Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
“ D o I have to keep sitting here?” I whine, rubbing my thighs to ease the cramping from being jammed in the middle seat between Gabe and Emma. I can already tell these drives are going be hard on my body. My leg muscles are tight from inadequate hydration—my fault, of course—and from keeping them squeezed together to avoid rubbing against Gabe’s thigh. His legs take up so much room in the front cab that it makes it almost impossible not to be in contact with him. The heat from his thigh radiates out and penetrates my leggings. It’s almost too hot squeezed in next to him, even with the AC running.
“And as if being crammed in the middle isn’t bad enough, now we’re stuck listening to Iron Maiden for an entire hour?”
Gabe flips the volume up a notch, barely sparing me a glance. “It’s the only thing keeping me awake. Unless you want me nodding off at the wheel, this is nonnegotiable.”
I roll my eyes. “I call BS. You just want to blast your music so you don’t have to hear us complain about our… pieces, or whatever else is bugging us.”
He smirks, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “If I crank it loud enough, I won’t have to listen to you complain about the music either.”
“Oh, you’re gonna hear it,” I shoot back, crossing my arms. “If I have to suffer through endless guitar solos and wailing men singing about brothels and running up some hills, you can suffer through my whining about it.”
He snorts. “Running up some hills? I believe it’s ‘Run to the Hills.’”
I stare at him, fighting off the urge to grin. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Emma snorts softly beside me, clearly entertained with our bickering.
As we turn off the highway and roll back into camp, my legs scream in protest, my wrist throbs, and my boots feel permanently attached to my swollen feet. Every muscle aches from overuse and the dehydration I’ve been courting since this morning—my own fault, of course. I lean back against the seat, blinking grit out of my eyes and fantasizing about the moment I can kick these boots off and collapse in my tent.
The truck grinds to a stop on a gravel patch beside the mess tent—a space that already feels like a makeshift home base. Emma climbs out first, arms overhead in a long stretch and a cavernous yawn, while I ease my legs out one at a time, trying—and failing—not to wince. Gabe kills the engine, and slides out of the driver’s seat without so much as a glance my way. I tell myself I’m relieved; my mind is in no shape to banter with him again tonight.
I grab my planting bags and shovel from the truck bed, stumbling a bit as I step away. My arms feel like jelly, and I have no idea how I will haul myself into a tent to change out of my dirty work clothes. But the need to put my feet into clean socks and my loose, comfy sweatpants overrides my aches and pains.
I toss my gear into a pile by my tent, inhaling the mingled scents of roast chicken and potatoes wafting from the kitchen tent. My stomach snarls again, insistent and impossible to ignore. At least out here, my hunger is a direct result of actual work—way more tangible than the nagging pangs I’d get trying to look busy behind a desk all summer. Sure, my entire body aches and I’m covered in dust, but I’d take that any day over listening to Gerard from HR drone on about his kids’ soccer competitions for the tenth time.
Still, the thought of a full dinner is enough to get my feet moving. I duck inside my tiny tent—my “little abode,” as I’ve started calling it—and yank my dusty leggings down my thighs, wincing at the red welts forming on the skin. My sweat-stiffened leggings cling to my calves, the once-pristine black now pocked with tiny tears from stray branches—and even though part of me knows Gabe was right about them getting shredded, I’d sooner swallow nails than admit it.
Suddenly, I hear an engine grumble outside, followed by the metallic slam of a truck door in the distance. I pause, one leg half out of my leggings. Probably just more planters returning, but the abrupt arrival has me wondering who it could be.
Peeling the rest of the leggings free, I toss them aside and pull on my loose sweatpants.
My tent’s flimsy nylon offers basically zero insulation from the noise outside, so when a sudden burst of laughter cuts through the air, I freeze mid-change, tilting my head to listen. The wind carries voices—one of them bright, feminine, dripping with confidence. The other? Low and unmistakable.
Gabe.
I stay rooted inside my tent, telling myself not to unzip and peek out because it’s none of my business. But of course, I tilt my head closer. I can’t help but listen to their exchange.
“Oh my God, Gabe! You’re back!” the woman’s voice exclaims, loud and excited. “I thought you’d be working for your dad by now! And what’s this I hear? I’m not on your crew this year?” It sounds like she's teasing, but there’s an edge to it. “I thought I was your best planter.” Then she adds, with her voice low and loaded with frustration, “Who took my spot?”
This has to be Jessie. She’s brushing off whoever took her spot like they don’t even matter. That’d be me .
“The rookie Emma brought from Montreal,” Gabe replies, his tone steady, like he’s trying to defuse her right from the start.
“A rookie?”
“Her name’s Soleil.”
“ Soleil ?” Jessie repeats, saying it a touch too snarky. “What kind of name is that? And I thought you hated dealing with rookies.”
“Usually.”
“We worked great together last summer, Gabe—you know we did. You’re the best foreman in this company, and you know I made your life easier.”
Gabe doesn’t even flinch at the compliment, his voice as even as ever. “It means sunshine.”
“What? What does?”
“Her name,” he says simply.
I stay frozen inside my tent, heat creeping up my neck. Technically, it means sun in French, but there’s no way I am yelling that out loud to correct him. Still, hearing him explain it—it does something. Like he’s low-key defending me.
“Oh, well,” Jessie huffs, her voice rising with exasperation. “I’m just saying—I was supposed to be on your crew this season. Seriously, Gabe, why didn’t you just pass her off to Logan? You know I’d plant triple what she puts in the ground per day. You’re killing me here.”
Gabe just laughs softly. “Jess, come on. You’re not really mad at me. Crews are set, and Logan’s going to be pumped to have you. He’s hungry for production this year, and you’re the best planter he could’ve gotten.”
Jessie lets out a dramatic sigh, and I can almost picture her rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I just liked being on your crew.”
Whoa . That sounded a touch flirtatious for someone who was just snapping at him about being kicked off his crew.
“It’s just… you know, easier with you—you didn’t micromanage, and we could just plant without all the drama. You’re strong, level-headed, and kind. We make a good team.”
Strong? Level-headed? Kind? What does that have to do with them being a good team? She’s really buttering him up.
“I get it. I’ll miss having you on my crew, too, but hey—we’re still in camp together, right? Party night drinks and all that. Nothing’s stopping us from hanging out.”
Hanging out? A small hint of bitterness roils in my gut. They sound so easy together, like they’ve been friends forever. Like there’s no awkwardness or distance, just this natural back-and-forth. They sound like a good match. And they probably are on paper.
Jessie’s voice lightens even more. “Yeah, okay. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. And don’t forget—you still owe me that shovel toss rematch.”
Gabe chuckles again. “Still trying to beat me? You know how that’s gonna go.”
“Oh, shut up,” Jessie laughs, her tone full of mock indignation. “Just wait. I’ve been training.”
I scoff, a little too loud. There’s a pause outside. Oh shit. I force a few fake coughs.
“Anyway, I’ve gotta get prepped for tomorrow. See you around, Jess,” Gabe replies, his voice aimed right towards my tent.
Dammit . He totally knows I was eavesdropping.
The chatter of other planters echoes from inside the plastic canvas walls of the large mess tent—a low hum of shared aches and battle stories from their first day back. I duck my head under the tent flap, thinking about collapsing into my sleeping bag after this. I’ve changed my mind about taking a shower tonight—that’s a problem for future Soleil. I’ll take a wet wipe shower instead. Right now, dinner calls.
I spot an open seat next to Emma and collapse onto the bench beside her. My body’s so hungry that I barely register the taste of the chicken as I tear into it.
Emma grins at me, casually cutting into her food. “Every day gets a little easier,” she says with a small giggle. “Okay, well, after the first two weeks, you won’t even remember this pain. Trust me—I was a total wreck my first week. Gabe had to fix, like, half my trees. You’ll get there.”
She pauses to chew while I take a bite of chicken, suddenly way less picky about textures now that my appetite’s kicked in full force. “Did you meet Jessie yet?” she asks, completely unaware of the awkward tent-side conversation I overheard earlier.
“Sort of,” I say, my fork hovering midair. I lower my voice to a whisper. “Not gonna lie—I’m a little scared of her. She doesn’t seem thrilled about me taking her spot on Gabe’s crew.”
“Why’d I hear my name?” Gabe’s voice cuts through the hum of the tent as he drops onto the bench across from us, his plate piled high with food. “What are you saying about me now, Sunshine?”
I glare at him over my fork, trying to mask the weird flutter in my chest. “Nothing. I was just telling Emma how you helped me finish my bag-up this morning.”
“No, you—” Emma starts, but I kick her under the table, shooting her a quick don’t you dare look. He’s already eyeing us like he suspects I overheard his conversation with Jessie, and I’m sure as hell not confirming it.
“So, is Jake gonna win the bet, Soleil?” Gabe asks, cutting right through the tension.
I roll my eyes, brushing it off. “Pretty sure I can make it through a day. Besides, I’d have to stick around if I want the privilege of you warming up the shitter seat for me again.”
He laughs heartily, and I feel a flutter I’m going to be ignoring. “Ah, but the night is young. You’ll feel it tomorrow, though. Especially those mosquito bites.”
“I’m fine,” I shoot back, determined. “I’ve got After Bite.”
He nods toward my plate. “Well, it’s nice to see you actually eating for once.”
I stab a piece of chicken with my fork. “The food’s… surprisingly good tonight.”
His grin widens. “Food’s always good around here. I’ve never had a meal I didn’t like.”
“Of course you’d say that. I mean, just look at you—you’ve clearly never met a meal you didn’t love.”
He arches a brow, his smirk tilting. “Are you fat-shaming?”
“No, never,” I snap back defensively, heat creeping up my neck. “You know what I mean. I said it because you’re a big bo—” I pause, realizing I’ve walked straight into a trap.
A flicker of mischief lights up his eyes. “Go on. Say it.”
“Say what?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Finish the thought.”
“No,” I snap back.
“Come on,” he goads, leaning forward slightly. “Say it, and I promise I’ll stop calling you Sunshine.”
I suck in a breath, steeling myself. “Fine. You’re a big jerk hole.”
His smirk widens into a full-on grin. “You were totally about to say, ‘big boy.’”
Emma’s laugh bursts out before she can stop it, and she quickly throws a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she tries—and fails—to hide her giggles.
Gabe’s low chuckle echoes hers, and he glances my way with a mischievous glint in his eye. “‘Cause I am a big boy,” he declares, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I glare at him, cheeks heating up, while Emma keeps snickering beside me. I swear, if I could slip beneath this bench and disappear, I probably would.
It’s not until I stab into another piece of chicken that it hits me: some tiny part of me doesn’t actually hate being called Sunshine. And if he stopped? I’d probably hate that even more.
Maybe I even… like it. Just a little.
Get a grip, Soleil.