I blink. “A what?”
“A latte machine. Espresso?” She gestures vaguely with her hands. “Steamed milk?”
I point to the refrigerator. “Milk’s in there. It’s cold, not steamed.”
She regards me like I’ve suggested she drink from the creek. “You’re kidding, right? This is a resort.”
“This is Alaska,” I correct, handing her a pitcher of milk. “We have coffee. We have milk. Combine them however you like.”
Lena eyes the pitcher with resignation, then pours a generous amount into her coffee. “I suppose this passes for a latte in the wilderness.”
“It passes for coffee with milk,” I reply. “The wilderness doesn’t care what you call it.”
“Fair point.” She loads a plate with food and joins theproduction team at the long wooden table, sliding into an empty chair beside Elliott. I busy myself with cleanup, keeping one ear on their conversation.
“So, we’ll start with some establishing shots around the lodge today,” Elliott says, gesturing with his fork. “Get Lena all contemplative by the creek, perhaps chop a little wood?—”
I nearly choke on my coffee.
“—nothing too strenuous, of course, just making sure it reads authentic,” Elliott continues, oblivious to my reaction. “Then tomorrow we’ll head out to the location.”
“Location?” Lena asks, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. “I thought this was the location.”
Elliott scans the table, then clears his throat. “Slight change of plans. The network executives reviewed our preliminary filming plan and decided it wasn’t ... rustic enough.”
A heavy silence falls over the table.
“What does that mean?” Lena asks, her voice dropping to a dangerous tone.
“They want real wilderness immersion,” Elliott explains, adjusting his glasses nervously. “We’re going to relocate to the Painted Peaks area for most of the shoot. We’ll set up camp there.”
“Camp?” Lena repeats, her fork clattering against her plate. “What do you mean, camp?”
“You know,” Elliott says, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “Tents, campfire, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t camp,” Lena states flatly. “I’ve never even glamped.”
“The scenery is absolutely stunning,” Elliott rushes on, desperation coating his words. “Waterfalls, alpine meadows, incredible wildlife opportunities?—”
“Wildlife?” Lena’s voice rises an octave. “You mean bears?”
I watch the color drain from her face. Pale as birch bark inwinter. No doubt she’s been fed a line about what this job entails.
“Elliot,” she says with a forced calm that barely masks the tremor in her voice, “I agreed to stay at a lodge with actual amenities while capturing some nature videos and photos. Not to sleep on the ground in bear country.” She picks up her phone and stares at the screen. Her eyes widen, and she slowly lowers it like it might bite her. “No service? Are you kidding me?”
“Service is spotty,” I say, unable to help myself. “Best reception is on the east deck, facing the mountain.”
She shoots me a glare that could freeze the creek solid, then turns back to Elliott. “What kind of project is this, exactly?”
Elliott winces, like this is the part he hoped to avoid. “It’s a survival documentary,” he says with forced enthusiasm. “Stars in the Wild. ThinkSurvivormeetsNaked and Afraid. Only PG. Mostly.”
“So, I’m the unwitting star of a reality show?” Her eyes narrow.
“A high-end, prestige docuseries,” he says, like that somehow makes it better. “With an emphasis on emotional resilience.”
She lets out a strangled sound. “You mean I’m supposed to fumble around the forest while America observes me sweating through bug bites and breakdowns?”
Elliott opens his mouth—probably gearing up to call it “empowering” or some equally delusional nonsense—but she’s already turning away, lifting her phone over her head and pacing toward the door. “I’m calling my agent. I don’t care if I have to hike to a cell tower—I’m getting out of this wilderness nightmare.”
