As I attempted to slither into the unfashionable and clingy wetsuit, pulling it over the top of my easy-fitting and fashionable clothes, I saw Noah fastening a red life vest around Yeti’s chest. I pulled out my phone, knowing my followers would devour this content faster than I’d inhaled Noah’s huckleberry muffins. “Yeti has her own life jacket? That’s adorable.”
“Safety first,” Noah said, without looking up.
I zoomed in as Noah adjusted the straps with surprising gentleness, making sure they were secure but not too tight, and didn’t catch on her fur. His rough, capable hands handled the dog with such care that I felt something squeeze inside my chest. It was another glimpse of an actual human being under the grumpy mountain man exterior.
“Yeti, can you smile for the camera?”
Yeti’s mouth dropped open in a happy dog grin, her head cocked and tongue lolling out to one side.
“Perfect!” I snapped several shots. “Such a natural. A much better model than some people.” I looked pointedly at Noah, who snorted in return.
“I hope that thing’s waterproof.”
“Why?” I turned back to Diego. “We’re not going to get wet, are we?”
Diego exchanged a look with Noah, and they both erupted into laughter, the sound echoing across the river. He pointed atmy rubber suit. “You do realize they call it a wetsuit for a reason.”
“Here.” Noah stepped over and handed me a clear plastic bag with a seal and a latch on top. “Put it in there, and it’ll be fine.” His fingers brushed mine during the handoff, sending an electric jolt up my arm.
I considered pointing out that the plastic bag would affect the picture quality, but realized the only person who would care was me.
“Actually, you know what would work better?” Diego tapped his chin. “Noah should take your phone while he follows in the safety kayak. He’ll get the best angles of us from the water.”
I clutched my phone tighter against my chest. “What? No.” The thought of Noah handling my precious lifeline, and primary work tool, made my pulse skyrocket.
“Victoria wants authentic Colorado content, right? Can’t get more authentic than shooting from river-level. And that way, your followers get to see the real you. Theauthenticyou.”
“Can’t exactly film while you’re paddling,” said Noah, surprisingly going along with the crazy idea.
“Why can’t Diego do it?”
“Diego needs to focus on steering,” Noah pointed out.
I bit my lip. They had a point. And the footage would be incredible, assuming my phone survived. And I survived. “Why don’t you just use your phone?” I asked Noah.
Noah dug in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a prehistoric flip phone, the kind used by cavemen right after they evolved from drawing dinosaurs on cave walls. It was wrapped in a plastic baggie and sealed with a rubber band. “You mean this?” It was hard to tell through the plastic, but it looked like duct tape might have been involved.
“Fine,” I said, stuffing my not-yet-paid-off iPhone into Noah’s outstretched hand. “Just remember, safety first.”
“Let’s talk hip control.” Diego planted his feet shoulder-width apart on the rocky shore. “The key to not flipping is all in the hips.” Diego launched into what had to be the most mortifying safety demonstration of all time, swaying his hips back and forth like he was auditioning forMagic Mike: Colorado Edition. Like something best performed on a stripper pole, wearing a crotchless g-string. Which, as you know, I had.
“You’ll want to feel the motion of the river,” Diego continued, rotating his pelvis in ways that would make Elvis blush. “Work with it, not against it.”
Mercifully, Diego stopped thrusting, then looked at me expectantly. “Now you try.”
“Me?”
“I need to make sure you’re not going to flip us.” Handing me the paddle, Diego said, “Don’t worry. No one’s judging you.”
Noah leaned leisurely against a pine tree, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was definitely judging me.
I tried to imitate Diego’s stance and movements, feeling like I was having some sort of neurological event rather than preparing for water sports. Every time I shook, Diego’s frown deepened. Every time I tried to shimmy, Diego looked like he’d sniffed a rotten egg.
“Your angle’s still off,” Noah called out. “The movement’s gotta come from your core.”
I thought I detected a hint of a smile on his lips. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he was enjoying this. It seemed the grumpy, grouchy mountain man had a sense of humor. It just happened to run on my humiliation.
“Here.” Diego grabbed my shoulders. “Pretend you’re dancing. Just go with theflow.”
