Chapter 33
CHAPTER 33
I t’s been almost a week since we got back from the cabin. We had two blissfully lazy days of break, then got thrown headfirst back into planting—classic July-in-the-Rockies style, with on-and-off rain and even one freakishly cold morning where it almost snowed.
Now, thankfully, the sun is out again, which is perfect timing because it’s our day off—one of my last before I head back to Montreal. So we’re making the most of it by heading to town for the single most important errand of the season: costume shopping. In four days, there is going to be a huge blowout at camp for my final party night, and everyone’s on board. The thrift store here is tiny, but Gabe and Emma swear it has everything we need to make that last party legendary. And since I leave in five days, I’m determined to go out with a bang.
We pile into the truck—me, Gabe, Emma, Jake, Dan, and Rolland—and set off to grab the essentials. Logan’s rolling right behind us with his own crew, so now it's pretty much a race to see who can pull off the best thrift-store DIY costume.
Everyone is excited about the trip to town except Jessie, who made a show of rolling her eyes and opting to stay back at camp. Officially, she’s mad because Logan decided not to drive thirty minutes to another block for her to plant another thousand trees yesterday, but I’m pretty sure the real reason is that Gabe and I have been outed as “official.” Holding hands, sneaking kisses by the fire—it’s hardly over-the-top PDA, but apparently it’s still enough to remind her she didn’t get what she wanted.
I hop out of the truck, and Gabe holds the door open for me as I step into the thrift store, sliding his hand into mine once he’s right behind me. The rest of the crew fans out among the racks, rummaging through every threadbare piece we can find. By now, they’re all used to seeing me and Gabe together—mostly rolling their eyes or teasing us, but in a good-natured, we totally saw this coming way. A couple of them have taken to making bets on how long we can keep our hands to ourselves. Emma, in particular, can’t stop smirking whenever she catches us being even vaguely couple-y.
Speaking of Emma—she waves me over to a corner stocked with random accessories, beckoning like she has just discovered the Holy Grail of tacky. I can’t help smiling back, wondering what wild outfit she has in mind for the party.
“This is perfect for you,” she says, waving a plastic sheriff’s star in one hand and a pink cowboy hat in the other—bedazzled with the words Rough and Rowdy in gaudy gemstones. Probably a leftover from some bachelorette party.
I arch a brow. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
She shrugs, grinning. “Add it to a cowgirl costume or something. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
I roll my eyes but grab the items from her hand. Gabe flashes me a grin from across the store—clearly entertained by me playing along.
Meanwhile, Logan watches Emma from where he’s standing in the men’s suit section. The way he looks at her, I can tell something is up between them. Emma mentioned that he rescued her and Rolland from a ditch during a hailstorm on her road trip. When she got back to camp, she was practically glowing, and now I see the cause in action. Even if they’re not parading it around camp, I know something physical happened between them over the break, and it’s still very much happening now.
I wander over to the women’s clothing rack, scanning for anything that screams “Western wear” or denim to complete my outfit. It doesn’t take long before I find a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a Western-style shirt. As I continue flipping through the crowded rack, my fingers catch on something black and sort of… shiny. I pull it out, and sure enough, it’s a pair of faux-leather cowgirl chaps—complete with little silver conchos along the sides. The legs themselves are fitted until they hit the calf, where they flare a bit, probably so you can wrangle them over boots. Honestly, they’re kind of hilariously over-the-top, like something you’d see in a raunchy Western revue rather than a tree-planting camp.
I run my hand over the material, part of me secretly wondering if I could pull them off at next week’s party. It’s tempting, I won’t lie. I can already imagine Gabe’s face if I strolled towards him wearing these. And that thought alone makes me toss them into my basket.
Gabe, on the other hand, holds up a dingy bedsheet and proclaims, “Toga party, baby!” He’s kidding… I think .
When we make it to the registers and all check out, Gabe calls out, “Anyone wanna grab lunch in town instead of racing back to camp?”
Logan looks at Emma, and I catch a flicker of warmth in his eyes just for her. “Sure, where at?” he asks, finally turning to Gabe.
Gabe suggests The Grill, down the street.
Emma raises an eyebrow. “Ooh, fancy.”
“Alright—we’ll meet you over there once you’re done paying,” Gabe calls over his shoulder as we step out the door and into the afternoon glare.
He hops into his truck, and I slide into the middle seat. Emma’s about to climb in, too, when she stops. “You guys go ahead,” she says, grinning. “I’ll wait and ride with Logan.”
I give her a playful brow waggle, and she rolls her eyes before shutting the door.
We take off—literally across the main highway—to The Grill, which turns out to be part of a hotel—keyword: “hotel,” not “motel,” so it’s a touch fancier. Thankfully, our truck isn’t the only mud-splattered one in the lot, so maybe we won’t be total vagabonds here.
Logan and his crew roll up soon after, and all eleven of us file into the lobby. The hostess, glued to her computer screen, barely looks up. When she does, her face sours. “Looking for the bathroom? That’s for customers only.”
Gabe doesn’t miss a beat. “We’re here for lunch. Table for eleven, please.”
She blinks, then nods. “Oh. Okay. Follow me.”
She leads us to a long table, and we settle in—me across from Emma (next to Logan), and Gabe beside me.
Handing out menus, the hostess asks, “All separate bills?” with obvious reluctance.
Before we can answer, Gabe jumps in. “One bill. I’ve got this, but let’s not go overboard. Drinks are cheaper at the liquor store if you want anything with alcohol, guys.”
A chorus of “Thanks, man!” echoes around the table. I glance at Gabe, feeling more and more impressed. This man is teaching me about himself without ever having to tell me. It’s obvious he’s a people person and doesn’t do things for validation. He does them simply to be a good person—and I really admire that about him.
When our non-alcoholic drinks arrive a few minutes later, Logan lifts his glass. “Cheers to an awesome planting season! Seriously, best crew I’ve ever had—thanks for pounding so hard!”
We all burst out laughing, clinking our cups. If the hostess finds us loud or irritating, she doesn’t exactly say so—but the eye roll and a low grumble make it pretty clear. It doesn’t matter, though, because we’ve already weathered tougher situations together.
I’m beginning to understand what people mean by “trauma bonding”—we’ve shared soggy sandwiches under the cache, cursed the job on our worst days, then forgotten all about it the next morning when the money’s good or we’re having a blast with friends. We’re more than just a crew—we’re friends who’ll still have each other’s backs years down the line, even if life takes us in different directions. We’ll pick up right where we left off, laughing over planting horror stories and weird inside jokes. But right now, making it halfway through the season without any major injuries, menty b’s, or quittings feels like one of those small victories worth celebrating.