Page 94 of Seale the Deal

Of course we will, I say quickly. Why wouldn’t we be?

She shrugs, but I see the tension in her jaw. When we don’t have a shared goal anymore… will we have anything?

For a second, I don’t know how to answer that.

I don’t want to think about the part that comes after she gets her green card and her life starts moving forward again. Because right now, that feels like when my life will come to an abrupt halt. Her future is meant to be miles away from Alpine Harbor, and mine just isn’t.

The smart answer would be to say yes. We can still text, maybe even have the occasional FaceTime call. And I’m sure there will be occasions we’ll come together for Remi’s sake. But that doesn’t feel like enough. Because I want to share my coffee with her every day and go to bed with her fabric spread all over my house. I want more than the ending we’re supposed to get.

You don’t need to worry, Wren, I say gently. Nothing will change. Other than our living arrangement.

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and she turns back to the window. A new silence falls over us, but this time, I’m okay with it. I’m worried that if I speak, I’ll say that things don’t have to change, and we can stay just as we are. But it wouldn’t be fair to her. So I don’t.

We finally reach our turn. The road is normally dirt in the summer but is now a patchwork of fallen leaves. Wrenley peers out the window, concern etched in her features as she realizes the road blends almost seamlessly with the forest around us. But I’ve driven this stretch so many times, I could probably do it with my eyes closed.

As the road opens to our destination, the scenery is like a postcard. The ground is blanketed in leaves, a mixture of golds, reds, and browns. The last glint of an overnight frost sparkles where sunlight breaks through the thinning clouds. Towering evergreens and half-bare birch trees line the clearing. I’ve seen this view hundreds of times over the years, but it never stops being remarkable.

When I was a kid, my parents brought Remi and me out here often. We’d spend entire afternoons wandering through the woods, collecting leaves, berries, pinecones, and anything else that caught our attention. There was a period where Remi and I would mash everything together in old plastic containers and spend hours arguing over what magical properties our creations had. Our parents would never laugh at our silly concoctions. They’d pretend to take them and play along. If we said it granted super strength, they’d pretend to lift boulders. If we said it gave you the ability to talk to animals, they’d stand at a tree and pretend to speak to the squirrels.

I smile as I think about it. I love that so many of my favourite childhood memories aren’t caught up in birthdays and holidays but simple trips out into the wilderness. A wilderness that became my sanctuary as I got older. This place became a break from university and the noise of my life at the time.

We climb out of the truck, boots crunching through the leaves. A raven caws somewhere in the distance. I can hear the muffled sounds of the animals I brought Wrenley to meet, and a small smile tugs at my lips. A thin curl of smoke rises from a small cabin we talk toward. Wrenley looks around wide-eyed.

Where are we? she asks softly.

I keep my tone light. Just a little place I thought you’d enjoy.

She smiles at me, and I feel a flutter in my chest I need to ignore. This isn’t a date. It’s just a day with my friend. Who also happens to be my fake fiancée. The fact that I had vivid dreams of taking a wedding dress off her last night bears no relevance whatsoever to this situation.

The cabin door creaks open, and an older man with a beard almost as white as snow in December squints through the sunlight at us. Once he knows it’s me, he bounds down the steps with more energy than most men half his age.

You made it! he says, wrapping me in a bear hug.

Peter. I grin, hugging him back just as tightly. It’s been too long.

Sure has. He claps my back. You need to get up here more.

I nod in agreement.

Come back to work, he says with a smirk.

Nice try. I chuckle.

Wrenley clears her throat gently, and I slide an arm around her waist.

Peter, this is my fiancée, Wrenley. Wrenley, this is Peter. He’s an old family friend.

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. Fiancée? Did I miss your Christmas newsletter or something?

’Cause I have one of those.

I need to get down to Alpine Harbor more, he says.

I don’t know how to tell him he could’ve come down a hundred times in the last year, and he still wouldn’t have heard about Wrenley. Peter had been a family friend for as long as I can remember, and if this were real, he’d be one of my first calls. And as his smile grows, I start to feel a little pang of guilt that I’m standing here lying to him.

Well, it’s nice to meet you, he says, holding his arms out toward Wrenley for a hug. I’m Peter. I’ve known Ruger since he was shorter than the rifle he’s named after.

She steps into it. I’m Wrenley.