Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38
NOVEMBER
I ’m still getting used to the click, click, click of my heels on the polished office floor. A few months ago, it was the steady crunch of rocks and slash under my boots. Back then, my days were spent trudging over uneven ground, hauling planting bags as I fought mosquitoes and bent over thousands of times a day. Now, I navigate emails, spreadsheets… and high heels.
Whenever I pass a glass-walled conference room, I catch my reflection: a sleek blazer and pencil skirt in place of stained cargo pants and hiking boots. But no matter how polished I look, the faint scars up and down my calves betray where I’ve been—long, thin scrapes from tripping over stray branches left behind. And my favourite scar of all marks my right hand: a soft, heart-shaped raised bump I earned when I spilled that coffee on myself fantasizing about my foreman.
I’m in the middle of reviewing some reports when one of the junior assistants pokes her head into my cramped office cubicle, eyebrows arched.
“Hey, Soleil, can you come to the boardroom in five minutes? Senior management wants us all there for an impromptu meeting.”
“Sure, yeah,” I say, fumbling with my notepad and pen. I stand up quickly, only for my heel to get stuck on the wheel of my office chair and rip off from the sole.
“Shit. Shit…” I curse as I try to figure out how to salvage this. I push the chair back and try to walk casually to see if anyone will notice the torn-off heel. But it just drags around. Goddamn it . I didn’t bring an extra pair of shoes, only my clunky old wet snow boots that are still dripping from my walk to work. I look around the office to see if I can use anything to help salvage the heel. Stapler? No, not strong enough. Glue? Too messy. Then I spot it—my backpack. The same pack I used for many days on the block this summer.
I rummage around in my bag, unzipping the tiny front pocket I’d practically forgotten existed. That’s where I find exactly what I need: a beaten-up roll of duct tape I stuffed in there months ago to patch a tear in my tent. I take the tape and try my best to rig up a fix for the shoe, and somehow… it works. It’s not pretty, but it’ll get the job done for today.
I hurry down the hall, past rows of closed office doors and coworkers clacking away at their keyboards. My ankle wobbles a little from my very questionable DIY fix, but I power through. As I slide into the office, Sarah—the junior assistant who called me in—glances down at my shoe, eyebrows shooting up.
I sigh. “My heel broke.”
Her eyes flick to the duct tape holding it together, and I can practically hear the judgment. But honestly? Duct tape is a lifesaver when you’re a planter. And just like that, Gabe’s words hit me: You can take the girl out of the bush, but you can’t take the bush out of the girl .
The senior team is already gathered around the massive mahogany table, laptops open, coffee cups steaming. Mr. Morin, our CEO, stands at the head, looking weirdly excited for a guy who usually keeps things locked down. I slip into a chair near the middle and catch a coworker’s eye across from me. They give me the same questioning look I’m feeling.
Something’s up.
“Thank you all for joining on such short notice,” Mr. Morin begins, his tone brisk. “écoforêt has finalized a major acquisition. We’ll be expanding into multiple new territories across Canada, and one of our biggest targets is” —he clicks a button on a remote, and a map appears on the screen— “Alberta.”
The word Alberta sends a lightning bolt of adrenaline through my veins. My fingers clamp around my pen so hard I’m afraid it might snap. I force myself to breathe as Mr. Morin goes on about the logistics: new partnerships, resource management, hiring.
“We’re looking to have a team in place by January,” he explains, glancing around the table. “We’re not sure if we’ll relocate an existing crew or hire locally. It’s a big move, and we don’t want to uproot anyone unnecessarily. But if some of you are willing to head out there, that’s absolutely something we’d consider.”
A big move . My apartment is here. My friends—Emma is here. But so is the memory of Gabe, thousands of miles away. And if there’s even the slightest chance… I swallow hard, heart pounding in my ears.
It’s been four months since I last saw him, and about two since we drifted out of touch—I got busy, and he’s been holed up near his cabin, taking odd jobs and barely within cell range. Part of me wonders if this move is actually smart or if I’m letting my feelings steer the ship. But then I ask myself, What would Emma do? And, well… she’d say, Fuck it. Go for it.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I sit up straighter. My voice sounds foreign in my own ears when I blurt, “I’ll do it.”
Heads swivel in my direction, eyebrows lifting.
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “I mean… I’d be willing to relocate if you need someone with experience on-site,” I clarify. “I already have contacts out there from my last job—I know the area, terrain, the industry.”
An electric hush follows. I feel my pulse hammering, realizing the implications of what I’ve just volunteered for. This could mean leaving behind my entire support system. I might be stuck in the freezing prairies, or the rugged foothills, or wherever they assign me. But in the back of my mind, one thought drowns out all the rest: The man I love is in Alberta.
Mr. Morin folds his arms, studying me with an expression that’s equal parts surprised and impressed. “Soleil,” he says at last, “we’d miss having you in Montreal, but your enthusiasm is exactly what we would want to see on a ground-level expansion team. I’ll schedule a follow-up conversation to discuss the details—logistics, budget, timeline—this week.” He then addresses the rest of the room: “And if anyone else is interested in transitioning out West, stick around after we wrap up this meeting.”
I let go of a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My hands shake beneath the table, so I press them against my knees, hoping no one notices. The conversation continues—Mr. Morin and a few others discussing next steps and financial forecasts.
Eventually, the meeting ends. People shuffle out of the boardroom, murmuring about schedules and upcoming projects in the region. I linger for a moment, staring at the map of Alberta still displayed on the screen.
Did I just change the entire course of my life with one sentence?
I think about Gabe—his smile, his voice, his kisses. I close my eyes, letting those memories fill my chest.
Yes , I decide. Yes, I did .