One
Gina Morales clutched the edge of her seat in a white-knuckled grip and gave her field producer a side-eyed glare as he and the camera crew sorted through equipment.
A seaplane. They’d stuffed her into an honest-to-god seaplane.
The aircraft was painted bright yellow and blue with a tiny propeller stuck to the nose, cute little wings, and pontoons positioned underneath. It looked like a model toy, not something rational human beings who valued their lives should travel in.
Yet here she was, flying in a tin can over a large body of water somewhere in Southeast Alaska, while the motor droned on like a monstrous mosquito and the faint scent of fuel tinged the air.
Now she understood why her mother used the rosary in airplanes. It was to keep your hands busy so you didn’t chew off all your fingernails in nervous terror. Noted. Next time Gina was on a seaplane, she’d bring a rosary.
For now, she prayed to the gods of reality TV.
Please, please, let him be a Winter Olympian.
A skier would be good, or a snowboarder, or better yet, a figure skater. Olympians were the holy grail of celebrity dance partners. If one of those awaited her when she landed, this whole harrowingjourney would be worth it. After all, what other kind of celeb would be hanging out in the uncharted Alaskan wilderness?
When Gina finally dared to peek outside, she could admit the view was picturesque. A rippling ribbon of water unfurled below. Tall evergreens speared a brilliant blue sky crowded with puffy white clouds. A gust of wind teased the treetops, making the seaplane bounce in the air.
Gina clenched her jaw and looked away. Even the pretty scenery didn’t distract from the bouncing. Where the hell were they going? And if they were meeting a skier or snowboarder, shouldn’t there be more snow?
A tap on her arm drew her attention from the window to Jordy Cohen, her field producer. He was a slim man with olive-toned skin and a ready smile, and he covered his thinning brown hair with a worn UCLA cap. Jordy pointed at the camera, and his voice came through the headset she wore.
“All right, Gina. Ready to start?”
Taking a deep breath, she nodded and gave her shoulders a quick roll to relax them. Nerves notwithstanding, she had a job to do. When Jordy gave the go-ahead, she waved at the camera.
“I’m Gina Morales, a pro dancer. I’m on my way to meet my celebrity partner for season fourteen ofThe Dance Off.” She gave the intro in a loud, clear voice. Or so she thought.
The sound guy looked up from a device in his hand and shook his head.
After adjusting the mic on her headset, Gina repeated the lines at a volume closer to a shout. When she received a thumbs-up, she continued.
“We’re in a seaplane flying over a river in Alaska, and I’m a little worried my producers are trying to kill me.”
Next to her, Jordy covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. He gestured for her to keep going.
“I’ve been on three planes so far, each one smaller than the last.” She gave an exaggerated shrug and a grimace that wasn’t faked. “What’s next, a hot air balloon?”
Jordy smacked his forehead like he should have thought of that. Gina resisted the urge to flip him the bird.
The pilot cut in. “We’re beginning our descent.”
The plane dipped. Gina spun to face the window again, her pulse racing as the water zoomed closer. Were they going to make a water landing? They had to be. Despite climbing aboard at a marina, she hadn’t allowed herself to imagine the landing. With every second, the glistening surface of the inlet raced closer, but Gina kept her eyes open. She could do this. She was strong.
And if she died, at least she’d see it coming.
The pontoons hit the water, skimming along and kicking up a wave under the wings. Her stomach bounced, but she’d braced herself for a rougher landing. As the plane pulled alongside a small floating dock made of barrels, Gina pried her fingernails out of the seat cushion. She focused on getting her breathing under control while they disembarked. Once off the plane, they climbed into a waiting skiff and motored to shore. The air carried the scent of salt and wet soil, along with a crisp freshness she could taste on the back of her tongue.
Fresh air. What a novelty.
Once they were ashore, Gina and her crew gathered on a pebbly beach that led right into the water from a clearing. Ahead stood a line of trees the seaplane pilot had called Sitka spruce, the state tree of Alaska. Behind her, the water. Nothing else, aside from the seaplane, the skiff, and a second camera crew she didn’t recognize. No stores. No houses. No cars. Just trees, water, and dirt. And sky. Lots and lots of sky.
Too much nature. Not enough civilization. Was it possible to feel claustrophobic in a big empty space?
Gina hunched into her coat. “Where are we?”
Jordy didn’t look away from the tablet he shared with the other crew’s producer. “Alaska.”
