Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I knew it. They’re definitely our biggest competitors in this event.
“—constructed a five-foot sand interpretation of Cinderella’s castle. That will be a tough one to top, ladies, but I believe in you.”
“Someone’s playing favorites,” Mackenzie grumbles.
“For real. Dooley better not be one of the judges,” Cooper growls.
“I think we found the competitive couple on the beach,” I whisper to Gen, who giggles.
“Ready, set, sculpt!”
Anyone who thinks building something out of sand is easy is dead wrong. It’s hard. And my only task so far is carting plastic pails from the ocean to our build site. It’s nine o’clock and the sun’s rays aren’t even that strong, yet Genevieve and I are sweating profusely as we toil to replenish our team’s water supply. After each trip, though, each sharp order from Mac and Zale to pat this, tamp this down, build this up, I’m starting to see a method to their madness. Gradually, our fish comes alive. It’s about six feet long and three feet wide, its curved tail slashing a semicircle in the sand, scales intricately carved by Zale’s spatula.
By the time our ninety minutes are up, I’m genuinely impressed by Team Beacon’s creation.
“Not half bad,” Gen says, admiring our handiwork.
“Not half bad?” Zale echoes. “It’s exquisite.”
“I wouldn’t go that far—”
“Yes. You would. And you should.” His tone brooks no argument, and Gen wisely shuts up.
I check out the Hartley team’s creation, my eyebrows soaring when I notice it’s not half bad either. They constructed a lion, complete with a wavy mane, thick paws, and an open mouth brandishing a set of lethal-looking teeth.
“Dammit,” Mackenzie mutters, sidling up to Genevieve. They’re surreptitiously studying their boyfriends’ work. “It’s pretty good.”
“Ours is better,” I assure them.
Zale agrees. “There’s no structural integrity in that lion’s mouth. One gust of wind and those teeth are falling off.” He grins. “And my weather app has just informed me we should be expecting a lil’ bit of wind.”
Turns out he’s a prophet. By the time the judges are nearing our section of the beach, the wind has picked up. They approach the Hartley lion just as half its face crumbles off.
“Son of a bitch,” Cooper curses.
Mackenzie looks over with a sweet smile. “Better luck next time, sweetie.”
This couple is vicious.
The three volunteer judges scribble something on their clipboards, then walk over to inspect our fish. I hear a couple oohs, which bodes well. Zale links his arm through mine, whispering, “We got this in the bag.”
But there’s no contest, not when the Soapery created a sprawling sand replica of Santorini, Greece. Even if I hadn’t been told what it was, I could have easily guessed. Santorini’s trademark staggered, dome-shaped buildings crop out of the sand, topped by colored shells the ladies scavenged from the beach. They’ve somehow managed to create blue accents. White walkways made of crushed shells. It’s goddamn breathtaking.
The oohs and ahhs get louder. The judges furiously scribble and take pictures. Nobody is at all surprised when Felice and her team are declared the winners.
Team Soapery now leads the scoreboard with three points. The bakers, no surprise, come in second with their four-foot-tall sand cake, earning Team Bakery two points. And to my delight, our fish places third, which grants us one point.
“We’re in this,” Mackenzie exclaims, pumping her fist.
“Unlike some people,” Genevieve says loudly.
I love my teammates.
* * *
The next few hours are some of the most fun I’ve ever had. Due to the windy conditions, the windsurfing race ends up being the most competitive. It’s split into two heats, which means two scoring opportunities. Tate and Danny compete for the club; Mac and Gen for the Beacon. And Gen, who practically grew up on the water, causes an upset when she beats Danny. He crosses the finish line a mere second later, stunned to find himself in second. Zale and I cheer like maniacs from the shore, because Gen’s win just earned our team three points. Mac, sadly, doesn’t even place. Tate takes that heat easily, with Team Mechanics finishing second, and another upset occurs when Team Bakery steals third place from Team Firefighters.
I’m frankly shocked by all the upsets. There are eight teams in total, the participants ranging in age and skill level, but some of the competitors come out of left field. Like when the tiny waitress from Sharkey’s Sports Bar defeats a gigantic mechanic in the footrace to take third. Or when one of the firefighters, who’s two hundred and twenty pounds with tree trunks for legs, nimbly dances across the tightrope as if he were raised in the circus, winning first place.
After his windsurfing win, Tate strides down the sand, shaking water droplets from his golden hair. He smiles as he passes me.
“Nice win,” I say grudgingly.
“Thanks, ginger.” He winks before rejoining his team.
“Why does he call you ginger?” Zale asks blankly. “Your hair is clearly copper.”