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“That sounds very erudite coming from you.”

“Do you fancy yourself like Bourdain?”

I don’t usually have to justify myself to people. Other than my parents. “A little bit. It’s my own brand and my own⁠—”

She puts her finger in her mouth and mimes gagging. “Don’t talk about yourself as a brand. Don’t say ROI. Don’t say clickbait. Just tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I told you. The network.”

She squints at me. “Did you look me up on socials? Is that how you know I was here?”

“Your feed is scattered.”

“Oh no.” She pretends to be offended.

“Not curated. At all. But there’s something that stands out.”

“What.”

“You take really extraordinary pictures. Is that what you did for your magazine?”

She stops walking. “Are you making fun of me? My sarcasm meter is a little dinged up.”

“I’m not kidding.”

She walks along without me. “Shut up.” She kicks a rock in her path. “I wrote captions for other people’s pictures. And little blurbs about what to do in Manhattan.”

“People needed to be told what to do in the city that literally has everything to do.”

“I was providing a service.”

“You were providing hotel bathroom reading.”

We’re almost at the lodge. I take her arm and she turns with a look that says don’t push it, so I say it fast.

“I already know it all and I’m sorry.”

“Yes, Colin loves to talk.”

“To be fair, you were pretty loud that night at the Little Bird. Got a lot going on. Or not.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about getting a yurt on property and seeing if Serge needs a swami sister wife.” I laugh hard and it’s like she’s bracing for something.

It’s time to pull the trigger on this.

“You’re going to need more than iridology to fix this. The favor. You have something I need.”

She literally jumps back and leans away from me. “I’m sorry, did you just say I have something you need? Is it quick wit or access to my parent’s wine cellar? That’s all I’ve got left.”

I smirk at the woman who seems to be underselling herself. “You also have an inability to drink something without getting it down your shirt.”

She points at me, “Truth.” She cocks her head. “You weren’t supposed to be on this hike were you? You came looking for me. What’s this favor?”

“I have a terrible, awful idea,” I say.

“I’m listening.” She crosses her arms.

“Don’t run away. Listen to all of this and then you can say whatever you want. I’m headed to a wedding, and I think you’ll know exactly how to play this particular room.”