“Maybe it’s territorial?” I offered. “Or maybe we’re in its morning commute lane.”
We both started paddling backward as the beaver kept advancing like we owed it money.
And that’s when it hit me.
My shirt.
I’d taken it off earlier and tossed it onto a pile of sticks near the water’s edge.
A pile of sticks that was clearlynotjust a random pile of sticks.
“Oh no,” I breathed. “Oh no no no no—”
“What?” Ben said, still glancing back like he was preparing to go full Navy SEAL if needed.
“I think I used its construction project as a laundry line.”
He stopped mid-paddle. “Youwhat?”
“I didn’t know it was a beaver lodge!” I cried. “It just looked like a sun-warmed spot for my shirt!”
The beaver let out another squeak, flapping its tail on the surface dramatically, like it was personally offended by my fashion choices.
“Oh my God,” Ben said, laughing now. “You vandalized a beaver's home.”
“Idid not! I accessorized it!”
“You accessorized it withcotton blend!”
We were both laughing, now fully back in the shallows, water dripping off us in rivulets, and the beaver, thankfully, seemed satisfied with our retreat. It climbed onto the lodge, sniffed the shirt, and promptly dragged it inside like it was claiming it as payment.
“Did it juststealmy shirt?” I asked, gaping.
Ben was bent over, hands on his knees, cracking up. “I think you just got mugged by a rodent.”
“Well, this feels personal.”
He looked at me, eyes shining with laughter and something softer. “You have a gift.”
“For attracting chaos?”
“For making my day better than it has any right to be.”
I opened my mouth and promptly forgot what words were.
Because the way he looked at me, shirtless, dripping, completely undone by laughter, was doingvery prohibited thingsto my insides.
I reached out and flicked water at him. “You’re not getting out of carrying things just because I committed an accidental beaver faux pas.”
“Fine,” he said, still smirking. “But I’m not walking back shirtless unless you agree to carry a sign that saysThis Was Her Ideawhen we get back to the lodge.”
“Oh, I’ll make the sign myself.”
He stepped closer, water lapping around our knees. “You sure you’re not cold now?”
I was soaking wet, missing a shirt, and a very smug rodent had stolen my pride, but I looked at him and said, “Nope. I’m good.”
And somehow, I meant it.
