We've snagged a window seat in the restaurant of my hotel that overlooks the falls. A lucky find, much like me coming across her. After I'd gone to her hotel with no luck and my texts had gone unanswered, I'd been terrified I'd never see her again. That I'd spend the rest of my life messaging every Gwen Johnston in the world trying to find her. 

I'd even logged into my social media accounts to try to locate her, but she must not use her own name for those, and we have no mutuals in common to even narrow the search. Futile and frustrating.

The flood of relief that rushed over me when I saw her against the railing will stay with me for the rest of my life. Even in the dense crowd, I still somehow ended up next to her. A sign, maybe, that being distant hasn't stopped something from budding between us.

To have her sitting across from me with her wine filled water bottle perched on the edge of the table feels like a gift, as though fate is winking at me. I might never have seen her again, but instead, we're here.

When we get to Newfoundland, I'll have to deliver her to the airport and we'll go on with our lives, but I'm hopeful we can still keep in touch, that our parting won't have to be a line drawn in the sand like this one was.

After two of the longest nights of my life, I'm going to let her open a door. Not sure I'm ready to throw them all open, but I heard what she said. My default setting is guarded, has been since I was a kid, what with the upbringing, or rather lack of upbringing I had, my walls have been the best way to keep myself together.

But when I called Angela last night to check in, she must have heard something in my voice because she asked how Gwen was, and I admitted we'd gone our separate ways at my suggestion. Angela accused me of sealing myself off from people with emotional concrete. I denied it, but when I make eye contact with Gwen, and I see the wariness in her normally sparkling brown eyes, I suspect Angela is correct.

"Ask whatever you want," I say after the waitress takes our drink orders.

She stares at me for so long I'm not sure she's going to ask anything when she says, "Blake hired a doppelganger. That's the only explanation for that open invitation." She wags her finger at me, and then she leans across the table. "You don't go from not even telling me why we're not traveling together to "Hey, Gwen, I'm an open book, isn't this cool?" in like two days."

"That's a fair response," I admit.

"Now that sounds like you," she says, leaning back. "Color me confused. Blake. Doppelganger. Blake. Doppelganger." She spreads her hands out, palms up, and pretends to be weighing something.

"How much wine did you have?"

"A whole bottle. It was fantastic. I think part of the groveling might involve alcohol. Enough for me to forget that you ever tried to ditch me."

I wince at her need to dull her feelings with alcohol. That's not a road I'd recommend anyone go down. My instinct is to tell her I didn't ditch her, but that would be a blatant lie.

"The guy I spoke to at the Powwow is someone I used to work with. We have a long and complicated history."

"Okay. How does that become you deciding we shouldn't travel together?"

Nothing straightforward about that answer. Diana. DRC and every other country I've gone to in my career. My family. How different we are in almost every aspect of life. If I really ponder me and Gwen as travel companions or anything else, we don't make sense. For a guy who prefers logic and order, it's strange to realize I'm now okay with neither existing in this situation.

"My reasoning was... A combination of a lot of things that would take all night to get into." I swallow, and give a little shrug. "And you're right, I'm not sure I'm ready to be the open book you want. It's unnatural."

"Do you even want to tell me things? If you want to tell me, but it's hard, then I can be persistent." She squeezes my hand on the table. "But if you're just doing this to convince me to travel with you again, you don't have to."

She's giving me an out, an opportunity to maintain my walls, keep my emotional landscape perfectly preserved. Although I can't see what's on the other side of the wall, my sister might have a point about how freeing it is to be one hundred percent authentic with someone. No hiding. No shielding parts of myself. Fucking terrifying, and I'm not sure I'm ready.

If I think about it as an experiment with a finite ending, it's slightly less daunting. Two and a half months of letting Gwen read whatever page she wants, and then if the consequences of sharing myself aren't worth it, I close the book again.

These six months away from work can be an interlude. A break physically, mentally, and emotionally. The first three months have been good for me, or at least they felt like it until I ran into Herb. Gwen has been a big part of that, opening up Canada and offering experiences I wouldn't normally have sought. For the first time in a long time, I can say I'm relishing life—not surviving or getting through—reveling in it. 

The fact that I didn't acknowledge those positives a couple of days ago when I told Gwen we should go our own ways just shows how strong my blinders have been. It took not having her with me for such a short period to drive the truth home. Without her, I would have been miserable on this trip—counting days instead of living in the moment.

"My instinct, ever since I was a kid, was to protect myself. Protect others. Sometimes I've been able to..." I meet her gaze. "And sometimes I haven't." The waitress returns with our drinks and sets them in front of us. "I went to work for Doctors International as soon as I was able."

"Oh, wow," Gwen says, picking up her glass of wine and taking a sip. "Do you go dangerous places? You can go anywhere in the world with them, right?"

"I can, and I have." I touch the scar above my eye. "Sometimes danger finds me." Though I hope she doesn't ask how I got it. That's not a story I'm ready to tell.

"And the guy at the Powwow?"

"An old mentor." I pick up my sparkling water. "With opinions I don't like hearing."

"About where you should work?"

"Among other things, yeah."

"That's evasive. That's a typical Blake response."

I huff out a breath and try to think about how I can answer honestly but in a way that I'm comfortable with. "He doesn't think I should go back to the Democratic Republic of the Congo when my, somewhat forced, mental health break is over."

"Somewhat forced?"

"I was in a vehicle that was shot at. I treated two colleagues who were wounded and helped transport them to a facility that could help them more."

"You've been holding onto a lot, huh?"

"I guess so, yeah." This is just the tip of the iceberg. If this seems like a lot to her, I don't know that I'll be able to tell her all she wants to know. My lifestyle is often admired, but rarely understood.

"How does your family feel about you being in danger so much and so often?"

"Angela hates it," I admit, and I hope she doesn't ask about the rest of them.

"Blake," she chides.

"I don't really speak to the rest of them."

"Why not?"

"You're slicing so many parts of me open right now, Gwen, I'm not sure how to staunch the bleeding." I wince.

"Right. Right. This is a lot for you. This is like an introductory conversation for me." She laughs. "First date. Give me all your wounds. I mean, not really. God, I'm rambling. Apparently I am now nervous that I'm going to fuck this up with you. I've never had abandonment issues before."

I grab her hand, and that seems to center her, and we stare at each other for a beat, not saying anything. My hand tingles with the physical contact. We touch, sometimes—quite a few times tonight—but it's rarely been spontaneous on my part. Deep down I suspect we're both aware of what might happen if we sink too deep into this. Whatever this is. Opposites attract, but they can also combust, and I have no idea where we'd be on that spectrum.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," I say.

"I just didn't understand, and now I'm wondering how you've been walking around like everything is fine when there's so much going on in here." She taps her temple. "You carry all this pain like it's nothing."

"Just because it looks easy, doesn't mean it isn't heavy." That might be the most honest thing I've ever said to anyone. All these weights bear down on me, but I've gotten so used to their shape and size that I think it would be stranger not to have them. A part of me that I don't deliberately take out and examine.

"What happens at the end of this trip? After your sister's wedding?"

"I'm going back to the DRC. They need the medical help, and a long time ago I made a promise to someone that I'd be one of the people helping."

"They'll let you go back after what happened?"

"Yeah, they will. This isn't the first time something bad has occurred on the job."

"No matter what, you're going back."

It's not a question, but I respond anyway. Best to be clear, especially if I'm letting the careful distance we've kept, close. "No matter what, I'm going back to the DRC after Angela's wedding. It's the right thing to do. Where my heart lies."

"The savior," she whispers with a hint of a smile.

We stare at each other for a beat, and then I ask the question that's been hovering between us since I slid in beside her at the fall. "Will you travel with me again?"

A real smile spreads across her face. "This feels like it needs either a contract or a truck full of chocolate to make it official. Maybe down on one knee? The original itinerary presented on a silver platter?"

"The groveling, right. How could I forget?" Behind Gwen, our waitress appears with a slab of chocolate cake with a lit sparkler stuck in the center. Impeccable timing. I nod to her, and she comes forward with the rest of the waitstaff, and they break out into the Happy Birthday tune.

Gwen lets out a delighted laugh and claps her hands when they set the cake in front of her. Well worth the quiet conversation I had with our waitress after I told Gwen I needed the bathroom when we first arrived.

She radiates joy, and it's contagious. Each time I manage to surprise her, warmth floods my chest. God, she's gorgeous.

Once they leave, Gwen passes me the extra fork and spears a bite. "It's not my birthday, but I'll take it."

"I know, but none of the wait staff knew the 'I'm sorry I was an asshole' song."

"Someone should write that; it would be a major hit."

"Your birthday is in November along with your sister and your nephew." I slice off the smallest bite and hold it poised over the cake.

"You remembered." Her eyes spark with happiness before she pops another bite into her mouth.

"Of course I did," I say and I pry off another miniscule morsel. "My mid-trip crisis is officially over."

"It wasn't me?" The smile on her face is gone.

"It wasn't you."

"But you'd tell me if it was?"

"The weight of, maybe a few things I shouldn't be carrying anymore, crushed some vital brain cells. Luckily, as a doctor, I was able to repair them."

"You're all fixed now?" She washes down the cake with another sip of wine.

"I'm working on it," I say. "Might still be a few wrinkles to iron out. But none of those have anything to do with you."

"I can accept that," she says. "All of us are a continual work in progress, aren't we?"

Thanks to anyone who has left a review on Goodreads or Amazon for any of my published novels. I really appreciate it. ♥ If you've loved one of my books, and you're on Amazon or Goodreads, I'd be overjoyed to hear from you there. 

Update: Friday

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