Chapter 37
CHAPTER 37
A FEW WEEKS LATER…
I ’m tapping my foot against the scuffed tile floor of the airport arrivals hall, staring at the overhead screen like it’s going to make Emma appear faster. Flights blur together, statuses flip from “arrived” to “baggage claim,” and people spill out of the automatic doors in waves—there are hugs, shouts, happy tears. Every time I spot a redhead in the crowd, my heart jumps, but it’s not her .
A solid half hour crawls by. I check my phone for the millionth time, shifting my weight from foot to foot, and mentally run through all the questions I’m dying to ask her.
Then, finally, I see her. Emma stumbles through the sliding doors, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, looking every bit as wrecked as I’d imagined—messy bun, sunburned cheeks, and that aura of bush exhaustion clinging to her.
The second her eyes land on me, her tired face breaks into a grin, and I don’t even think—I just bolt across the waiting area and fling my arms around her.
“Welcome back, bush queen!” I laugh, even as my throat tightens with emotion. She smells like stale BO and dirt, and it hits me hard— that used to be me. A pang of nostalgia tugs at my chest, bittersweet and a little suffocating.
“Soleil,” she groans into my shoulder. “God, I’m so over bush life. I haven’t shaved my legs in weeks.”
I pull back, giving her a once-over. “You look exhausted.”
She drops her bag onto the floor with a heavy thud. “Because I am. The last two weeks were hell—nonstop rain. I ran out of planting gloves and had to use duct tape, then I ran out of that. And somehow, they just kept pulling more trees out of thin air. Jake almost got trench foot. What about you? How’s life in the big city, you corporate sellout?” She says it with a smirk, but her eyes search my face like she’s trying to figure out if I’m okay.
I force a smile, not quite ready to unpack everything swirling in my chest. “Come on,” I say, grabbing her bag. “Let’s get your stuff and get out of here quick so I don’t have to pay for an extra hour of parking.”
We load Emma’s gear into the trunk of my dad’s old car, and within minutes, we’re navigating out of the airport parking. It’s surreal to have her in the passenger seat instead of the planting truck—she’s in normal jeans, for one, and there’s no duct tape on her hands or mud on her face.
“How was the flight?” I ask, flicking on the blinker.
She shrugs. “Long. I passed out somewhere between Manitoba and Toronto. Woke up drooling, which the guy next to me loved. I’m pretty sure he’s got pictures of that saved on his camera roll now.”
“God, people are weird.”
“Meh. It’s still considered normal compared to bush life. By the end, everyone was starting to lose their minds. We even got our camp speaker stolen by another planting crew in the middle of the night. The bush makes people go crazy,” she muses, twisting a loose thread on her hoodie. “But overall,” she says, voice trembling with excitement, “things were… great.” A shy smile tugs at her lips, like she’s gotten exactly what she wanted. A faint pink flush settles across her cheeks, revealing more than her words ever could.
“So you and Logan… is there something going on there?”
“Oh, there’s definitely something happening,”
“But we’re taking it slow for now—he’s coming to Quebec for a few weeks before he heads off to travel.” Her voice wavers, but she seems at peace with it. “The end of summer was fun, but seeing Gabe so—” She stops, biting her lip as though she’s not sure how much she wants to reveal.
I tense up, my hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Was Jessie poking around after I left?”
“God, no! Girl, are you serious? We all missed you, but he was lost without you.”
I press my lips together, eyes suddenly hot with tears. The lane dividers blur in my vision.
Emma’s hand finds mine on the center console, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You had to do what was right for you. Gabe knew that. He just… misses you. And Gabe told us why he swapped Jessie out,” Emma says, leaning back. “She was there when he explained his whole plan to buy Silvertip. I think it finally clicked for her.”
I cock an eyebrow, not sure how to phrase what I really want to ask. “So she…?”
Emma fills the gap, her voice gentle. “Jessie saw how messed up he was after you left. I think she finally realized she was never gonna have that effect on him—at least not the way you do. So… she pretty much backed off. He wasn’t the same, Soleil, not after you were gone. He basically went on autopilot: work, eat, sleep. He’d show up, drive us to the block, check the trees, but the second dinner ended, he’d shut himself in his SUV. Wouldn’t come out ‘til morning.”
My stomach twists as I stare at the traffic light ahead, the city looming around us like a cramped fortress. We haven’t really talked since I left—just a few scattered phone calls and random texts that never come at the right time. Our schedules clash, and I’ve been too scared to ask if we even have a future together. Yet I still miss him so much it hurts.
“It’s just…” My voice comes out shaky. “I’m not sure I can do this, Em. This long distance. It’s hard.”
She squeezes my hand. “It’s okay to be scared. You two had something real. Distance is tough, but it doesn’t have to be a deal-breaker.”
A sob rises in my throat, and I swallow it down. “Sometimes...” I pause, hating the words even as I say them, “it feels like it might be.”
We drive on in silence, the hum of traffic filling the spaces where I can’t admit how lonely I’ve been—or how part of me thinks maybe letting go would be easier than chasing a future we never really defined.
By the time we lug Emma’s stuff upstairs, it’s past nine. The tiny apartment glows under the harsh overhead light. There’s a small pile of my neglected laundry that hasn’t been folded yet, and a few dirty dishes in the sink. She sets her bag down with a groan, heads for the kitchen, and pulls out a brand-new bottle of wine from her wine cabinet—one of the many I haven’t touched yet. She pours two glasses and brings them to the living room.
I try to straighten a few pillows. “Sorry for the mess. I’ve been so busy with work.”
Emma puts the glass down on the wooden coffee table then flops onto the couch, patting the cushion next to her. “Come sit. Tell me everything.”
So I spill all the details—about écoForêt, how it’s exactly what I was hoping for in a job. There’s a perfect balance of field work and office time. Sure, the deadlines are insane, and I’m constantly organizing endless reports for senior management, but it’s exciting, and a full pivot from planting life.
I tell Emma about the big buzz in the office—upper management is freaking out over a possible acquisition in Alberta. If it happens, écoForêt’s footprint would expand way past Quebec. Everyone’s giddy, speculating about new projects and promotions.
“I’ve been kind of… thinking about applying to their Alberta division if it actually happens,” I admit, swirling the wine in my glass. “The idea of going back out West—it’s… I don’t know. It’s a big step—a commitment. And I don’t know where we stand right now.”
Emma notices my worry, and her expression turns soft, like she’s trying to figure out how to ask me without hitting a nerve. “How are you guys right now? How is it working for you being so far away?”
I let out a shaky breath. “We’re trying, Em. We are. We try texting, FaceTiming, but it’s impossible. He was up at four A.M. for planting stuff and then gone all day, and now I’m stuck in the office late every evening trying to catch up on work—we just never line up. And it’s like… neither of us know how to talk about regular life when we do because our lives are so far apart. It feels like we’re slipping away.” I pause, biting my lip. “He texted a few days ago to tell me he has a job lined up near Rocky and he’d be staying at his cabin. His words, ‘I might be out of service for a bit. I’ll text you when I can.’ And I could see it in the tone of his text, Em—I feel like this is his way of pulling away.”
Emma stays quiet, her hand resting on my shoulder.
“I mean, I can’t even blame him,” I go on, my voice cracking. “Long distance is hard. He told me before about how his last relationship couldn’t handle it, and now… we’re thousands of kilometres apart. He mentioned visiting Montreal once, but flights are crazy expensive. And whatever money he has? It’s all tied up in trying to buy Silvertip.”
She gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, then pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “I get it. I really do,” she says softly. Then, after a pause, “But do you still want him?”
I feel the tears welling up, no matter how hard I try to fight them. The truth? I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t forget his laugh, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me, or how his hands felt when they roamed over my body. I keep telling myself to move on, to focus on work, but every time I check my phone, I’m half hoping for a message from him.
The tears spill over, and my voice is barely a whisper. “Of course I do.”
She perks up at that. “Then do it,” she says simply, lifting a brow. “If that opportunity comes up at work, go get your bushman.”
I open my mouth, but realize I don’t have any good excuses not to . Because going back West might help me find the closure I need. It’s either going to work out between us or not, but I won’t get that chance to see that through unless I relocate to Alberta.
“And it’s okay if it doesn’t work out, you still have a home here, but if you get a chance to get back to him, take it,” she murmurs, her voice a soothing anchor in my whirlwind of emotions. “And if his feelings match yours, he’ll be there waiting, ready to catch you when you take that leap.”