Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
I lie curled up against him, my cheek pressed to his chest, where his heartbeat still pulses steadily beneath my ear. A worn quilt is draped over us in the quiet of the evening. Outside, the rain has slowed to a soft drizzle, the kind that makes everything feel a little more still. It’s hard to believe that not even a few hours ago, we were tangled up in each other. Now, everything feels calmer, like we’ve finally exhaled a breath we didn’t know we were holding.
“Hey,” I murmur, tracing a lazy shape on his shoulder. “You okay?”
Gabe makes this low, contented sound in his chest. “Yeah. More than okay.”
A smile tugs at my lips as I rest my chin on his chest, studying his face—how his loose blond curls sweep around his ears, how the edges of his mouth seem softer now. He looks so relaxed, so different from the proud, guarded guy who used to bark orders at me in the cut block.
He catches me staring and quirks a brow. “You look like you’re dying to ask me something,” he teases, his voice low and warm.
“I’m just… adjusting,” I admit softly. “Sometimes it hits me that we only just met a month ago.”
A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest as he tugs me closer. “Tree planting’ll do that,” he says, his voice vibrating against my ear. He shifts a little, pulling me in tighter, his tone turning reflective. “Telling your family or friends about a day in the bush is one thing, but living that horrible day with someone else? That’s different. They can’t fully get the frustration of stumbling over the slash piles or pushing through the same bone-deep exhaustion like we do.” He pauses, glancing down at me. “That kind of stress—going through it together —it bonds us, because we don’t just hear each other’s stories—we’re living them, side by side.”
He tucks me in closer and places a gentle kiss on the top of my forehead—a small gesture that makes me want to believe this is more than just a passionate fling. And part of me is curious about his plan moving forward with tree planting, so I ask him without trying to sound like I’m judging his choices, “Why do you want to buy the company?”
He shifts slightly, reaching toward the pile of clothes on the floor. I watch, curious, as he digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a worn leather wallet. “This is why,” he says, flipping it open. A dog-eared photo peeks out, and he carefully eases it free, handing it to me.
By the dim glow of the window light, I see a much younger Gabe—maybe twenty-one—grimy and triumphant, grinning faintly at the camera through a mask of dirt covering his face. He’s holding a whiteboard that reads Gabe Hawthorne, 7,540 trees planted . Next to him, an older man is sitting, grinning with pride.
“I grew up being told that money was everything—my parents basically paved a path for me to follow my dad into engineering, take over his firm, buy a big house, and go golfing on weekends. They had it all mapped out. But it never felt like me. Like it was what I wanted.”
He takes a breath, setting the wallet aside. “When I was nineteen, I was so sick of living under my parents’ expectations that I decided to leave and go tree planting. The first season was brutal—I had heat stroke most days, barely enough to eat or drink, and pushed myself well past what I should’ve been doing. But after a while, I picked up tips from the ballers and lifers and started getting the hang of it. Somewhere along the way, I realized—I liked it.
“When the season ended and I had to go back to school, every whiff of pine in the spring made me miss the bush. I’d be stuck in lectures, drowning in deadlines, and all I could think about was being out there, planting trees—doing real work away from the noise. It’s like the dirt gets buried so deep in your skin, altering your DNA—my DNA. I just think I’m one of those people who’ll always feel connected to it. To tree planting.”
I love how self-aware he is about what he wants in life, and how brave he is to turn down the most obvious path. I give him an empathetic look, my fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the quilt as I take a measured breath.
“Meanwhile, I’ve always just followed the plan—school, work, next goal, next step. No big risks, no second thoughts. Just… doing what I was supposed to do.” I pause, glancing at him, letting the words settle between us. “But lately, I’ve been wondering if I got it wrong. Maybe there’s more than just ticking all the right boxes.”
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you? I’d say that’s a pretty big step out of your comfort zone.”
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “I guess.” Then I look at him, letting out a small breath. “How did you know?” I ask. “That you’re making the right choice?”
“It just felt like home. Like I finally belonged somewhere. Like I found what I’ve always been looking for.”
His words settle deep in my chest, heavier than I expect. It just felt like home .
I swallow hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral. I envy the way he talks about belonging, about finding a place that just fits. I used to think I had that, but now… now I’m not so sure. Maybe that’s why I’m here, why I’m starting to question everything I’ve always known.
“Who’s the guy in the photo?” I tap it, trying to distract myself.
“That’s Mike, the owner. He taught me how to be a highballer. He’s a smart man. And I think I idolize the way he lives his life. He runs this company every summer, makes just enough to live in a cabin in BC, goes mountain biking, skiing, travelling—simple stuff, but he’s the happiest person I know. Meanwhile, my dad’s got all the money in the world and zero time to enjoy it. I don’t want that kind of success.”
I study the younger version of him in the picture—leaner, scrappier, with a touch of wild in his eyes. “You do look so happy,” I murmur. “How could your parents not see it?”
“They didn’t get it, and still don’t,” he says simply, his gaze drifting. “This life and city life… they’re opposites. If you’ve planted, you get it. If you haven’t, you never will.”
“Is that why they won’t help you buy the company?”
He nods slowly, like he’s weighing his words. “Do you remember the day I picked you up at the airport?”
I nod. How could I forget? The grumpiest, most infuriating—and somehow still stupidly handsome—bushman I’d ever seen.
“I’d just come from a meeting with my dad,” he continues, his voice quieter. “I told him Silvertip was going to be up for sale, and Mike wanted me to buy it. So I went to Calgary to ask him for a loan to buy the company, and it didn’t go well. That’s why I was so pissed off that day.”
I remember how tense he’d been, his jaw locked, barely saying a word as he drove us.
“My parents offered me a deal, but one that benefits them,” he says bitterly. “They’ll loan me the money if I go work for my dad’s engineering firm in Calgary. But I wouldn’t be running Silvertip—it’d just be an investment, something for my portfolio.” Gabe shakes his head, laughing dryly. “I walked out of his office angrier than I wanted to be. So when I first laid eyes on you at the airport—all bubbly and nervous—those hazel eyes of yours nearly knocked me off my feet.” He pauses, glancing at me with a wry smile. “I cracked. I was already feeling broken, and one more thing just… hit me where it hurt.”
I’m about to ask him what he means, but he keeps going.
“I offered Mike a deal of my own. I’ll work for him at a reduced day rate for the next three summers, plus pay the price we agreed on with what I make in the off-season doing smaller engineering contracts. I’ve got a forestry contact who can hook me up with a job near Rocky so I can stay close while I work.”
I let his words sink in, the weight of them hitting me. He’s not just committed to this—he’s fighting for it, finding his own way forward. And then it clicks. I realize why he traded Jessie for me. He knew he’d be working for a day rate and didn’t want to waste even a percentage of earnings from his best planter. Jessie was valuable, and by giving her up to another foreman, he let others benefit instead of letting the percentage he wouldn’t make on her go to waste. The realization stirs something in me—how fair and selfless he can be, even when it’s not the obvious choice.
“Have you told your parents your decision yet?” I say gently, running my thumb over the photo’s faded edges.
“Not yet,” he admits, leaning back against the headboard. “I’m waiting for things to calm down between us.” I hand him the photo and he slips it back into his wallet. “That summer, Mike offered me a job as a foreman if I came back the following season.”
“So is that when you switched from planting to foreman?”
“Not right away. I did a third season as a planter to make sure it was what I wanted. Then I gave the foreman role a shot, and… turns out I was good at it. Balancing logistics, managing crews. Even dealing with planters who hated me some days but thanked me the next.”
I poke him lightly in the ribs, smirking. “I’ll admit, I might’ve been part of the ‘I Hate Gabe’ club for a minute there.”
He laughs, a warm, low sound that rumbles through his chest, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“And for the record,” I add, brushing my fingers across his arm, “I was pretty sure you hated me back then too.”
He shakes his head, his smile slow and deliberate. “Never hated you, Soleil. Not even close.”
“Seriously? You looked at me like I was some high-maintenance princess when you picked us up from the airport.”
“Nope. I might have been looking at you, but it wasn’t because I was judging you. When Emma told me she had someone for my crew, she sent me your Instagram. The girl I saw there was strong, confident, a biology nerd. And gorgeous. I thought for sure: filters.” He pauses, his eyes locking on mine. “Then I saw you in person, walking toward me at the airport, and I swear my brain short-circuited. All I could think was, ‘There’s no way this beautiful woman wants to plant trees with us.’ The rest of that week was a total blur, because not only are you beautiful, you’re smart, witty, bossy… I couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to kiss you.”
A delighted laugh bubbles out of me, warmth rushing to my cheeks. The thought of him wanting me from the start makes my heart do a little flip.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?” he asks, stroking my hair gently.
“For opening up,” I say softly, looking up at him.
His eyes soften, the tenderness there making my chest ache. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low. “For listening. I don’t… I don’t talk like this with many people. But with you, it’s just so easy. I love this.”
“Love.” Soleil, don’t get too attached. Planting is only a summer job, and the season’s already winding down. And so is our time together.