Scam Chowder by Maya Corrigan

and didn’t gain weight. If so, Val would envy the woman’s metabolism more than her height or hair.
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    Val paddled vigorously to work off the cookies she’d eaten. Gunnar, the stronger paddler, sat behind her in the canoe’s stern. He saw only her back, as she’d seen his ex-fiancée’s back this morning, but what a different view. Instead of black spandex, Val wore khaki Bermuda shorts and a white tank top. Instead of upswept intricate braids of hair, she had whorls and spirals pointing in different directions.
    Sitting tandem wasn’t conducive to conversation. Gunnar talked about his plans to study acting, now that he’d quit his job in favor of part-time self-employment. As they paddled between the river’s tree-lined banks, his voice washed over her like a melody, smooth and seductive, with a depth that suggested something dark. He’d never make a handsome leading man, but he could play the tragic hero.
    Just short of the bay’s open water, Gunnar laid his paddle in the canoe with a thump. “Forget paddling. Let’s drift for a few minutes.”
    She took her paddle out of the water and turned around in her seat to face him. Her pulse kicked up at his smile. Over the last few weeks, she’d forgotten how that smile affected her.
    Had his ex tracked him down? Val didn’t want to bring up the subject, but maybe he would if she coaxed a bit. “How was your day? Any surprises?” Not exactly a subtle question.
    â€œNo surprises. I spent most of the day with the real estate agent. I asked to see small houses where I could have room for an office and living space.”
    â€œYou’d know how to deduct a home office.” With his accounting background and his former job with the IRS, he probably knew the tax code inside out. “Did you see anything you liked?”
    He looked past her toward the wide expanse of the bay. “She showed me two places for sale that would work well, a small bungalow and a Cape Cod on side streets. But a rental would make more sense for me.”
    A change of plans? “Because you’re not sure you’ll stay in Bayport?”
    â€œFor the first time in my life, I don’t have a safe job tying me down. I can open an accounting practice anywhere. Is this the right place to live if I also want to take up acting?”
    â€œI asked you that question last month.” He’d responded then with a firm yes. Where had that firmness gone? Maybe the slinky blonde had given him a reason to return to Washington. “You already miss life in the big city?”
    â€œThe pace here suits me better. I don’t know whether anything else will pan out for me here. The business venture, the acting, and the”—he leaned forward and locked eyes with her—“the friendship.”
    That depended on how committed he was to just a friendship. Did he now want more than that? Did she? “You can’t know how anything will work out unless you give it a try.”
    He put his paddle in the water. “Trying means renting, not buying a house.”
    She couldn’t fault his commitment phobia when she suffered from it herself. “Six months ago, when I walked out on my life in New York and came here, I wouldn’t have bought a place either. Fortunately, my grandfather had room for me.”
    â€œHow’s he doing?”
    â€œHe’s fine physically, but otherwise iffy. It’s a long story. I can turn around in my seat and go back to paddling, or I can tell you the story.”
    â€œClever ploy to get out of paddling. Okay, you talk while I power us back to the B & B.”
    She told him what happened at the chowder dinner, leaving out her role in preparing the food. He assumed, like everyone else except Irene, that the newspaper’s recipe columnist could actually cook. While she talked about the allegations of food poisoning, Gunnar paddled rhythmically and listened