Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
N ight has fully settled over camp, and the sky has that hazy pink-and-purple fade that’s about to give way to a full-on starscape. A few of us are tucked around the fire after the second day of our third shift. I’m clutching a mug of way-too-hot chamomile tea, letting the steam hit my face while the cool breeze freezes my butt off.
I scootch a little closer to the fire, grateful for the heat. I wasn’t planning to stay up late, but I would have missed these good bush stories if I called it early.
Jake is mid-story, gesturing with a half-crushed beer in his hand. “Anyway,” he says, his voice animated, “that contract up near Fort Mac four years ago was the hardest I’ve ever seen. Swarms of black flies so thick you couldn’t see a damn thing. And the ground? Absolute garbage. Worst-prepped land I’ve ever planted. It should have been raw, so we’d at least be getting more money. Instead, I was up to my neck in overgrown weeds and trenches that zigzagged and split up all over the block.” He pauses for dramatic effect, grinning. “And still, Logan swears Gabe hammered out… what was it? 40,000 in ten days? Something insane like that. He probably just wanted to help us get off that block faster.”
I freeze, my mug halfway to my lips. Gabe? He’s not even here—probably still wrapping up his meetings about tomorrow’s logistics. But hearing Jake talk about him isn’t surprising after seeing how hard he’s been working for our crew this past week.
“Yeah,” Emma chimes in, her grin spreading wide. “I think that was just before he got bumped up to foreman. But apparently, he still plants like that when he wants to… on top of running an entire crew. He’s a machine when he plants.”
Jake leans forward. “Remember when everyone said, ‘No one’s ever gonna beat the company record of 7,000 trees in a day’? And Gabe just laughed and broke it his third season?”
They’re talking about him like he’s a legend in the world of tree planting, and I realize I’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how much people love and respect him.
“How the hell did he manage that in just one day? I mean, I can’t even imagine bending over 7,000 times,” I say, trying—and failing—not to sound too interested in his backstory.
Dan shrugs, taking a swig of his drink. “Dude’s unstoppable. I’ve never seen anyone plant like him. He’s got the speed, the endurance… He just doesn’t have an ‘off’ switch. Someone told me that he basically survived on Sunspun crackers and water that summer—no time to stop and eat real food.” He grins, and everyone around the fire laughs.
Jake leans forward, grinning like he’s got the tea. “You know,” he says, lowering his voice as if he’s letting us in on a secret. “There’s a rumour going around that Gabe’s gonna take over the company one day.”
Emma snorts, cutting him off. “It’s not a rumour,” she corrects, her tone firm. “Everybody knows he’s going to buy it. This is what he loves to do.”
Jake raises his eyebrows, leaning back. “Well, if he’s buying in, I hope it happens while I’m still around. Imagine working for Gabe when he’s the owner. It’d be epic.”
Dan nods, tipping his beer. “Hell yeah. Best foreman I’ve ever had. Well… it’s a close race between him and Logan, anyway. That dude is also a total badass. Last year, he beat the hell out of some rookie who kept mouthing off. Can’t remember why though. Emma, weren’t you dating that guy? The tall dude with the dumb-looking face?”
Emma’s lips tighten ever so slightly. “Dominic? We weren’t together at the time—he was my ex.” She’s chewing her lip, looking everywhere but at Dan.
“Right, Dom!” Dan lets out a snort. “God, he was tall—like a beanpole—and a terrible planter. Wonder why Logan kicked his ass, though.”
Emma clears her throat, shifting like she’d rather be anywhere else. “Yeah, I don’t recall the details.” She forces a quick laugh and gestures toward the fire. “Anyway, I hear Gabe’s serious about buying the company. He’s basically running half the operation already, so I guess it’s not a huge leap.”
I sit quietly, swirling my tea as I listen. They talk about Gabe with such certainty, like it’s a done deal that he’ll eventually take over. The idea percolates in my chest—warm but also unsettling. It’s not just respect they have for him; it’s belief. Real, solid belief that he belongs here, running this place. But on the other hand, if he’s going to oversee this company someday, that means his summers—and maybe more—are spoken for. He’s rooted here, tied to this place in a way I never could be, because this isn’t my home.
Before I can ask more about Gabe’s history, a shuffle behind me makes me turn. Speak of the devil . Gabe walks up, his radio still clipped to his belt, the firelight catching on his face as he steps into the circle.
Dan waves his beer. “We were just talking about how you’re gonna buy the company one day,” he says with a grin.
Gabe’s jaw tightens slightly, and the faintest hint of pink creeps up the back of his neck. “You guys talk too much,” he mutters, brushing it off.
Emma smirks. “You know we’re all waiting for the day you take over.”
He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath. Not exactly in my hands, is it? I still need the capital to buy it.” He pauses when the excitement dips, then adds, “But I’m working on it.”
The group hums in approval, a mix of laughter and cheers for him.
Gabe moves to a stump across from me, sitting down with that usual relaxed posture, but I can tell he’s still thinking about what they said. His eyes flick to mine briefly across the fire, and for a second, it feels like everything else fades out.
I glance away quickly, hiding behind my mug as the conversation shifts to other war time stories about planting—stories about moose chases, massive tree box fires, and planting frozen ground in early spring.
As the fire burns lower, I decide it’s time to call it a night. I stand, giving a quick wave good night. Gabe’s eyes follow me as I step out of the circle, his gaze lingering just long enough.
First stop, I have to head to the camp shitter, because, priorities. Then I head toward the sinks to brush my teeth—no way I’m letting oral hygiene go by the wayside just because I’m out in the bush.
As I leave the sink area, I notice that the camp feels quieter now, most voices from the fire fading into a low murmur as people have started to pack it in for the night. The cool night air brushes my face as my sandals crunch lightly over the damp gravel.
Halfway to my tent, I tip my head back, slowing my steps as I take in the sky. The Milky Way stretches wide and brilliant, stars scattered across the black in glittering patterns, and I take a deep breath to try to capture this moment in my mind. It’s breathtaking. I trace the constellations I can barely remember, feeling this odd, quiet weight settle in my chest.
I’m so caught up in the moment, I don’t even notice anyone near me, until I walk straight into him.
“Oh—shit, sorry,” I stammer, stepping back too fast before I even process what just happened. But my foot gets wedged in a hard, muddy rut on the ground, and I trip straight backward.
Gabe’s there before I realize I’m falling, grabbing me by the waist. For a second, I’m just pressed against him—his flannel brushing my cheek, his body solid and warm. I can smell him, feel him, and for a split second, we just… stay there.
Then, just as fast as it happens, it’s gone. He takes a big step back, putting space between us.
I try to play it cool. “Wasn’t paying attention,” I say, glancing up. “I was looking at the stars.”
“It’s hard not to,” Gabe says, his voice pensive and subdued, blending into the quiet of the night.
I glance up at him, my heart still steadying from colliding into his embrace. “Yeah. You don’t get skies like this back home in the city. There’s way too much light pollution,” I say, my voice soft. “The closest I’ve seen was at a cottage we used to visit when I was younger. My parents took us there in the summers—this tiny place on the edge of a lake. No internet, no TV, just stars every night.” I pause, the memory vivid and clear. “One night, my dad woke me up in the middle of the night—completely out of nowhere—and told me to grab my shoes. I was grumpy, half-asleep, but he dragged me outside. And there it was—this meteor shower lighting up the whole sky. We sat on the dock, just the two of us, watching these streaks of light. He didn’t say much, but I remember appreciating sharing that moment with him.”
I glance back at Gabe, realizing I’ve been talking for a while. He’s quiet, watching me with a softness I haven’t seen before, like he’s turning my words over in his head.
“That’s… a good memory to hold on to,” he says, his voice low and comforting. “My dad used to take me fishing with my grandpa out at Prairie Creek. My grandpa built a log cabin there by himself, near the stream. When I was a kid, Dad and I spent weekends out there with him—fishing, hiking, sitting by the fire.” He pauses, exhaling softly. “When my grandpa passed, he left the cabin to Dad, and we’d go when he wasn’t too busy with work. But then…” He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “Work just kept getting in the way. My dad got busy, and eventually… I started going out there on my own, but it’s… different. Doesn’t feel the same when you’re alone, you know?” He lifts his gaze back to the stars, his voice quieter now. “I think that’s why I like planting,” he says. “It feels rewarding, because it’s hard and not everyone can do this, but… it’s also fun because of the people we get to share it with.”
I glance back up at the sky, the jagged silhouette of the forest backlit by the moon. The moonlight softens everything, the world feeling infinite and yet oddly intimate at the same time. “I do enjoy sharing my misery with others,” I say, only half sarcastic.
But he doesn’t laugh. And when I turn my head, expecting him to still be stargazing, I catch him looking at me instead.
As soon as he realizes he’s been caught, he shifts his gaze back up like he’s trying to play it cool. There’s a split second where it feels like he is about to speak—but he doesn’t.
Before the silence gets too heavy, I cut in. “Alright, I’m gonna crash—don’t wanna be a zombie on the block tomorrow. Good night, Gabe.”
“Night, Sunshine,” he says, and it comes out a little tighter than usual.
I head off, leaving him behind, the night closing in around me—quiet, still, peaceful. Except for the pounding of my own heart.