We met on a Recovery Canoe trip—because nothing says romance like flies, life vests, and the constant threat of capsizing. I was peacefully floating down the river with my son, Jonathan, minding my own business, when out of nowhere, a shadowy figure emerged from the treeline like a soggy ninja and flipped our canoe. So there we were, soaked, confused, and gasping for air, when I looked up and saw the culprit: a somewhat tall, grinning, suspiciously confident older man in a wetsuit that left very little to the imagination. Despite looking like a drowned rat, I couldn’t help but laugh. He had one of those mischievous smiles that made you forget you'd just been publicly humiliated in front of your kid. Jonathan gave me the look—you know, the "we're gonna get him" look. So we paddled off like canoe pirates, plotting the perfect revenge. And when the moment was right—bam! We flipped him and his buddy right into the river. The rest of the day was pure chaos: playful smack talk, sneak attacks, stolen paddles, and lingering glances that said, “This might be the beginning of something... strange and wet.”