Chapter 19

Chapter

Nineteen

“Raise the glass a little more…and now turn toward the window… perfect!”

I know the festival is going to be a roaring success, so I’m letting all that excitement shine bright as I smile at Hilton’s camera.

“These photos are great,” Hilton finally says, scrolling through his camera. “Gage is gonna love them. You’re doing great.”

“If I’d known how easy it was, I might have gone into a different career...” I trail off.

I’m the face of Sunrise Cider today. I can’t make an OnlyFans joke.

Hilton stifles a laugh and raises his camera again. “Well, thank goodness you didn’t, or we wouldn’t be here today.”

“Naturally.” I toss my hair and the shutter clicks again, making me laugh.

But it’s sort of true. I’ve worked miracles over the last couple of weeks. I’ve been making phone calls, sending out press releases, you name it… but this is all happening because of me.

Not because of what I know, but who I know.

The morning after our first date, I got to talking with Joseph, one of the oldest guys on Sunrise Island. He gave me a lead, which ended up with me going over to the mainland to read old newspapers on microfiche, and one thing led to another…

And now, here we are.

We’re visiting Faraway Orchards on Gabriola Island, just twenty minutes away from Sunrise Island by boat.

Hilton and I are in the barn where they produce all their cider, while Gage talks to the owner, Will, outside. With the window cracked open, I can just about make out their conversation about pests and pruning and specific gravity.

All I know is that I’m holding a glass of cider made from Gage’s apples. Well… close enough, anyway.

It turns out that when Will’s great-grandparents started Faraway Orchards, they spent two weeks planting trees and working around the orchard on Sunrise. In thanks—and to say welcome to the business—Gage’s great-grandparents gave them some trees.

Will was over the moon at the chance to return the favour. So Faraway Orchards is sponsoring the newly relaunched Sunrise Island Cider festival. Gage and Will seem certain that this stuff will be ready to drink by next week, in time for the festival.

It’s like it was meant to be.

“Do we have enough photos?” I ask Hilton, raising the glass to swirl around the cider.

“Just about. You’re a natural,” the photographer tells me. “Gage is a lucky man.”

I glance out the window, watching Gage waving his hands around as he talks about fruit tree grafts. I haven’t seen him get so passionate before, and it’s adorable.

“He is. And so am I.”

Click.

The noise startles me. As I glance at Hilton, he grins at me. “Got it. Wanna see?” When I nod, he strides over and turns the camera’s digital screen toward me, pressing a button to zoom in.

Oh.

Oh, fuck. I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself like this before. But the soft, focused look in my eyes as I gaze out of frame, the glass still held high… there’s only one word for it.

I look like I’m in love.

“Wow,” I mumble, my cheeks burning. “Yeah. That’s… that’s not bad. It’ll do.”

Hilton laughs as he turns the camera off, winding the strap around his arm. “It’s nice to see,” he says, leading me toward the barn door. “I got some good shots of you and Gage earlier, too. I don’t get to do a lot of photo shoots with couples who are so obviously in love.”

Then he pauses in the door, looking back at me. “Coming?”

I just stopped dead in my tracks, trying to take in what he just said.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

He’s right. We’ve both felt it, over and over, over the last few weeks. This thing that’s growing and settling into place between us is new, but it’s felt like the most gorgeously well-worn shape, too.

As I follow him outside, I can’t stop smiling.

Seeing that photo, it’s obvious. I still look like I’m beaming sunshine, but it’s not hiding a single thing. My face looks softer than I’ve ever seen it. And we haven’t even gotten any further in our precious few moments together. All we’ve been doing is touching each other—not even a single blowjob.

I’ve never moved so slowly in my life. But at the same time, there’s finally been space to discover all kinds of new things.

Gage is really, really good with his hands. He’s been learning every inch of my body like it’s a sacred text. He knows exactly where to run a finger down my body to wake me up or relax me, even I have no idea how he does it.

And while we’re lying tangled up in each other, touching and being touched, we get to look each other in the eyes and… well, share the moment. Each of our pleasure is both of our pleasure.

Just one more way that we’re in this together.

In the blink of an eye, Gage and I are back on the boat. I know I’m being unusually quiet as I steer us back home, but steering us back home, but I’m still lost in thought about what Hilton said.

And, more importantly… whether I can tell Gage the truth.

The water’s a little choppy today. As I open up the throttle to leave Gabriola behind us, Gage leans over to me. He has to half-shout for me to hear him over the roaring engine, the crash of the waves against the hull.

“Thank you,” Gage tells me, reaching out to squeeze my thigh. “For everything.”

I grin back at him and wink, rather than try to answer him. Then, I rise from my seat a little to look across the upraised bow for any obstacles ahead—logs, seals, or stand-up paddle boarders.

Clear sailing.

Sounds about right. Everything has fallen into place so perfectly these last few weeks. If I just cover my eyes and avert my gaze from the part of the picture where I have to leave a month from now…

I could see a future with Gage. A real future, where I stay, and I find happiness.

But there’s no way. Over the last few weeks, I’ve searched everywhere, read everything I can about extending my visa or getting a different type. Any time I’ve found a solution… it turns out I wouldn’t be eligible.

I’ve always known I’ll have to leave. And I’m staring down the barrel at that deadline now, out of time and out of options and wishing it could turn out differently.

I need to tell Gage. Just… not yet.

We’re both stressed out of our minds. It’s not the right time to drop this news on him. But once the festival is over, the conversations about our future are inevitable. I have a week to find a way to break both of our hearts as gently as possible.

Every jolt as the boat skips across the waves feels like a mirror of what’s in my heart. On a day like today, where it’s choppy but not stormy, the easiest way to cross the water is to speed across it so fast that we skip from wave to wave.

But the moment we slow down, we’re at the mercy of the unchangeable tides.