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He was leaning over when a gun fired on shore. He nearly fell into his seat and then rocked forward, hands going behind his neck.
“Is that the crash position for planes?” Daphne said.
He glared at her.
“Sorry,” she said, smiling. “It was really cute, though. You have excellent reflexes… even if it’s slightly less than situationally appropriate.”
“Hey, you never know. I might have ducked just enough to save me from being hit in the head by stray rifle fire.”
“That was a beaver.”
“Someone’s shooting beavers?”
The corners of her mouth twitched. When she saw he was serious, she coughed, as if to erase the smile. “No, the sound you heard was a beaver tail hitting the water.”
“Someone dropped a beaver from a plane? See, I wasn’t wrong, assuming the crash position.”
She hesitated, until he smiled to tell her he was joking this time.
“Beavers slap the water to warn of danger,” he said. “You know where I read that? In my book, At the Edge of the World. I’m such a genius.”
“Not if you need to read the book you wrote in order to learn things.”
“Don’t mock my memory issues. That’s mean.”
She shook her head.
“So that was a beaver,” he said, peering around. “Warning its family about us, I presume?”
“Possibly. See the dam over there?” She pointed to what he sheepishly realized he’d mistaken for a random pile of branches. “There’s another over by my place.”
“That is so cool. I’ve never seen a beaver in the wild.”
Silence. Then she choked on a laugh.
He replayed what he’d said. “Hey.” He jabbed the paddle her way. “No beaver jokes.”
“You started it. Never seen one in the wild, huh? Only on your computer screen?”
“Are you judging my love of nature movies, woman? They’re very informative. Did you know that, in its natural environment, the beaver displays an unusual affinity for bikers and pizza-delivery boys?”
The laugh started at a sputter and then became a snorting wheeze, as Daphne covered her mouth with one hand.
“It also—” he began.
“Stop.”
“You started it. Now—” He twisted fast as he caught sight of something moving in the water. “Holy shit, is that a beaver?”
“Ha-ha.”
“No, seriously.”
The large shape swam right under the boat, and Chris lunged to watch it come out the other side. He didn’t think. He just moved—fast. The canoe started to tip.
“Chris!”
He did the logical thing. Or what his brain screamed was the logical thing. If the canoe was tipping, the obvious way to fix that was simple physics. Redistribute weight.
