Northanddeepersound like words people use right before a tragic headline about tourists lost at sea.
But I gave myself a stern pep talk about being brave.
Despite knowing this is obligation-to-Jake tourism, there’s something thoughtful about the fact he’s planned this. He’s not just taking me out on his boat but plotting a route to tick off the wildlife I wanted to see.
“Let me guess. You’re the captainandthe tour guide?”
“I am.” His eyes meet mine for a second, and something warm flickers there. “Do you feel safe with me this time?”
I laugh, except it comes out breathless. “Safe from what? Drowning? Getting eaten by a whale?”
“Among other maritime dangers.”
“I don’t know what your experience is with boats. But surely there’s less chance of death than in the helicopter? You crash a helicopter, it’s splat. With a boat, I can… float. Maybe.”
“Such faith,” he says dryly. “I’ll do my best to keep you alive.”
“Is this a control thing? You don’t like anyone else navigating you places, so you have to master every mode of transport?”
“Maybe,” he says, eyes on the road. “Mostly it’s about not sitting on the sidelines. You watch someone flying, or cutting across open water…” He shrugs. “I’d rather be in it than clapping from the shore. I don’t like sitting still.”
“So you have a fear of missing out more than a fear of dying?”
“Fear of dying’s a waste of time. Fear’s the quickest way to miss the best bits of living.”
That hits me in the chest. Riri’s voice surfaces in my head like she’s sitting right there in the back seat: Say yes to adventure.
“But you’ve had near disasters,” I say. “I know you once fell twenty feet while ice climbing.”
His brow lifts. “Been keeping tabs on me, have you?”
My cheeks warm. “On Jake. Mybrother. And I know he waters down the scary bits so I don’t panic every time he leaves the country.”
“Smart man.”
“How did you lose the toe?”
“Frostbite.” He takes the corner so sharply I grab the door handle. “Antarctica expedition with Jake. We got caught in a whiteout for two days. By the time we made it back to base camp, my toe was a frozen fish finger.”
My jaw drops. “Oh my God, that’s horrifying!”
Exactly the sort of detail that makes me question whether I should be on a boat with this man.
He flashes a wolfish grin, like the whole thing’s some fond holiday anecdote. “Medic took one look and said, ‘That little piggy’s not going to market.’ Snapped it off right there.”
“Snapped it off?” My hand flies over my mouth. “Like a… like a Kit-Kat?”
“Pretty much.” He winks at me. “Didn’t even bleed. Frozen solid. Jake fainted the second it cracked. Big tough adventurer, one crack sound and he was out cold.”
“That’s—ugh—that must’ve been excruciating.”
“The body’s clever. Goes into shock to protect you from pain. I’ve been fortunate over the years. Mostly superficial injuries. Handful of broken bones here and there.”
“Patrick, your toe literally snapped off. That’s not superficial, that’s horror-movie material.” I shake my head. “We could not be more opposite.”
His eyes flick sideways, amused. “Because I’d rather be clinging to an ice wall in a blizzard than lying on a beach?”
“Because you hear ‘frostbite’ and think ‘acceptable risk.’”
