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He may have scoffed earlier when I asked about a safety briefing, but Ally does take the time to make sure I know what I’m doing while we’re still on dry land. Aidan mentioned he and Ally used to work as outdoor instructors, and although it’s something Ally hasn’t done for years, you wouldn’t know. He’s passionate about rafting—far more passionate than he is about the hotel, in my limited experience—and the words come easily to him.

I’m reassured by his instruction, and I don’t mind at all when he reaches out to correct my paddling stroke, placing his hand on top of mine. In fact, my skin tingles at the touch. And when he’s doing his final checks before we hit the river, he tightens my life jacket, reaching for various straps and tugging on them, and . . . well, it’s embarrassing to admit, but it kind of does it for me.

It shouldn’t be sexy, me standing here by the river in a red helmet, wet suit, and bulky life jacket (or “PFD”—personal flotation device—as Ally insists on calling it). But . . . well, it is sexy. He pulls each of the straps as tight as he can, while I just stand, letting him do it, and . . . yeah, it’s a bizarre turn-on.

The plan was for the rafting to clear my head of the hurt, shame, and worthlessness I’ve felt since the wedding. Right now, though, I’m mainly keen to get on the water to calm me down after those surprisingly arousing life-jacket adjustments.

The section of river where we board the raft is peaceful, which gives me a chance to get used to the feel of it on the water, and to practise the paddling strokes Ally went over with me. I also try to get used to the closeness of him beside me since it’s really not a big raft.

We manoeuvre around the river, the lazy current easy to contend with. Ally barks commands at me, and I do as promised and follow them without question: “Forward paddle!”, “Backward paddle!”, “Left turn!”, “Right turn!” The turns take a little getting used to because for these Ally and I have to do opposite actions. As I’m on the left of the raft, when he shouts, “Left turn!”, I have to back paddle while he forward paddles. For a “Right turn!”, it’s the other way around.

There are other commands too, including “Stop!”, which surprisingly enough means to stop paddling, and “Get down!”, which means to get onto the floor of the raft and grab a hold of the rope, or as Ally calls it, “the perimeter line”. We practise each of the commands a few times until Ally gives a resolute nod.

“Good! All right, let’s do this. Forward paddle!”

“Already?” Nerves kick in. “Shouldn’t we practise a bit more?”

“You’ll be fine. And remember, when I give an instruction, you follow it without hesitation—and I said forward paddle!”

Biting my lip, I paddle. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this. My free time normally involves fine dining, fancy cocktails, dressing up, and looking my best. Adventure, thrills, adrenaline rushes? That’s not me—or at least, I thought it wasn’t.

But as we continue down the river, a weight leaves me, a weight I’ve been carrying since the wedding. These last few days, I’ve come to understand why phrases like “down in the dumps” and “feeling down” exist. It really has been like I’ve been carrying a heavy load with me everywhere I go. Now that load is lifting, drifting away, making it easier to breathe.

“We’re going so fast!” I say. We really are, with us both forward paddling and with the current of the river picking up.

Ally laughs. “You think this is fast? It’s going to get a lot faster. Buckle up!”

“There aren’t any seat belts.”

“Shit, you’re right. I should have gone with ‘Try not to fall off!’ instead.”

If I wasn’t gripping my paddle so tightly, I’d thump him for that comment. And yet I don’t need to see myself in a mirror to know I’m smiling. As scary as this is, it’s exactly what I need right now.

“This is where the challenge begins,” Ally warns. “From here on out, it gets fast, it gets tricky, and there are plenty of rocks to get bashed against. You may have a helmet on, but let’s try to keep it dent-free. We’ll try and avoid the rocks altogether, okay?”

The pace of the river increases, and so too does the pace of my heart. The water around us froths, the motion of the raft becoming bumpy. It goes up and down, many of the downwards movements accompanied by a splash, icy water spraying against me. I gasp at the chill. My body may be protected by the wetsuit, but it does nothing for my face.

It becomes harder to control the raft. No longer are we manoeuvring it through the river. Rather, the current is in charge, pulling us along. With our paddles, we can only attempt to guide our path.

All other chat stops, and Ally says nothing except to bark out commands, each of which I immediately act upon. Deep down, I know that my best chance of getting through this is to do what he says, when he says it.

A splash of water crashes over me. Even as I’m spitting it out and trying to blink water from my eyes, it happens again. I gasp, sputtering—and then another splash hits me. The river is relentless. There’s no let-up.

A sudden unexpected dip to the left sees me lurch to the side, and I almost tumble into the water, but a strong hand shoots out and grabs a hold of my life jacket.

“Thank you!” I stammer.

Ally’s gaze is already back on the river.

I turn my attention back to the water too, but not before noting that what I hoped would happen has happened: my mind has cleared. I’m living in the moment. Together, Ally and I are facing nature in all its terrifying glory. We’re working with each other to navigate down the river, and it feels . . . it feels good.

I lose track of time, unaware of its passing, caring only about right now. After a while—I couldn’t say how long—the current calms again. We made it!

“All right, you can take a wee breather,” Ally says.

I do, taking several deep breaths in and out. I allow all the tension to leave my body, then I throw my head back and whoop.

Ally spins around to look at me, taken by surprise. He chuckles, rubbing the sleeve of his wetsuit over his forehead. “You’re crazy, you know that? I was just about to say we might get lucky and see some wildlife. Now you’ve scared away everything within a mile radius.”