Jonah’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Don’t be so clumsy next time.”

I shoot a glare at him—why is he even here? I thought he was working!—and then, picking up my mangled food and dishes, I head inside to change into the only clean pair of clothes I have left and grab a banana to eat.

When I return, Jonah’s sitting in my seat. Thankfully, there’s no raccoon in sight.

“What is this?” he asks, nodding toward my MacBook.

“A computer.”

He throws me a flat look. “Why are you looking up charter company websites?”

“Because I wanted to know more about my dad’s competition.”

“For what? You suddenly interested in taking over the family business?” he mutters.

“No,” I scoff through a bite of my banana. “But I noticed that Alaska Wild doesn’t have a website and I think that’s a huge mistake. Everyone has a website nowadays. The sixteen-year-old girl in our neighborhood who walks dogs has a website and an online payment option. It’s the most basic way to market yourself.”

Jonah leans back, his legs splayed in that guy way, his arms folded across his chest. He’s made himself comfortable in my chair. “We don’t need to market to the villagers; they all know us. Same with our shipping contracts and the schools.”

“Yeah, but what about the tourists? Agnes said you’re losing business with them.”

“Yeah, we are,” he admits. “But a website’s not gonna help that.”

I settle into the other seat. It teeters under my weight, the metal legs uneven. “If I were coming to Alaska and looking to go sightseeing or fly to another city, I wouldn’t even know about Alaska Wild.”

“Of course you would. We’re listed on all the big Alaska tourism pages. And we’re in the directory.”

“Yeah, but there’s no information. Nothing about what planes you have, or what your rules and refund policies are, your flying schedule, how much it would cost . . .”

“We tell them all that when they call,” he says, as if it should be obvious.

Entirely missing my point.

“Jonah, maybe that’s how people do it around here, but if you’re trying to attract people from the Lower Forty-eight—or whatever you called it—or from other parts of the world, it’s not enough. People don’t phone companies, not until they’ve already narrowed down their choices. People hate talking over the phone. I don’t even talk to my friends over the phone if I can help it. Everyone goes online, Googles what they’re looking for, picks their top two or three choices, and then calls. A lot of people don’t even call if they have questions, they email.”

“So they can email us.”

“And how are they going to find the address? You have nothing on your website. And they’re not going to go hunting for it in some directory, believe me.” I forge on, because it seems like Jonah is listening to me. “A lot of people book online, print out their receipt, and show up. And if there are other charter companies around here who have a website and all this information and pictures of planes and videos of flying to make it easy for them to decide, people are going to skip right over Alaska Wild. And honestly? If I’m paying to come to Alaska and then forking over even more money to go see mountains and wildlife, or to fly into a camp, it wouldn’t be with the company that can’t even get a basic website together.”

It’s not like I have specific data to prove anything I’m saying, but it’s all common sense, isn’t it? I mean, everyone knows this, right?

Jonah still looks doubtful.

“Look, say I’m John Smith from Arkansas and I want to come to Alaska to hunt. I’ve never been before, so I look up Alaskan hunt camps and find this one.” I stand just enough to drag my seat over closer, until I can reach my laptop. Jonah makes no effort to move, forcing me to lean over his thigh to reach my computer. I flip over to the tab with the camp that appeared at the top of the search earlier. “And when I click on ‘how to get here,’ it takes me to Alaska Aviator.”

“Because they’ve got a deal with them. We’ve got the same thing with River & Co.”

“The one that’s not paying their bills on time?” I lean forward, navigating to their page, accidentally bumping my knee against his. “Sorry,” I mumble. “They have Alaska Wild and Alaska Aviator listed as options for travel there.” I tap the screen with my polished tip to prove it, bumping his knee again. He doesn’t shift away. “So right away, when John Smith is planning his trip, Alaska Aviator is looking better to him because he has nothing to compare it against and he has to make a decision, all the way in Oklahoma.”

“I thought you said Arkansas.”

“Whatever. The point is, the only draw for him to Wild would be if it was a lot cheaper.”

“They’re pretty even.”

“Well, then guess who John’s going to be going with when he books his hunting trip.” I lean back in my chair, feeling satisfied that I’ve proved my point. “Maybe River & Co. isn’t the problem. Maybe they’re not telling these tourists to fly with these other guys. Maybe these tourists are going to them because they made it easy to pick them.”

Jonah’s piercing gaze weighs heavily on me, his usually cold, indifferent expression replaced with curiosity. “You know how to do that? Build a website, I mean.”