Chapter Seven

Daphne ran for the patio door as Tika fell in beside her. At this moment, there was one—and only one—thing that Chris should be thinking about.

Holy shit, the film crew is being attacked by a grizzly!

This was not what he was thinking about. At least, not more than tangentially, as he was quite certain they were only being menaced by a grizzly, which was bad, but not the same as an active mauling.

Instead, he was thinking about Daphne, who had gone from stress-puking and stress-sobbing to charging out the door to stave off a grizzly. If he'd been the type, he might have swooned.

He was also thinking of the last time he'd made a girl cry. Seventh grade. She'd asked him to dance, and he'd said no—not because he didn't want to dance with her but because he had no idea how to dance. He'd found her crying in the cloakroom, which could have been the start of a very sweet middle school romance, if her friends hadn't threatened to kick the shit out of him.

Now he'd not only made Daphne cry but vomit—the latter definitely being a first, and not a proud one. He'd handled his confession all wrong. He wanted to tell her before he screwed up, and in his panic he hadn't stopped to realize he could have muddled through a little longer and found a better time.

And now there was a bear. Well, probably a bear. Was it wrong if he was thinking this might actually be a good thing? Not if the film crew got hurt, obviously, but maybe they'd decide they had enough footage and leave. Then he'd be alone with Daphne to talk about where they'd go from here. And… well, he'd be alone with Daphne.

A small grizzly scare. Was that too much to ask for?

Daphne was down the porch steps and running toward the babble of raised voices. As they raced across the open yard, Chris had the thought that he really should get in the lead. He was Zane Remington. He ate bears for breakfast.

Except… and here was where sometimes being a smart guy got in the way of masculine heroics. His brain quite reasonably told him that Daphne was the bear expert, and if he raced into the lead, he'd be the one needing rescue. Better to stay at her heels, ready to offer help and support… and screaming, if required.

Speaking of screaming…

They rounded a cluster of trees to see Sofia pressed up against a tree, babbling in terror while her two camera operators filmed. That was all Chris could see. Sofia and the crew. Not a bear—or beast—in sight.

Daphne and Chris both stopped, and Chris frowned. Were they faking an animal attack for the segment?

"Oh God." Sofia's eyes rounded as she saw Chris. "Wh-what is that thing?"

Chris followed her gaze. There, in the tree, was a lump of brown that he'd initially mistaken for a squirrel nest. When he peered at it, beady eyes peered back. A short snout opened to reveal yellowing rodent fangs.

"The porcupine?" He said the word slowly, as if she might actually be looking at a grizzly he couldn't see.

"That is not a porcupine. It's as big as that dog!"

Not quite, but he got her point. Including its tail, the beast was nearly three feet long.

"That's a normal-size porcupine," he said. "Maybe you're thinking of hedgehogs? They don't live in this part—"

"J-just do something. Quick. Before it shoots quills at me."

"That's a misconception. You need to get close enough for them to hit you with their tail, which can embed and release quills. If you recall that scene in Edge, where Theo—"

He caught Daphne's head shake. The media-training package instructed them to connect all interviewer questions to the book, but yes, this probably wasn't the time.

Chris cleared his throat. "You're far enough away—"

"N-no, it's going to attack."

He looked at the camera duo, still filming, and he briefly wondered whether this was a setup. Novelist saves interviewer from deadly quilled rodent. But the terror on Sofia's face seemed genuine. In that case…

"All right," he said, deepening his voice an octave and taking on his authoritative Zane tone. "I'm going to step between you and the beast, while staying out of quill range. Once I'm between you, get out of the way. If it attacks, it'll come for me."

He glanced at Daphne, who nodded her approval. As for the porcupine, he swore the critter rolled its eyes. It was just sitting in the tree, shooting them nothing except baleful looks.

"I'm coming over," he said, and then did exactly that, sidestepping with exaggerated care. "Now, while I said they need to hit you with their tail, it is possible for quills to come dislodged if they lash their tails in anger, which may give rise to the quill-shooting myth. You'll recall that's what happened in Edge, which was actually based on an encounter I had myself, deep in the forest. I was confronted by an entire family of porcupines intent on—" He stopped short, mostly because he had no idea where to take that story. "And now I am between you and the beast. Take two steps backward, and Dana will whisk you to safety, while I monitor for signs of attack."

Daphne sidled over as cautiously as he had. The porcupine watched her, unconcerned.

"No," Chris said for the cameras as he glared at the porcupine. "Do not look their way. Your attention is on me. I am the threat. Eyes on me."

Yep, he was pretty sure the critter was rolling its eyes. It gave one half-hearted chatter, and Chris tensed his jaw, his glower intensifying.

"None of that," he growled.

"We're clear, sir," Daphne said.

"All right. Then everyone head back to the house. I'll follow once you're all safe."

"Shouldn't you shoot it or something?" Sofia said.

The porcupine looked her way, as if affronted.

"No," Chris said firmly. "We do not shoot animals out of fear. The fear is our problem. This beast is on its own territory, and we are the intruders. It is leaving us in peace, and so we should do the same. Mutual respect between neighbors in our shared forest home."

Okay, that was a little over the top, but both camera operators made noises of agreement. Daphne steered them toward the house. Then she came back with Tika, who had been keeping her distance from the porcupine.

"Everyone safe?" he said.

Daphne glanced over, caught the amused twitch of his lips, and laughed softly. "Crisis averted, thanks to the fearless Zane Remington," she said.

"It was nothing, dear lady. Nothing at all." He tipped an imaginary hat to the porcupine. "You did a fine job in your supporting role. See the front desk for your SAG check."

Daphne shook her head, and they went to join the others.

Okay, so the porcupine encounter was… Daphne wanted to say "ridiculous" but then, two hours later, she saw the footage and had to tip her own imaginary hat to Chris. While the raw footage would be fully edited, the magazine execs were anxiously awaiting scenes from this interview—being part of their first foray into TV—so the crew took a break to speed-edit the porcupine encounter while Daphne went inside to clean and prep lunch. When she came out, they had sample footage and it was… well, anything but ridiculous, really.

As an unpublished writer, she'd heard horror stories about the book-editing process. They're going to do terrible things to your manuscript! They'll change characters! Rewrite dialogue! Cut scenes! Alicia hadn't changed a single word—she'd only made suggestions, mostly about higher-level aspects like plot elements—and if Daphne agreed, then Daphne made the changes in her own words. Editing, she'd discovered, was a blessing, helping mold her ramblings into clean and cohesive storytelling.

That's what the camera crew had done with that raw footage. In their case, it was all cutting. Splice, splice, and resplice to turn an absurd animal encounter into a heroic rescue. In the new version, Sofia and the camera duo had been walking through the woods admiring the scenery when her male camera operator yelped "Look out!" and Sofia saw the porcupine and screamed. A split second later, Chris was there.

Skip the bits where he talked about hedgehogs and downplayed the danger. That would have ruined the tension. Instead, cut straight to him sidestepping into danger's path, while instructing and reassuring Sofia in his Zane voice. They even left in one part where he referenced the book—her publicist would be thrilled.

From there, cut to a closeup of him glaring at the chattering porcupine. Daphne'd had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing at that, but on film, it actually looked like a tense standoff. Then one final segment of Daphne's back as she herded Sofia to safety while Chris stood guard against the killer rodent.

The execs loved it. "More of this!!!" they messaged Sofia. More of what? Wander the forest looking for wildlife Zane could stare into submission?

Luckily, Sofia didn't suggest that. Sure, she'd panicked over a porcupine, but Daphne wasn't holding that against her, having seen plenty of tourists do the same.

Daphne kept hoping Chris might find time to get away from the crew so they could plot their new Zane strategy, now that she understood he was someone she could plot with. Which was a huge relief.

He wasn't an actor. Wasn't an asshole. Wasn't someone who never read anything longer than a fortune-cookie message.

Chris was an accountant. A sweet and smart guy who wasn't afraid to get a little silly.

He was someone she could work with. As for getting time alone, when Chris suggested helping Daphne clear up after lunch, Sofia put her foot down. Look what happened the last time he left her alone. No more of that. If she was braving the wilderness, she needed her protector.

In the afternoon, there was a book-talk interview by the lake. After the porcupine incident—when he'd proven he'd read the book—Daphne had no problem leaving that in Chris's hands. She took some downtime, prepping muffin batter for tomorrow and, yes, doing a bit of stress-cleaning.

Soon it was time for an afternoon break. Then there'd be another film segment before the crew left for the evening, and she could grill up some bison burgers while she and Chris talked.

She loaded up the coffee tray and added a plate of freshly baked cookies. Then she headed outside to the patio table where Sofia was telling the story of her first celebrity interview.

"I get home, so proud of myself for getting him to answer tough questions, and the recording was gone."

"Did you have a backup?" Chris asked.

"I was so nervous I couldn't even be sure I'd hit Record. So here I am, this amazing interview with zero proof it happened—Oh my God, do I smell cookies?"

Daphne thrust out the tray.

"You're the best, Dana," Sofia said as she snatched a cookie.

Daphne smiled. While she suspected Sofia was overdoing her enthusiasm, it was in a genuine way that didn't make Daphne feel like she was being patted on the head. Daphne might be uncomfortable playing cookies-and-coffee-bearing assistant, but the truth was that she would personally love a "Dana" of her own.

Daphne was playing a legitimate role, and Sofia's happy coffee slurping reminded her of that. It was just awkward because, well, she should be the one with a Dana. But the role reversal was her choice, and she honestly preferred hiding in the kitchen and baking cookies and mentally working through revisions. That was the weird irony of being a published author. She didn't want to entertain and charm a film crew. But she did want the recognition that came with having written the book.

Can't have it both ways, kiddo.

Or, maybe you could, if you'd found a way to do it that didn't involve hiring an actor-who-is-actually-an-accountant to play you.

"Sugar and caffeine to tide us all over until dinner," Chris was saying as she roused from her thoughts. "And on the topic of dinner, as your host, I should recommend a restaurant. I was thinking of…"

He trailed off, brow furrowing as he turned to Daphne. "What's that place I like, Dana?"

Ooh, nicely done."Which one, sir? The Mexican or the Caribbean?"

"They're both excellent." He turned back to the others. "I heartily recommend either, depending on your food preferences. I think one requires reservations." Another glance Daphne's way.

"I'd recommend reservations for either, and I can do that, having the numbers—and the restaurant names—on my phone."

He smiled. It wasn't a Chris smile, she thought, with a pinprick of surprise that she could tell them apart. There was the Chris Ainsworth smile and the Chris Stanton one, and this one was pure Zane Remington. For a guy who insisted he wasn't an actor, he had his parts down pat.

Zane's smile was perfect for the role, with just the right touch of self-aware self-deprecation. The guy who pretended to be a little abashed that he couldn't remember a restaurant name, when really, he was proud of the fact he didn't have room in his brain for such trivial data.

"What would I do without you?" he said.

"Accidentally wander into that burger joint because you remember it, when the only reason you do is because you got food poisoning there the last time?"

The others laughed, and Chris added the perfect I am such a hopeless genius heavenward eye lift.

"So true," he said with a sigh. "Now if you could make reservations for three for, say…" He checked his watch. "Six?"

"Actually, no," Sofia said. "We are getting such good footage. I thought we'd stay and catch the sunset."

"That would be past my bedtime," Chris said. "It is the Land of the Midnight Sun, after all."

"Also the sunsets aren't great here," Daphne said. "With the mountains and all."

"Then we'll skip the sunset but use the extra hours of daylight for more filming. Let's get dinner delivered." Sofia pulled out her phone. "What app service do you use here?"

"Uh, Dana Express," Daphne said.

"Unfortunately for Dana, yes," Chris said with a smile. "We're outside the city limits. So Dana will need to order and pick up. I'll ride along with…"

He trailed off and didn't finish that sentence. Which was good. Yes, she'd love to have him along to talk, but it made no sense for him to join her. Also, she wasn't keen to leave the house with a film crew in it. While she'd hope they wouldn't snoop, she'd only done the most superficial rearranging. Her bathroom drawers still held most of her toiletries and her closet still held most of her clothing.

"Let me pull up a menu, and you can tell me what you'd like," she said. "I'll arrange pickup for six."

It was now eight. Dinner was eaten, and the film crew were playing the guests from hell, lingering on the flimsiest of pretenses. Sofia had said they wanted to film more, but they were still at the table, with poor Daphne inside washing dishes.

Time to be more proactive. Give them one last video opportunity, and then they could be on their way. And he knew just the thing. Oh, it wouldn't make for great television, but that was the point. Not only would it be so boring they might decide to leave, but it would give him Daphne time without excusing himself from the shoot.

"See those ripples on the water?" Chris said, pointing at the lake. "Fish are jumping. Perfect for a little fishing. I often do that after dinner. Dana and I row out, and we fish for tomorrow's dinner while I contemplate nature and imagine my next scenes. We could get footage of that."

"That sounds…" Sofia began tentatively, as if hating to tell a bestselling novelist that his idea sucked.

"Sounds like a riveting segment?" Chris rose. "Agreed. You can get footage of me out on the empty lake, with the mountains reflected in the water. It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?"

"It is lovely," Sofia admitted.

"Once you have that, you can head off to your hotel without needing to wait for us to row back. Get your footage and then relax in your rooms and come tomorrow for lunch—"

"We're actually coming before breakfast. I want the morning light on the lake, and the forecast calls for mist. I thought we'd get some footage of you hunting."

He thought fast. "That's an excellent visual. However, this isn't the place for shooting more than snowshoe hares and grouse, and they're both out of season."

"There's a season for rabbit hunting?" the female half of the camera crew said, sounding rightfully dubious.

"Not officially, but people in the Yukon are very conservation minded, and this is breeding season." Did rabbits have a breeding season? "Now, I could take you caribou hunting, which we see Theo doing in the book, or even go after a Dall sheep." He pointed at the mountain, squinting into the sun. "Keep an eye up there for white dots. Those are the sheep."

"Sheep hunting in the mountains?" Sofia said. "That sounds incredible."

"It is, but it's also highly illegal at this time of year. Same as caribou or moose hunting. Which is why we can't do, well, any hunting, really. Now, if you really want pictures of me hunting in the morning mist, we can do the visuals. But I can't actually shoot anything. That would be wrong. Conservation is key, whether it's me or Theo in the book. Imagine what would have happened if people had hunted all the game before the zombies came. There'd be no bountiful refuge for Theo and the others. It's all about resource management. Which means we can stage a hunt, but I'm not actually going to fire a gun and risk my neighbors thinking danger's afoot."

"Fire a gun?" Daphne said, sounding alarmed as she hurried out the patio doors.

"I was saying I will not fire a gun," he said. "I will only pose as if I'm firing one. Tomorrow."

"Tonight he's fishing," Sofia said.

Daphne slowly turned to him.

"We're fishing," Chris said. "The two of us."

Panic touched her eyes, and he tried to indicate that it was okay, he knew how to fish, but that apparently wasn't a message easily transmitted in looks and gestures, because she motioned that she needed to talk to him.

"Don't worry about the dishes," he said. "The crew will be leaving as soon as they get some footage. I'll meet you at the dock after I grab life vests."

"They're in—"

"—the shed," he said with a smile. "My memory may be scattered, but I do remember that." Mostly because he'd seen them there earlier, when he'd done a frantic survey of the shed's contents. "Meet you on the dock in five."

She still hesitated, but he made little shooing motions that would be incredibly condescending coming from anyone but Zane Remington. He tried to add a reassuring smile from himself.

She was obviously worried that he was getting into something he couldn't pull off. He'd explain once they were out. He'd been on hundreds of fishing trips with his family, the last being just this past weekend. They had unlimited access to his grandparents' prized boat, and someone went out at least every other weekend in the summer, with Chris joining when he could.

After one last anxious glance, Daphne retreated into the house.

"All right," Chris said in his Zane voice. "Two life vests coming up."

He started down the stairs.

"Is that really necessary?" Sofia asked as they descended.

"Hmm?" Did she mean was it necessary to take Daphne with him? He opened his mouth to claim the boat required two people.

"Life vests," she said. "I know, safety first, but they're not exactly photogenic. I hate to be shallow but…"

"A bulky life vest will not do me any favors, especially if you're shooting from a distance. I'll look like I've been eating too many of Dana's cookies." He laughed at his own joke, even while secretly wincing. That veered dangerously close to fat-shaming, but Zane would make the joke.

"Exactly," Sofia said. "Unless you can't swim."

"I helped bring home the gold for my team in high school."

That wasn't a Zane boast. Chris had been on the gold medal–winning high school team. Okay, he'd barely made the cut, but he was a strong swimmer. Credit all those years of jumping off his grandparents' boat to paddle around when the fish weren't biting.

While the Chris part of him wanted to argue that they shouldn't show Zane boating without a life vest—he was writing for teens, after all—Zane wouldn't say that. Chris didn't need a life vest, and the lake was so small and calm that Daphne would only have them for guests. This was something he could agree to, suppressing only a small pang of discomfort.

"All right then," he said. "We will forgo the vests tonight." He peered out at the lake. "She's a sheet of glass, and there isn't another soul on her. Perfect."

He still needed to go into the shed for the fishing rods and tackle. He might not understand the differences between different guns, knives, and axes, but here he could point out that "Zane" had equipment for fly-fishing, regular angling, and deep-sea fishing. He took the correct gear box and felt rather Zane-smug for not needing to hesitate.

With the box and rods in hand, Chris strode toward the dock. The path took him to a small beach-like area, with a tiny bit of sand and a gradual walkout. The dock was off to the right, and he hadn't been that way yet, but he'd seen it, along with a kayak moored on this side and another small boat on the opposite side. It wouldn't exactly be his grandparents' cabin cruiser, but on a lake this small, you wouldn't even get up to speed with that.

Chris reached the dock and saw the second boat… which was… a canoe.

He turned to see Daphne walking over, carrying two paddles.

"You forgot these, sir," she said.

"I thought we'd take the motor boat tonight."

She laughed, the slightly-too-loud laugh that he'd come to know was her "on-screen" laugh for the crew. "Oh, you're very funny, sir." She turned to the others. "It's an in-joke. The lake is for nonmotorized vehicles only. Every now and then someone tries to get that changed to allow motorized fishing boats, but Mr. Remington leads the charge to oppose it. He's such a conservationist."

"Yes," he said quickly, puffing up with self-importance as he launched into Zane-pontificating mode. "No one likes the sound of motors on a quiet lake, but they also disturb the local ecosystem, particularly nesting waterfowl. The best way to enjoy streams and lakes is"—he waved at the kayak and canoe—"silently gliding along and truly enjoying nature, in all her glory."

Which presumes you have some vague idea how to operate either of those vessels.

He thought he was keeping his expression Zane-confident, but a little of his panic must have leaked out, because when she passed over the oar—paddle?—she lightly squeezed his hand.

"Now, sir," she said. "Tell me you're going to let me take the back tonight." She glanced at the crew. "The person in front just has to paddle. The one in back steers. It's the driver's seat, so to speak, and Mr. Remington really likes being in the driver's seat."

"I do," Chris said with a blazing smile that was relief. "However, having written a book with a very capable female protagonist, I would be the last person to suggest that I should drive by sheer dint of being male. Dana is, dare I admit it, an even better paddler than I am."

"You're too kind, sir." Daphne looked around. "Seems like the paddles weren't the only thing you forgot. Weren't you getting the life vests?"

"We decided against them," Sofia cut in. "Now, if everyone is ready…"

Chris moved past Daphne, who was holding the canoe steady. As she'd pointed out—allegedly for Sofia—the front person got in first.

As Chris moved past Daphne toward the bow, he whispered, "I really can fish, D. And swim. It'll be okay."

She still looked worried. Maybe she hadn't heard him? They'd talk more once they were out of the crew's earshot.

He sat on the front seat and glanced back. Daphne gave a tight nod, which he hoped meant he was sitting correctly. Had he ever been in a canoe before? He wasn't sure. If he had, it was so long ago he didn't remember anything about it.

As Daphne arranged herself, the crew switched on the cameras. Chris had requested they film Dana only from the back or a great distance "for her privacy."

Chris looked at the nearest camera and said, "Like many lakes in the Yukon, this is a glacial one. That means a glacier eroded the land and then melted. You may have noticed in Edge that Theo usually camps along a lake like this, for fishing and fresh water and, if it's not winter, a quick swim for bathing." He reached over the side to touch the water. "And I do mean quick." An exaggerated shiver. "Glacial lake, glacial temperatures."

It actually wasn't that bad. He wouldn't exactly be leaping off the dock for a morning dip, but he wouldn't die of hypothermia if he fell in. And on that note, the entire purpose of his little speech had been to avoid falling in… because talking to the camera gave him the chance to watch how Daphne sat and how she used her paddle.

"I suppose I should help," he said, loud enough for the cameras to hear.

"Heaven forbid," Daphne said. "You just sit there and talk, sir. You're better at that anyway."

He rolled his eyes dramatically, took one last look at how she operated her paddle before he twisted around in his seat.

Hold it like this, one hand above the other, with a gap between them. Move from the shoulders and waist, dipping the paddle in and out.

Soon they were flying through the still water, and he'd love to think that was him, but he wasn't the only one in this canoe with some serious muscles.

They were about a hundred feet from shore when Sofia shouted, "We forgot to mic you!"

Her voice carried easily in the silence of the lake, but Chris pretended he couldn't hear and only waved, as if she were wishing them bon voyage.

They kept paddling until they were finally far enough, and Daphne slowed her strokes.

"Time for a little demonstrative fishing?" he said, reaching back for the rod. "If you keep her steady, I'll handle this part. I really can fish."

"That's great," she said. "However, you're missing a key component of the required equation, sir."

He glanced down quickly. No, he had the rod and the tackle box, and he'd confirmed the box contained hooks and lures.

"Fish," she said.

"Hmm?"

"You need fish. That's what I was trying to tell you. There aren't any game fish here."

As if on cue, a fish jumped from the water to catch a flying insect.

"Leaping lake lizard?" he said.

"Oh, it's a fish. A little grayling. There are some out here, but not many of the proper size."

"But I saw people out this afternoon. With fishing rods."

"And beer," she said, stretching her legs. "People do fish in this lake. They just don't expect to catch anything. Putter around. Have a beer. Chat with your buddy. Enjoy a gorgeous afternoon while pretending you're doing something productive."

"Uh…"

"Yep. That's why I wanted to discuss it."

He winced. "I thought you were concerned that I didn't know how to fish. Okay. So…" He looked around. "Even if I did manage to snag one of those little guys, they won't see it from the shore."

"Yep."

"Would lures even work on them?"

"Nope."

"So I'm screwed?"

"Yep."

"Great." He slumped onto his seat. "Footage of the mighty Zane Remington getting skunked." He glanced over. "Hey, maybe I can use that. I'll say I got skunked, make a joke of it, and then use the opportunity to point out that there are no actual skunks around here. Self-deprecation plus a pompous Zane lecture moment."

"You are good at those."

"Notice how I slip in references to the book? Media Training 101."

She smiled at him. "I noticed. Thank you."

"See? We can pull this off." He looked around. "Except when I fail to check whether there are actual fish in the lake before I suggest fishing. Or when I fail to ask whether you have a motorboat."

Another warm smile. "You're doing fine. Here's my suggestion. We paddle around a bit to give them scenic shots. Then we go back, and you say you surveyed the situation and realized the fish aren't as active tonight as it appeared."

"The water is so clear I can see the lack of fish. Notice how clean the water is? That's what a nonpolluted lake looks like, blah, blah. Drawing on my vast experience of wilderness living—which I used in my book, At the Edge of the World—I can tell that fish are not forthcoming, blah, blah. Got skunked. No actual skunks in the Yukon, however, that reminds me of the time I encountered one out east."

"You really are good at this. Let me get us turned around, and we'll hug the western shoreline for the best shots. You play human fish-finder while I navigate."

He saluted. "Aye-aye, Captain."

Chris settled into his front seat and peered over one side and then the other, shading his eyes for added effect. The water really was clear enough to see all the way down, including the odd fish that was, as Daphne said, barely bigger than a minnow.

He was leaning over when a gun fired on shore. He nearly fell into his seat and then rocked forward, hands going behind his neck.

"Is that the crash position for planes?" Daphne said.

He glared at her.

"Sorry," she said, smiling. "It was really cute, though. You have excellent reflexes… even if it's slightly less than situationally appropriate."

"Hey, you never know. I might have ducked just enough to save me from being hit in the head by stray rifle fire."

"That was a beaver."

"Someone's shooting beavers?"

The corners of her mouth twitched. When she saw he was serious, she coughed, as if to erase the smile. "No, the sound you heard was a beaver tail hitting the water."

"Someone dropped a beaver from a plane? See, I wasn't wrong, assuming the crash position."

She hesitated, until he smiled to tell her he was joking this time.

"Beavers slap the water to warn of danger," he said. "You know where I read that? In my book, At the Edge of the World. I'm such a genius."

"Not if you need to read the book you wrote in order to learn things."

"Don't mock my memory issues. That's mean."

She shook her head.

"So that was a beaver," he said, peering around. "Warning its family about us, I presume?"

"Possibly. See the dam over there?" She pointed to what he sheepishly realized he'd mistaken for a random pile of branches. "There's another over by my place."

"That is so cool. I've never seen a beaver in the wild."

Silence. Then she choked on a laugh.

He replayed what he'd said. "Hey." He jabbed the paddle her way. "No beaver jokes."

"You started it. Never seen one in the wild, huh? Only on your computer screen?"

"Are you judging my love of nature movies, woman? They're very informative. Did you know that, in its natural environment, the beaver displays an unusual affinity for bikers and pizza-delivery boys?"

The laugh started at a sputter and then became a snorting wheeze, as Daphne covered her mouth with one hand.

"It also—" he began.

"Stop."

"You started it. Now—" He twisted fast as he caught sight of something moving in the water. "Holy shit, is that a beaver?"

"Ha-ha."

"No, seriously."

The large shape swam right under the boat, and Chris lunged to watch it come out the other side. He didn't think. He just moved—fast. The canoe started to tip.

"Chris!"

He did the logical thing. Or what his brain screamed was the logical thing. If the canoe was tipping, the obvious way to fix that was simple physics. Redistribute weight.

He instinctively reacted, and he had 0.5 seconds to be very proud of that before the bottom slid under his feet as the canoe tipped the other way. He didn't have time to recover. He'd jumped backward, and so when his feet slid, he also tumbled backward, flipping the entire canoe with him.