Page 6 of Lost With My Enemy

"And easygoing. And a good driver."

"Those are all the same things."

"They're three different adjectives."

"They're one personality trait expressed three ways." She finally looks over, hazel eyes sharp behind her glasses. "What he didn't mention was the canoe, the lack of a co-pilot itinerary, or the fact that your truck smells like campfire."

"My truck smells great."

"Your truck smells like you've been sleeping in it."

"Only twice. And both times were by choice."

That almost-laugh again. Closer to the surface this time.

"Okay, here's my concern." She angles her body toward me, laptop still balanced on her thighs. "I have to be in Calgary by August twenty-fifth. That's non-negotiable. I have a client who once fired a caterer mid-appetizer because the napkin folds were, quote, 'aggressive.' If I'm late, I lose the account, and if I lose the account, I lose the referral chain I've spent two years building."

"Aggressive napkin folds?"

"Focus."

"Right. Calgary by the twenty-fifth. Got it."

"So if we're stopping at every scenic overlook between here and Manitoba, I need to know that now, because my buffer doesn't account for spontaneous canoe detours."

The word spontaneous comes out of her mouth coated in suspicion.

"Tell you what." My hands are easy on the wheel, ten and two, because something about this woman makes me want to demonstrate basic competence. "We follow your route. Your stops, your timeline, your plan. But if we pass something worth seeing, I get to make a case for a thirty-minute detour. You can veto. Final call is always yours."

Her eyebrows pull together. Processing.

"Thirty minutes."

"Thirty."

"And I have veto power."

"Absolute veto."

"What constitutes 'worth seeing'?"

"I'll know it when I see it."

"That's the least reassuring answer you could have given me."

"But it's honest."

She studies me for a long moment. The laptop hums quietly on her thighs. Outside, the highway scrolls through limestone cuts and farmland. A hawk circles over a harvested field, riding a thermal so perfect it looks painted there.

"Fine," she says. "Thirty minutes. Veto power. And you stop calling my itinerary a binder."

"Deal." My hand extends across the console. She looks at it, then at me, then back at my hand before shaking it with a grip that means business.

"One more thing." She pulls her hand back and adjusts her seatbelt. "I need to know the rental situation. I've pre-booked apartments in Ottawa, Sudbury, Sault Ste. Marie, Thunder Bay, and Winnipeg. The listings say one bedroom. I assumed I'd be traveling solo when I booked them."

"Oh."

"So. Sleeping arrangements."