“I think the campfire eggs have done me dirty,” Calliope groans. A loud, liquid rumble sounds from her gut.
“Ruh roh.” Skip jogs to get a bottle of Pedialyte from Bessie’s depths. “Can’t canoe like this.”
Calliope shakes her head in agreement.
“Well, you can hop in Bessie with Daisy. That means I’ll take your spot in the canoe.”
Oh no. That canoe would be mine. I’m not sure I can take hours of being alone with Skip and his unflinching optimism.
“We can play my favorite game!” Skip says to me. I grimace-glare at Eitan and Andres. They’re both standing right there, hands on their hips, in the middle of some kind of macho rescue-off.
“It’s called the paddle game,” Skip continues, oblivious, explaining the rules.
Eitan should offer to take the canoe with Skip, and let me go with Andres. Andres is safe. Someone with a perfect face that can be admired from afar and doesn’t pose any danger to my sanity.
Andres laughs to himself. “I’ll take the canoe with you, Skip.”
“Really?” Skip looks between Andres and I. “Is that okay?” he asks, like I’m losing the adventure of a lifetime by missing the paddle game.
“No problem,” I choke out, horrified. Problem, in fact. Andres and Eitan were going to share a canoe, so that leaves the two of us. Big problem!
Canoeing was supposed to be an Eitan-free zone. I was wrong about the woods. It’s like the Universe is more powerful out here. More wrathful.
“Great!” Skip thumbs-ups the group. “So you two will share?” He points to Eitan and I.
“Sure,” I say through a grimace made of panic.
chapter
twenty-four
It’spossible I exaggerated my experience canoeing. Once I’m on the water, paddle in hand, I suddenly remember that Ihatedour canoe trips and preferred cleaning up goat crap.
I am prodigiously uncoordinated on water.
“Paddleforwardright,” Eitan commands from the back. His voice strains with exertion, having to compensate for my many mispaddles. Some people have issues with right and left, and apparently I have the same block when it comes to paddling forward and backward. We’ve spent half the time paddling in opposite directions, cancelling each other out and sending our canoe spinning down the river in the world’s slowest cyclone.
“Just—how about you do nothing, and I paddle,” Eitan begs.
“If you insist!” I rest my paddle on my lap and lean back onto the middle bench, covering my eyes with a hand.
“And she doesn’t put up a fight.” Eitan laughs.
“Keep us in the shade, please,” I request. “You don’t stay this pale on accident.”
“But of course, m’lady.” Despite the sarcasm, he pushes us toward the shaded bank to drift next to the exposed tree roots and wildly overgrown foliage.
“Magnificent, darling,” I say in a British high tea accent. I think I’d do well in a palanquin.
“The least you could do is make conversation,” Eitan grunts.
Maybe I should go back to paddling.
What is the least sexy subject I can pontificate on? “Shall I reciteThe Aeneid? ‘I sing of arms and a man.’”
“Or you could just tell me about your dating life.” Eitan’s words slip out. Rushed. Like even he didn’t expect them.
The canoe is quiet for a second.
