren pulling herself up. She sits back against the bed frame, arms crossed over her chest.

Krystin pushes herself into a sitting position. She pulls at the sheets, trying to wrap them around her, feeling like a cliché even as she does. Lauren speaks before she can.

"Do you ever wonder what we're doing here?"

"Like, here here?"

"You know what kind of here I mean."

"Again with the me knowing things." She knows it's dumb even as she says it. Lauren waits for a real answer.

"I don't know what's happening," Krystin says carefully.

Lauren looks at her with a rare tenderness, which, admittedly, is growing less rare as Krystin knows her. "Do you want to?"

Krystin thinks of Josh at her family's home, the way her mother smiled when he kissed Krystin's cheek, the way her father patted Josh's shoulder as they left. She feels an ache in her core for something she hadn't even lost yet.

"I can't …" She trails off. Krystin flicks her eyes up to Lauren's, whose features seem to be hardening the longer Krystin waffles. "This just doesn't—it's not—"

"Forget it," Lauren says, and now she's entirely stone. "I don't know what I expected from this."

The ache is shot through with a sharp pain. "What do you mean?"

"Krystin, you don't just fall into bed with someone. I mean, has anything like this ever happened to you before?"

"I …" Krystin knows the answer. She's known it the whole time, even though she never thinks about it, or tries to never think about it, because it makes everything so much more complicated.

When they were fourteen, Krystin and Delia sat on the floor of Krystin's bedroom. Delia was propped against the wall, face nearly obscured by the fantasy novel she was reading aloud to Krystin, knees pulled up to her chest. Krystin lay on her back, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars they had plastered to the ceiling a few years earlier. The fan spun lazily in the hot summer air, blowing wisps of hair on and off of Krystin's face.

She'd turned her head to look at Delia. Her eyes were so bright, brighter than the stars in the big Montana sky, darting across the page so energetically she didn't even notice Krystin staring. And then her gaze moved from Delia's eyes to her lips, which moved around the words so effortlessly that Krystin found herself more focused on the shapes they made than the sentences they read.

Krystin thought about kissing her. She thought about springing from the carpeted floor and falling into Delia, about stopping her lips moving with her own, and letting the rest of the story play out between the two of them.

So she did. And Delia didn't stop her. And it felt nice and good, and right. They kept kissing for a little while, until they went to sleep, and in the morning they didn't talk about it. They kept not talking about it until Krystin nearly convinced herself she'd made it all up to begin with, just like she did with Will.

Lauren is quiet while Krystin tells her this, just lets Krystin talk until the end. Krystin searches her for any hint of a reaction, for disgust or disappointment or anger, but Lauren's features aren't twisted or icy. If anything, Lauren looks at her with something like pity.

She nearly stands up to leave before Lauren speaks.

"That makes sense," she says.

Krystin runs her fingers along the ridges in the sheets. "Why?"

"It just … does." Lauren rearranges herself in the bed. "With what you told me about Delia, and your relationship, and … yeah, it makes sense that you've kissed a girl before."

"But I mean, that's it. That's all we ever did. Just that one time."

"That's okay," Lauren says, soft, and Krystin realizes she's mistaken empathy for pity.

"I don't know what any of this is." Krystin sighs. She feels like crumpling, but she almost doesn't have the energy. "And you—you do. You hooked up with your sorority sisters and God knows who else, and I mean—you clearly know what you're doing."

Lauren smirks. "Please, go on."

Krystin blushes. "I kissed one girl once, and we never talked about it again, meanwhile you've probably had countless relationships and heartbreaks. Like, enough for a season of television."

"I wouldn't go that far."

Is she playing coy? "Come on, haven't you?"

Lauren runs her fingers through her hair, flipping her part. "Have I broken hearts? Absolutely. But if you're asking me if I've been in a lot of actual relationships, it's a different answer."

"And what is it?"

"None."

"None," Krystin repeats.

"None. I mean, not any long ones. Not serious."

The admission crawls under her skin, burrowing deeper than Krystin expects. She'd thought of Lauren as so sure of herself this entire time, so unfalteringly confident, so—experienced. That Lauren has never been in a relationship feels unfathomable to Krystin. She knows she seems hypocritical but it doesn't feel that way. It's not the same.

Krystin swallows. "I guess I just figured, with all the stories you've told me …" She looks at Lauren, waiting for her to finish the sentence, but Lauren just stares forward. "You've been with women. Like, been with them. But you've never really dated them?"

Lauren shrugs. "I date and I hook up, but it's never really gone anywhere. I ‘experimented' with my high school girlfriends, I've had the occasional one-night stand, but a lot of my relationships, they've just been fun. They're …" She pauses, searching for the right word. "Convenient."

Krystin blinks. "Convenient."

She's starting to sound like a parrot, but she doesn't care. She doesn't think she'd be able to string two words together if she tried. The past two months, Krystin has considered Lauren the one who knew what she was doing. Lauren has guided Krystin through everything, and Krystin has wanted all of it. But it's been playacting. Lauren is on a show she doesn't care about, wooing a man she doesn't want. She's wasted two months of her own life for a ring that means nothing to her, because she doesn't want commitment, and apparently never has. Lauren doesn't take anything seriously. Why did Krystin ever think this would be different?

Krystin feels hot and prickly. Her mouth fills with too much spit, and it tastes bitter and coppery. Lauren is looking at her like she wants a response, and the longer Krystin takes, the more it feels like she's the one twisting Lauren's features, as if she was watching her swirl down the sink drain. And the more she looks at her, the less she understands what Lauren wants at all.

"I have to pee," Krystin says suddenly, and scrambles out of the bed, taking the top sheet with her.

Lauren doesn't respond, or doesn't have time to, because Krystin crosses the room in a few large steps and closes the door behind her, almost snagging the sheet in the process. When she reaches the bathroom, she barely has time to turn the lock before gagging into the toilet, eyes watering. She presses a palm to the cold tile, anchoring herself to the floor. Her heart shudders in her chest; her breath stutters between heaves.

When her heart rate begins to stabilize, she unfolds herself onto the floor. The bed sheet tangles around her limply. She steadies her breath. One, two, three, four, in, one, two, three, four, out. Her body slouches toward relaxation, her limbs like lead. Lauren is probably wondering where she is, if she hasn't fallen asleep, but Krystin doesn't move from the floor. She just lets herself lie there, blending into the marble.

When Krystin returns to the room, she doesn't slip into Lauren's bunk. Instead, she crawls into the bed across from her and prays she gets enough sleep before their flight to Costa Rica.

She doesn't.

She wakes up a million times, flips her pillow, pulls one leg up near her chest, and rolls onto her stomach. The freaking birds wake her up. By the time she manages to fall (and stay) asleep, she rouses to the sound of Lauren shuffling around the room, zipping and unzipping various travel bags, and folding very loud beaded dresses into her suitcase.

"You're alive," Lauren comments when Krystin groans into consciousness. "I didn't hear you come back last night."

Her voice is steady, nearly void of emotion. Krystin rubs at her eyes, which ache in their sockets. "You must have fallen asleep."

"I didn't."

Krystin forces her eyes open, looking around the room. Lauren's side is nearly impeccable, her bed made, nary a lace bralette hanging from a doorknob. Two suitcases huddle together near the door, her monogrammed travel tote slouched on top. Krystin doesn't think she's seen Lauren's space ever look so … tidy.

And then there's Lauren, standing in the middle of it all, holding a compact and applying lip gloss to her perfect lips. She closes the lid with a snap.

Krystin isn't sure what to say. Sorry? But what would she even apologize for? Running off with the top sheet after realizing that Lauren is actually who she always said she was?

Lauren speaks first. "Is everything okay? Like …" she trails off, playing with the compact she's still holding. "With us?"

Krystin is suddenly very aware of their differences in dress. She feels ridiculous, still lying horizontal in bed, while Lauren looks ready for a date card. "Uh, yeah," she manages. "Yes, everything is fine." Because it is. It has to be.

Lauren is unconvinced. "You took half my bedding with you when you went to pee."

"McKenzie's still down the hall. Didn't want her to get any ideas."

Lauren lets out half a laugh. She hovers there for a moment, then walks brusquely to Krystin's bed and plants a kiss on her lips. Then she steps back, looks like she might say something, and changes her mind. "See you downstairs," she says, and then pulls her luggage behind her.

Costa Rica is hot and humid. Krystin doesn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't a blanket of sweat the second she stepped off the plane. It's beautiful, though, even at the airport, because she could see mountains on the skyline, and palm trees literally swaying all around her, and it's everything she imagined a tropical vacation would be.

Except it's not a vacation.

She's not even outside, enjoying the rhythmic waves of the Caribbean, or the squawks of exotic birds. Instead, she stares at the printed wallpaper of their villa's common area, replete with illustrated parrots and brightly colored fruits. The three women are sitting on the couch, while Holland and Penny watch from their perch in the corner. The cameras are filming B-roll as the women wait for this week's first date card, even though they already know what it will be.

Honeymoons.

McKenzie locked herself in her room as soon as they'd gotten there, leaving Krystin and Lauren stranded in the middle of the common area. They hadn't really spoken since that morning, since Krystin was in a rush to get ready, and they weren't seated together on the flight. Lauren had flashed Krystin a couple of smiles, just for her, throughout the day, which Krystin had returned, even though she wasn't sure what they meant anymore.

Krystin told Lauren she was going to hop in the shower before hitting the hay, but then Lauren stepped closer to Krystin, and flicked a finger across her forearm.

And then she asked, "Want me to join you?"

Krystin ignored the shivers Lauren's touch sent down her body—who needs electroshock when the tip of Lauren's forefinger can zap you from the brain to the toes?—squeaked out a frantic "No thanks!" and pulled her suitcase into the bathroom with her. By the time she'd left the bathroom after her hour-long bathing routine, Lauren was in her bedroom. Krystin avoided her the rest of the night.

The next morning, she's sandwiched between Lauren and McKenzie, trying to avoid grazing either pair of knees on the very small teakwood love seat. McKenzie is incessantly running her fingers through the curls she just spent an entire hour perfecting. She wants to tell her what her mother used to say when she was younger, and unused to the feeling of hairsprayed coils: Don't touch it! The oils in your fingertips will make it all limp. And then Peg would collapse like a rag doll and Krystin would laugh and forget about her hair completely.

Lauren sits to Krystin's right, examining her nails. She must have gotten them done while she was home in New Jersey; the cherry red Krystin had grown accustomed to has been replaced with an opalescent pink. They're still short, though.

Krystin feels insane, having to talk to herself about this whole situation. She keeps asking herself questions, to which she can only respond I don't know, which isn't helpful in the least. She's heard that you're supposed to be your own best friend, but Krystin thinks she needs a best friend who has some different opinions. It isn't the first time she's missed Delia for that reason—but Delia made it very clear exactly what her opinions are.

A knock on the door startles Krystin, even though it's scripted. Lauren stands, like Holland instructed, and saunters to the door. When she returns, she holds a golden square between her shimmering fingers.

"Krystin," Lauren reads, and Krystin's name sounds like silk in her mouth. "Let's take our love to new heights."

Krystin could swear she heard Lauren's tone falter over the word love. Honestly, Krystin tripped over it, too. Had she told Josh she loved him? Had he said it to her? Even in the fog of the past few weeks, there's no way she wouldn't have remembered that.

To her left, McKenzie has visibly crumpled. "I'm super happy for you," she says, but her voice is flat.

"New heights," Lauren repeats, flipping the words around on her tongue. "Wonder what that means."

"Maybe we're going hiking," Krystin supplies, figuring it's the least offensive guess.

"Maybe rock climbing," Lauren adds.

"Maybe he's taking you to the highest point in Costa Rica to kiss so you can break some freaking world record about the highest kiss in Costa Rica."

Krystin and Lauren both turn to McKenzie, who's nearly panting after pushing out that entire sentence without a breath. She's red-faced, her lips drawn into a line as if to suck the words back in. For the first time, Krystin notices the half-moons under her eyes.

She watches in silence as the season's rumored front-runner sulks out of the room, a camera following dutifully behind her. Even Holland has an eyebrow raised.

Lauren whistles out a long breath. "I've always thought there was more going on there, but I honestly didn't think I'd see her break," she says to Krystin.

Krystin nods. "I guess I should go get ready," she says, but doesn't move from her seat.

Lauren doesn't move either. She turns the date card around in her hands, then gives it to Krystin. "This is yours."

"Mm." Krystin looks down at the glittering cardstock, runs her fingers over the Sharpied message.

Krystin,

Let's take our love to new heights.

—Josh

It's not Josh's handwriting. Krystin wonders which PA is tasked with inscribing the cards. It feels heavy in her hands, as if she can feel its implications. Krystin doesn't blame McKenzie for leaving the room. She wants to do the same.

Holland approaches the two women, who still haven't moved from their respective positions.

"Krystin," she says, voice bright, "if you don't mind, I'd like to steal you for a few moments before you get ready for the date. It's a big week," she adds, wiggling her eyebrows.

Krystin can't help it—she glances at Lauren. But the other woman is examining her nails again, leaning all her weight on one foot, looking as bored as ever.

"Sure, of course," Krystin replies, and follows Holland out of the room, leaving Lauren alone with Penny and the parrots in the wallpaper.

A few hours later, Krystin stands under the nets and ladders of an adventure course, beginning to understand the meaning of "new heights." (It's very literal.)

Josh stands to her side, staring up at the rope bridges suspended between the soaring trees. He grabs her hand, just like he did before they walked into Krystin's childhood home.

"Ready to do this?" he asks.

"As I'll ever be."

And then they start to climb.

Krystin never considered herself afraid of heights, but she realizes now that's because she's never really been very high up. The first base isn't too bad—about the height of a deer-hunting stand—and she wobbles across the wooden planks of the bridge. Josh follows behind her, stepping confidently onto the next base.

"How're you feeling?" he asks after they climb a few more yards into the sky. The air is heavy with humidity, but they're shaded by the canopy of leaves, sunlight dappling in clusters of yellow.

"Fine," Krystin manages, even though a single glance down makes her knees hurt.

Josh rubs his thumbs into her shoulders, which are already beading with sweat. "Hey," he says, softly, "I've got you."

And the thing is, she believes him—because he's never given her any reason not to. It's enough to make her take a shaky step forward onto a floating stair, clutching the guiding cable above her.

"Keep going," Josh calls from behind her. "You're good."

Krystin nods, mostly to herself, and takes another step, and another, until she reaches the next tree and flings her arms around it.

Josh laughs as he climbs up, reaching his arms around her torso. She stiffens under his touch, and convinces herself it's the nerves.

"You know," Josh says, tugging on the cable. "It's actually kind of nice to see you like this."

Krystin turns around to face him, resting her back against the tree. "What? Scared shitless forty feet in the air?"

Josh chuckles. "No, no, not that. Just …" He trails off, looking at the rainforest surrounding them. "You're pretty fearless. All your rodeo stuff, and how you've handled yourself this whole season with the drama. I don't know, you're just—you're human."

Krystin smirks. "You thought I beamed down from Mars?"

"No," he says. "I think you fell from heaven."

Krystin searches for a tinge of irony in his expression, but he's looking at her with a softness that feels earnest. She gestures to the course.

"Should we keep going?"

Josh smiles. "You bet."

The rest of the course passes quickly. Krystin focuses on the vegetation, the feeling of the breeze on her skin. It really is beautiful here, if she doesn't look down. And the zipline to the end of the course fills her with the same buzzing as running with Ringo.

Krystin doesn't regain her land legs until she's showered and changed for dinner. She's wearing one of her favorite dresses she brought, a silky blush gown with iridescent beading that reflects the light. Josh beams when he sees her, pulling her into a kiss.

Krystin pulls away after a few moments. "Lip gloss," she says.

"Right," Josh replies, unbothered. "I always forget!"

He leads her down a stony path lined with palm trees. A small round table is nestled between a few trees wound with fairy lights. Josh pulls out the chair for her, and she sits.

She has to admit, it's romantic. The set designers really outdid themselves here, between the purple orchids and the trios of candles scattered around the space.

"Today was really fun," Josh says, swirling his glass of wine.

"Yeah," Krystin agrees, "if you forget the jelly-leg-inducing death trap part, it was super fun."

"No way! I felt like Indiana Jones up there." Josh mimes using a whip.

"Pretty sure Indie never wore a safety harness."

Josh frowns. "Hey, a man can dream. Besides," he says, reaching his hand across the table to hers, "we bonded pretty hard."

Krystin smiles, but doesn't say anything. Josh takes her silence as a sign to keep going.

"I meant what I said back there," he says, squeezing her hand. "I've got you. Any time, any place, you can trust me. I'll take care of you."

It's everything Krystin has ever wanted to hear.

"I know," she replies.

He takes a sip of wine. "I loved meeting your family last week, they're great. Your friend, though—she was a bit of a hard-ass."

Krystin winces. "I'm sorry about her. She doesn't really like this whole …" She waves her hands in the air. "Thing."

"So she didn't like me?"

"It's not that," Krystin insists, though she doesn't know if that's entirely true. "I don't know. This isn't what she saw for me."

"Is it what you saw for yourself?"

Krystin thinks. "I don't know," she admits. "I mean, I know what I see at the end of it: a partner, a family, a home. I didn't necessarily know how I'd get there."

"I see that for myself too," Josh says. "I definitely never thought I'd be the Romantic, but hey." He pauses, looking at Krystin. "It brought me here, to you. Can't complain about that."

Krystin imagines McKenzie back at the villa, streaming more old Taylor, and feels a pit start to open up in her stomach. Or an ulcer.

"And this place," Josh continues, leaning back to admire the trees. "I mean, come on."

"It's stunning," Krystin agrees.

"We'll have to come back some time."

Krystin swallows. Does he talk about his future like this with all of them?

"So, like, after all this," Josh says, swirling his wine around some more, "what are you planning on doing? Since you won't be reigning Rodeo Princess."

Rodeo Queen Montana.Krystin doesn't correct him. It's difficult to conceptualize a life not characterized by early morning drives to the stables, hitching the trailer to her truck, and driving it (and Ringo) to the next county over. And she loves competing, which is why she never stopped too long to think about what came next. Well, that isn't the only reason.

Krystin loves competing, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't losing steam. She's tired of constantly being judged (literally), of the hairspray and the nitpicking and the clocks that are always running out of time. But she's known for a long time that if she stops, she'll crash headfirst into the next phase of her life. At the next wedding, she won't be able to use competing as an excuse for why she doesn't have a man in her life, not to mention actually having to go on the dates her friends set her up for without a viable reason for flaking. She knows they just want her to be happy, and that should make her happy—but instead, she's filled with dread over the prospect of those two things being different.

Krystin watches the candle flame flicker in the breeze. "I'd like to coach," she decides then, half surprising herself even as she says it. "Even if I don't have the title, or am not even competing for it, I want to stay involved. And I would really love to help little girls do what I did," she adds. As she speaks, she realizes how much she actually means it, and it feels good to actually believe the words coming out of her mouth for once.

"Wow," Josh replies. "That's great. So I take it you're not gonna move out to LA with the rest of the Devoted Fam?"

Krystin scoffs, then tries to play it off like a laugh. "Nooo. I don't think that's for me."

Josh looks at his lap, rubs his chin. "You think you'd ever move out of Montana?"

He doesn't say the other part. For me. Krystin grips her wine glass, and chooses her words very carefully.

"For the right reason," she says. She doesn't elaborate.

Josh reddens and shakes his head. Krystin lets him draw his own conclusions; it feels like less of a lie.

Over the next hour, they talk about their families. Josh wants to know more about Krystin's parents after meeting them, and Krystin has questions about meeting his next week.

"It's my little brother you have to worry about," Josh warns, eyes widening. "I mean, you watched my season."

Krystin had. Josh's little brother, Jeremiah, had asked Amanda if she'd ever consider going for a younger man, and then attempted to sneak a Bud Light from the fridge. It destabilized the entire night and launched a whole domino effect of trouble—Josh didn't even make it to the string-cutting ceremony. Amanda broke his heart in the same place he took his prom photos.

Josh continues. "I just hope the women I bring to meet them accept them as they are. They're … a little wacky."

"Wacky's good," Krystin says. "Not to sound like an after school special, but like, everyone's family is kind of wacky in their own way, right?"

"Wacky might not even be the best word …" He trails off, laughing faintly. "They're intense."

There's no arguing with that. Josh's hometown date involved a lot of pointed questions that caught Amanda off guard. Krystin remembers the whisper-shouted argument that occurred between drinks and dinner, even before shit really hit the fan.

"Why didn't you prepare me for this?" Amanda had asked, but it was more of an accusation. Josh didn't have an answer, just gave a pained shrug.

At the time, Krystin had thought Josh was being passive, with his parents talking over each other and his brother making inappropriate jokes. Now, sitting at a small, well-lit table in the middle of the Costa Rican rainforest, Krystin realizes he was embarrassed. It makes her heart fissure in her chest, imagining Josh mortified by the people he loves, all because of someone else's judgment.

"I'm really excited to meet them," Krystin tells him, and Josh visibly relaxes.

They sit for a moment, not speaking. He looks nice here, Krystin thinks, his skin flushed from the warm air, kissed by the sun. And he's looking at her with the open sincerity of a literal puppy, pupils dilated, and she can feel the comfort radiating off of him, just like on the adventure course. He wants her—visibly, seriously, and without a time limit ticking down the seconds.

Lauren might look at her with desire, but she's never once said anything pointing to any kind of future. Josh tells her what he wants: a wife, a family, enough love to fill a dining room table, enough security to never feel unwanted, to never have to go on another stupid TV show ever again.

Lauren has given Krystin murmurs in her ear, breath hot and sweet on her neck. She's made her slick between the legs, dizzy and desperate, and uncertain in ways that have made her life so much harder than she ever wanted it to be. She's given her restless nights and the kind of support Krystin thought could only result after years and years of friendship.

But Josh has never given Krystin any reason to doubt him.

Krystin doesn't want to be confused. She doesn't want messy, unruly feelings that send her into a spiral. She wants to be in control. She wants—fine—the metaphorical fucking reins.

So when a PA approaches them with a platter and another golden card, she's ready. They'll edit this part out in post—when it airs, it will seem like these trinkets appeared magically, another fairy tale flourish in America's Number One Dating Show.

She knows what the card says before Josh reads it: Will you spend tonight with me? She doesn't let him finish before she answers: "Yes."