Avery had made it through a surgery of her own last year, and could tell him, without a doubt, that healing bodies and harnesses were a tricky combination. But that the pressure would be worth the thrill he’d feel when he got to the top and looked out over Sierra Nevada.
“Then why did you ask about the trip in the first place?”
Mr. Fitz looked at the floor, his ears going pink. In fact, most of the men were avoiding eye contact. A clear sign that Avery had been played. “You weren’t planning on booking any trips today, were you?”
“We’ve been going on the Fern Falls fly-fishing excursion for nearly twenty years,” Prudence Tuttman said from the back row, not sounding all that excited about going for number twenty-one. She was the only female in the group, outweighed the heaviest member by twenty pounds, and held the county record for gutting the most fish in under a minute. “Nelson has taken us out on the last five trips and said he was sending you down to handle all of the paperwork.”
“Said he had some big trek today and didn’t have time for paperwork,” the captain said, and Avery wanted to point out that no one had time for paperwork. It was the nature of paperwork. But refrained because a trek wasn’t why Nelson had sent her.
Nelson Donovan used to be the top-rated adventure guide at Sequoia Lake Lodge, fitting since he’d owned the lodge for over forty years. He’d survived a helicopter crash, three avalanches, and the loss of one of his sons ten years ago. Nelson was the kind of man stories are made of. Only lately, his memory had been slipping, and on bad days he struggled to remember his own story—which was why his wife hired Avery. When she wasn’t booking his trips, she was managing the schedule and rechecking any and all safety equipment he touched—stealthily.
Pride was a tricky thing, and Avery was careful not to take that from him, too.
“What if I were to tell you that as Sequoia Lake Lodge’s official adventure coordinator, I have the ability to customize your trip,” Avery said. “Give you exactly what you’re looking for.”
“We’ve been pitched custom excursions before, but our group isn’t large enough to absorb the cost,” Prudence explained. “We asked Nelson, but he couldn’t seem to come up with one that would fit within our budget.”
It was true that customized trips were always on the higher end in pricing and usually reserved for cooperate retreats and large group events, but with all of the fall specials and their senior discount, finding something new and exciting within their means shouldn’t be that difficult.
“No sense in signing up for a journey that you’ve already taken.” Avery pulled her calculator and the excursion price guide out of her travel pack, setting them on the poker table that the Moose Lodge provided as workspace. “If you guys are bold enough to chase a new view, I know I can plan the perfect customized trip for your group and come in close to budget.”
Well, if that didn’t get their attention. The excitement in the room rose until it crackled, but it was Mr. Fitz who spoke up. “I guess the Fern Falls fly-fishing trip has become old hat for us.”
A few amens sounded from the group. The captain even took off his hat and leaned in closer as Avery started scribbling down some rough numbers.
“At least with Fern Falls we know what we’re getting into,” Prudence cautioned the group. “This bean counter doesn’t even know how to unlock that carabiner. How is she going to come up with a trip we’ll like?”
Bean Counter held up the Sequoia Lake Lodge guide. “Because I am a master planner and know this book inside and out.” When they didn’t look convinced, she added, “What’s the fun in knowing exactly what you’re going to get?”
“Knowing it won’t suck,” Prudence said.
“Adventure is about trying new things, straying off the known path.” No one spoke. “And if you book today, I will take ten percent off the total.”
She wouldn’t get her bonus trip, but she’d get the credit for bringing in her first custom trek, which would go far with her boss. If there was one thing that Nelson admired, it was assertiveness.
And if there was one thing seniors loved, it was a deal.
Twenty minutes later, Avery walked down the front steps of the local Moose Lodge and onto Poppy Street, painfully aware that the safety harness was jammed and not coming off anytime soon. The sun was setting behind the lush peaks of the Sierra Nevada, streaking the sky a brilliant orange. A cool evening breeze blew through the thick canopy of ponderosas and crape myrtle trees that lined the main drag of town.