While I wrap her ankle, Elliott approaches with his ever-present clipboard, now speckled with water stains from the creek. “Finn, I need to speak with you privately.” His tone is serious.
I finish securing Lena’s wrap. “Rest. Don’t put weight on it.” She nods, and I follow Elliott a short distance from camp. He glances back to make sure no one can overhear us.
“I got off the satellite phone with the network,” he says. “They love what we have so far—especially the early footage of Lena struggling with the terrain. But they want more interpersonal drama.”
I stare at him. “Someone nearly drowned today. That’s not dramatic enough?”
“Physical danger is great television,” Elliott acknowledges. “But viewers also want emotional stakes. They’re suggesting we play up the tension between you and Lena.”
“There is no tension,” I say flatly.
Elliott’s eyebrow lifts. “Really? Because everyone else sees it. The classic wilderness-guide-versus-city-slicker dynamic. The network wants more of that. Conflict, then gradual mutual respect, maybe even a hint of attraction.”
“No,” I cut him off. “I’m not performing for your cameras. I’m here to keep everyone alive and get them back. That’s it.”
Elliott sighs. “Look, I’m not asking you to fake anything. Don’t hold back. If she annoys you, show it. If you’re impressed by her, show that too. Be authentic, that’s all.”
“I’m always authentic,” I say. “That’s the difference between us.”
He opens his mouth like he wants to argue but thinks better of it. “Just think about it. This show could bring a lot of business to your lodge. The right kind of tension on screen translates to bookings in real life.”
He has me there, and he knows it. I need the money from this expedition, and future bookings would help keep Crystal Creek afloat. But I’m not about to manufacture drama for ratings, especially not at Lena’s expense. She’s been through enough.
“I’ll be myself,” I say at last. “Take it or leave it.”
Elliott nods, knowing it’s the best offer he’ll get. “Fair enough.”
When I return to camp, Lena has changed into dry clothes and is attempting to help set up the cooking area, hopping on one foot.
“Sit down before you fall down,” I tell her, taking the pot from her hands.
“I’m not completely useless,” she protests.
“I’m not saying you are. But you performed a water rescue with a bum ankle. You’ve earned a rest.” I guide her back to the log. “Besides, I don’t trust your cooking. You probably think pine needles are a garnish and tree sap is artisanal maple syrup.”
She snorts. “Like you’re Julia Child. I’ve seen what you call cooking. The MREs in your pack have expiration dates from the previous presidential administration.”
“Those are collector’s items,” I defend. “And they taste better with age. Like fine wine or that weird cheese with the mold that probably costs more than my Polaris.”
“Roquefort,” she supplies. “And yes, it costs more than your Polaris.”
“Luxury wilderness stew,” I say, gesturing to the pot. “Only the finest dehydrated ingredients for Hollywood royalty. If you close your eyes and use your imagination, it’s practically Spago’s.”
“If I close my eyes and use my imagination, I’m eating literally anywhere else,” she counters, but takes the offered spoon. “How considerate,” she drawls, but settles back onto the log. “Though after today, even tree bark sounds appetizing.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I warn. “I know seventeen different ways to prepare bark as food.”
“Of course you do,” she laughs. Her laugh. I find myself listening for it. I shouldn’t. For a moment, the tension of the day’s events fades, and we are two people sharing a joke beside a creek in the wilderness.
But as I glance toward the rising water, I know our journey has become more complicated. The rain might have stopped, but its effects are still building as runoff continues to feed the creek. We are cut off from our original route, with a wounded team member and Lena’s re-injured ankle to consider. For the first time on this trip, concern, sharp and unwelcome, pierces me. Not only about completing the journey, but about the responsibility of keeping these people safe—especially the woman who’s revealed herself to be far more capable than anyone had given her credit for.
I watch Lena as she looks at the rushing water, her expression thoughtful rather than fearful. Not the Hollywood version, but the real woman. The one who tied those knots and pulled off that rescue like it was second nature.
She catches me looking and raises an eyebrow. “Something on your mind, Finn?”
“Wondering what other surprises you might be hiding,” I say honestly.
Her expression closes, the vulnerability disappearing behind her mask. “I told you—I’m full of them.”
