Chapter 13

Chance

I wake to the stillness of predawn, the hush of the world holding its breath before the day begins. Slipping out of the sheets, I dress quietly, mindful not to disturb Lucy. I peek into her room. She's sprawled across her bed, a peaceful expression softening her features. I pause for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest and feeling the pull of something that could very well be more than friendship. But I can't ignore the fact that my heart is still torn over Céline. I'm surprised at how much I enjoy spending time with Lucy, and it makes me feel guilty for not being able to let go of my past. Still, I know deep down that I'm not ready for a new relationship. Lucy deserves someone who is truly available for her, and at least right now, that person isn't me. And anyway, regardless of what my heart might think it wants, now isn't the time for complicating things. I'm still getting my bearings here in Vancouver .

We agreed on an early start this morning, but I've planned a little surprise for Lucy. I continue down the hall to the kitchen.

"Morning," Lucy mumbles, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she walks into the living area a few minutes later. She's dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her hair is tousled, and there's no trace of makeup—she's raw, real, and it's disarmingly attractive.

"Morning," I reply with a grin. "I ordered waffles with strawberries and cream for breakfast with a nice side of thick bacon. It will be delivered shortly."

She nods. "Thank you. That sounds amazing."

I walk over to the espresso machine and make her a cappuccino, and just as I hand it to her, the bell rings with our delivery. "Perfect timing."

We sit down at the table and dig into our waffles.

Lucy moans. "This is so good."

Suddenly, my pants feel a bit too tight. "I thought we could use a bit of pampering before we head home and back to reality," I say casually. "How about we spend some time at the Four Seasons' spa today?"

"Really?" Her eyes light up. "I mean, I suppose that would be okay." She gives me a sly smile.

"Thought you'd like it," I say, my heart doing a strange little flip at the joy in her voice.

Once we finish our breakfast, we head over to the spa. I remind myself yet again why this weekend is perfect as it is—simple and uncomplicated. This ease we have is rare, and the connection I feel with Lucy is something special. But that doesn't mean it has to be anything more than this. For now, I immerse myself in the laughter we share and in the quiet comfort of a friendship in bloom.

"Thanks for this," Lucy says a few hours later, her voice soft with relaxation as we lounge in the tranquility room after our treatments.

"Anytime," I reply. And I mean it. There's always time for moments like these, for a friend like her.

When we've finished, we stroll through the bustling village one last time, and I soak in Whistler before we head back. The mountain air is warm but carries with it the crisp promise of evening. Shops flaunt their end-of-season sales while late-afternoon adventurers share tales over pints on patios. We're just another pair of contented souls in the crowd, making the most of our borrowed time.

"Hey." Lucy nudges me with her elbow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Feeling a bit underdressed without your leather armor?"

I chuckle at her jab. It's true; my usual attire is conspicuously absent today. "Yeah, it's strange," I admit, rubbing my forearms. "But it's way too hot for that. I'm not about to pass out from heatstroke on a mini vacation."

"Good call," she laughs, bumping her shoulder against mine. "Besides, you look good without it. More…approachable. And the weather is going to change. We'll have rain in just a few weeks."

"Right. Like you said, I need to get a car. I don't want to take a shower when I get to work and again when I get home."

Our laughter lingers in the air as we continue to meander, and eventually, we make our way back to the condo, where the afternoon sunlight slants through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. The silence feels heavy with our imminent return to normalcy.

I'm rolling up my shirts, methodically placing them in my duffel bag, when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. A familiar name flashes on the screen, Céline . My chest tightens. It's been months since we last spoke, since she made it clear she wasn't moving here. Still, old habits die hard, and some part of me wants to answer, even if it's just to fall back into the pattern of soothing her worries. But I let it go to voicemail.

The buzzing stops, only to be replaced by the ping of a new message. I pick up the phone, pressing play, and Céline's voice fills the room—strained, pleading. "Chance, please, come home. Why haven't you called? Just…please come back to me."

Her words hang in the air. Good heavens, she hasn't moved on at all . A twinge of guilt seizes me. But what do I have to be guilty for? I set the phone back down, closing my eyes for a moment to steady the storm of feelings within.

"Everything okay?" Lucy's voice drifts from the doorway.

"Fine," I reply, forcing a smile as I zip up my bag. "Just ready to hit the road."

She nods, though I can tell she's unconvinced. "Let's get going."

We load up the car, and the drive back is quiet at first. But as the miles unwind, so does the tension, and slowly, conversation resumes.

I'm grateful for that, and for Lucy's presence beside me, which has become a refuge in ways I hadn't expected.

"Home stretch," Lucy says as the traffic thickens and the Lions Gate Bridge comes into view in the distance.

"Looking forward to it," I reply.

I should be soaking it all in, the end of a perfect escape, but my thoughts are stuck on Céline's pleading words, the emotional echo of her voicemail on repeat in my head. It's absurd to think I'm betraying her. We're not together. She ended things. We made a plan, and she changed her mind. It's not my fault if she's changed it again. Yet guilt has a way of clouding judgment, of coloring moments that should be clear.

As North Vancouver creeps into view, I force myself to focus on the present. To be mindful of where I am. "Can you believe everything we did this weekend? And the stunning views," I marvel.

"Nature's way of showing off," Lucy quips, her grin wide. "Just like you."

"Like me? A showoff? I'll add that to my resume," I tease.

"Absolutely. You ride a big, loud motorcycle," she says. "And you can also add ‘ Expert in Surviving Road Trips with Lucy.'"

"Surviving? Please, I could thrive on these trips." The words come easily, truth mingled with playful exaggeration. It's remarkable, really, how much I've enjoyed myself, how—for a time, at least—my worries melted away in her company.

"Thrive, huh?" She glances over, her eyes dancing. "Well, let's see if you can handle a real challenge next time. Maybe some rock climbing in Squamish?"

"Challenge accepted." There's a thrill in agreeing, a forward-looking excitement that's been absent in my life for too long.

We lapse into a comfortable silence as we near the end of our trip. There's something about Lucy, something undeniable and liberating, that makes me want to embrace the unknown, the very thing I once avoided at all costs.

For now, I push aside my conflict and returning worries and allow myself to be carried by the joy that seems to come so effortlessly when I'm with her.

Early the next morning, the shrill ring of my phone breaks through my dreams. I fumble for it, heart hammering. Usually, these calls are from the hospital and never good. My eyes aren't fully open, but I'm halfway out of bed when I press the device to my ear and mumble a groggy, "Dr. Devereaux."

"Chance? It's me."

It's Céline. Her voice is like a bolt of electricity through my sleepy haze, and suddenly, I'm wide awake, trying to concentrate on what she's saying in French since I even dream in English these days.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound casual. She's the last person I'd expect to call at this hour. She's not a morning person, and I haven't called her back after the message she left.

"I saw your pictures online…with her." There's an edge to her words that sets off a fresh wave of alarms in my head.

I groan internally, feeling like some love-stricken teenager caught cheating. Except I haven't cheated. We're over. She made sure of that. "Céline, Lucy's just a friend," I assure her. "She's been showing me around the area, that's all."

The line crackles with silence for a moment; then I hear her sharp intake of breath. "It looks like more than that," she accuses.

I can almost see her brows knitting together, lips pursed as her jealousy flares.

"Come on, Céline." My fingers drum against my thigh, frustration simmering. "You decided to stay in Montreal."

There's a pause, and then a soft sob slips down the line. "I miss you. I want you to come back. Vancouver is so far from everyone—my friends, my family, you—I need you here."

Her plea tugs at something deep within me, a mixture of longing and bitterness. "Céline," I begin, but I'm not sure what to say. The room feels too small, the darkness pressing in from every corner.

"Please…" Her voice breaks, and for a second, I'm transported back to a time when her happiness was my priority. But that was before everything changed. Before I realized she didn't consider my happiness in remotely the same way.

"Montreal isn't my home anymore," I remind her, and there's a finality to the words. "You chose to stay there after we made plans and I signed a contract at the hospital."

"But I need you," she insists, her voice thick with tears.

The weight of the phone feels like an anchor in my hand. "I've signed a contract for three years, Céline," I say. "It's not as simple as just packing up and heading back."

"Your old hospital will take you. They always need good doctors," she counters .

I shake my head, though she can't see me. The hospital politics at my old job is a tango I have no desire to return to, and I left Montreal because I wanted something different. "I don't want to go back," I insist, pressing my free hand against my forehead. "If you miss me so much, come here."

"There?" Her voice rises in pitch, incredulous. "To Vancouver?"

"Yes. There are plenty of people from Quebec here. Many people here speak French. And you can find work easily here as a massage therapist. Just like we planned." My heart thumps in my chest, betraying the part of me that still yearns for her despite everything.

There's a protracted silence on the other end. Finally, she exhales. "It's so far from all of our friends and family," she murmurs.

"I know." It's all I can manage, and after that, it's not long before she disconnects the call.

I sit on the bed, the ghost of our conversation hanging heavy in the air. Why did I ask her again to come here? I know her patterns, the way she can waltz into my life and leave chaos in her wake. She's hurt me before, and logic dictates she'll do it again.

Yet there's that sliver of hope that wonders if this time might be different. If she could just summon the courage to give this a try… But deep down, I know better. I know that Céline walking through the door means inviting the storm back into my life.

I wrench myself from the tangle of sheets as dawn peeks through the blinds, then climb the stairs toward Ginny's part of the house to knock gently.

"Chance?" she calls through the barrier.

"Yes, it's me." She unlocks and opens the door between our two homes. She's wrapped in layers of cardigans, her face strained.

"Still no hot water?" I ask.

"Unfortunately not," she murmurs, managing a weak smile.

"Let me take care of it." While the cold showers are a great wake-up call, it's been three weeks, and she doesn't have hot water either. I step back into my part of the house and dial the local plumber. The phone rings twice before a sleepy voice answers. I explain the situation, insist that they bill me for the work, and hang up with an assurance that help is on the way.

I return to Ginny. "The plumber should be here soon." I put my coat on and head for the door.

Her hands flutter to her mouth. "But Chance, I can't—"

"Hey," I cut her off gently. "Don't worry about it. We'll deduct five dollars from my rent each month until we're even, okay?"

After a moment, she nods. "You are too kind," she says.

"Take care, Ginny. I'll check in after work."

She waves and watches as I mount my bike. I need to make sure she's comfortable. She's been like a surrogate mother since I moved in. It doesn't sit right with me to see her in distress over something as basic as hot water.

And I feel better knowing this problem will be solved too. It will be nice to have hot water at home again, of course, but there's also something healing for me about helping someone else, a salve for the wounds I can't quite seem to mend within myself.