It's been two months, five hours, and thirty-six minutes since I last saw Blake. I'm not even going to pretend that it's normal that I know that. If I checked my watch, I could probably get his exact departure from my life down to the second. But doing that would be foolish because whenever Blake crosses my mind, it feels like I can't breathe properly. I'm suffocating, slowly, and no one here even knows.

From across the huge warehouse, Herb gives me a visual check in. He's the site manager for the Northern Canada project and old enough to be my father. There's a spark of intelligence in his brown eyes coupled with a world weariness that I like. The way he carries himself reminds me of someone else, even if I don't want it to.

The Northern Canada project is the only location Doctors International offered me after my interview. Jane, in HR, claimed they start everyone on a low risk project at first, but I wonder if he who shall not be named is at the root of my 'safe' assignment.

If we were speaking, I'd tell him the joke was on him. These tiny commuter planes used to fly into the remote communities would terrify him. He'd be pouring over safety checks and maintenance reports. Me? I just get on the plane and hope the thing holds itself together.

But we aren't speaking. Not even a little bit. The only communication we've had is a bouquet of my favorite Canadian candy bars delivered to my parents' house for my birthday. The card that came with them simply said, "Blake" with no personal note. Receiving it was one of the happiest and saddest moments of my life. I'm on his mind but not enough to change anything. He's probably working on his tan while trying not to get shot or blown up in the DRC.

That's the most depressing thought I've ever had—and I've had a lot in the last two months.

Other people come into the warehouse to unload products we've purchased, and the cold winter breeze rushes in behind them. It's practically balmy on Manitoulin Island compared to Nunavut, which is where we're supposed to be going next.

Herb appears beside me and checks my screen before pointing to a product. "That's the one," he says.

I click on it and start filling out the paperwork for Doctors International to purchase the right quantity. The job would probably be harder in another country that didn't have access to normal transportation modes and routes, but since we're in Ontario, the only tricky bit is sometimes getting whatever we need onto the island before a scheduled flight.

"I know I asked you when you first got here, but are you sure we've never met before this? There's something about you that seems familiar. I'm very good with faces." Herb crosses his arms.

When I first arrived, the last thing in the world I wanted to discuss was Blake. Still don't. But I can't keep denying that we met once before, however briefly. It's not like I don't remember. Blake had a meltdown which led to us going in our separate directions the first time. Herb knows Blake, probably well.

"I was on the island in late summer with Blake Robinson," I say. "We met at the powwow."

"Yes!" He raises a finger in enthusiasm. "Yes! The two of you were traveling together."

"Until the start of November, and now he's back in the DRC and I'm here." I click on a few other folders in the shared company drive, and I hope Herb isn't going to pry.

"Back in the DRC," he says, as though mulling it over. "You had no interest in going?"

"This is what I was offered when I was hired."

"You applied because of him?"

That's a very personal question, but probably a fair one. "Yes and no," I say, reluctant to say more. Blake gave me the idea, opened my eyes to the possibilities, but it really feels like this was the type of job I was born to do. "Who wouldn't want to travel and make a visible difference in the world while they do it?" I ask, meeting his gaze.

Bethany, the pharmacist who is helping me source and determine the drugs and quantities we'll need for our next northern stay, emerges from the cold storage area with a paper in her hand. Herb wanders off without prying any more.

"I crosschecked," she says, holding up the page. "I've got a few additions."

I open my notes on the computer, ready for whatever she's going to give me.

"You're doing a great job so far, Gwen," Bethany says when she gets to my side and sees all my open tabs. "It's not easy to slot into a project this big and broad. Little mini sites all over Northern Canada instead of one central area to staff and stock."

"I like it," I say. "These moving pieces are what makes it interesting." And I do like it. The staff are all friendly and motivated, and the work, even though it has barely started, has been rewarding. Bethany and I flew into a remote community not far from here last week as part of my training.

Later, I'm in the lunchroom eating and finishing some digital drawings from my trip with Blake. As long as I don't think about what I'm doing too closely, I can make the artistic decisions needed to bring the piece together. My sketchbook was littered with random events and moments with no through line to guide the narrative. Something had to be learned, some point to the experience, right?

Between the end of my trip across Canada, turning down the scholarship, and starting this job, I flew to England to visit my sister and her partner, Ash. The candy bar bouquet with no personal note was devastating, and Paige bought me a plane ticket, since she couldn't get the time off work. Being with their kids was exactly the mental break I needed to get some perspective. I want kids and a family. If I had a choice, I'd have those things with Blake, but he doesn't want them with me. As painful as that is, it's not something I can change.

My sister's pragmatism was very helpful as I bawled my eyes out every night on her couch over bottles of wine. Then she and Ash helped me zero in on what I wanted to remember about my trip, the things I wanted to carry with me, and those things I was better to set down. Ash thinks Blake is choosing to carry the wrong things, but that's not something you can tell someone else. They have to realize that on their own.

The ache in my chest is still a sucking wound, but I can keep it at bay by staying in constant motion—drawing, exercising, becoming the best at medical supply chain management. Both Ash and Paige told me that someday I would wake up and I wouldn't feel so terrible. The wait for that day just might kill me.

"What are you doing there?" Herb nods toward my tablet as he gets his lunch out of the fridge. He's the only one of us in the core team who has a house on the island, and he usually goes home for lunch. The rest of us are in a dorm-like building next to the warehouse that Doctors International built, and usually everyone goes there for their breaks. This room is normally empty.

"Oh, just..." I shrug. "I draw."

"That's incredible," he says, standing over my shoulder. "That's digital?"

"A program, yeah. It's a graphics tablet. I still draw it." I wiggle my pen at him.

"Can I see some more?"

I hesitate because if I flick past this one there's a good chance he'll recognize Blake. Taking a deep breath, I swipe the screen to take me to the drawing I just finished. Blake and I are in Northern Saskatchewan about to jump out of a plane.

"Is that...?"

"Keanu Reeves," I say, breezily. "It is, yeah."

Herb chuckles. "Good one. He does resemble him a bit, doesn't he?"

Except for the scar, which runs so much deeper than I ever realized.

"You got any more?" Herb asks.

"A whole book's worth," I admit. "We spent six months together." I don't swipe the screen to show him any other panels.

"I was hopeful when I saw him in August," Herb says, sliding into the seat beside me and opening his lunch bag. "Truthfully, I've been worrying about that guy for six years. But at least when I saw him in August, it felt like he was straddling something new. One foot in the past, another in the present. Could have went either way."

"He didn't step forward," I say closing my device and setting it aside. "That foot in the past has deep, thick roots." Makes me wonder if I should have opted for a children's book instead of this adult graphic novel. I could have drawn Blake as an immoveable tree.

"Here's what I know about Blake from the time we spent together in Syria," Herb says. "He's a man who loves deeply. I've seen the good of that—I'm sure you have too judging by how he looked at you when I saw you two together. The other side of that depth can be the inability to let go. He's had trouble releasing the dreams he shared with Diana, but I suspect that also means it hasn't been easy for him to let go of you either. No matter how it might look."

"I really don't care how Blake feels," I say, and I hate the bitterness in my voice. Unlike Blake, I've never been one to hold onto anything longer than necessary, and the fact that I can't shake him is frustrating. My heartbreak feels limitless, as though it'll never end, and sometimes I don't even recognize myself. I stare at myself in the mirror, and I look haunted.

"We often say things we don't mean when we're hurt," Herb observes.

"He can't tell me that the DRC is far too dangerous for me, that I might die," my voice grows thick, "and then go there himself. Doom me to the fate that's dogged him. It's grossly unfair."

Herb winces, but he doesn't try to talk me out of my belief. How can he?

If it was only the heartbreak I had to deal with, I might be more functional. On top of his loss, I have constant worry. I've got alerts set up for any news in relation to the DRC, and nothing I've seen so far has been good. Some parts of the country are so unstable. None of the bad news has been about Blake specifically. But I don't even know what area of the country he's stationed in.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, and then Herb nods to my tablet again. "What are you planning to do with that?"

"My sister and her partner think I should query a publisher or an agent or something. I don't know." Blake had encouraged the same thing. "I'm just doing it because..." I take a deep breath and release it slowly. "Meeting him changed my life." Tears fill my eyes, and I shift away from Herb so he doesn't see.

Crying in front of my boss within the first few weeks of employment is a new low for me.

"I have to fly to headquarters in Vancouver next week," Herb says. "I could get a copy of that to him, if you want. Do you need his permission or anything when you'll be publishing a true account?"

I hadn't even gotten that far, but it's a good point. Initially, I'd thought my sketchbook would be a fun souvenir of our trip together. His photo album on his phone, stuffed with moments from our trip, and my drawings from my perspective. Two different takes on the same experience.

"I don't know." I am almost done the narrative arc I carved out with Paige and Ash in their living room, but part of me could draw endless panels, verge into fan fiction of my own life, a version of it where Blake doesn't drop me off at the airport and disappear forever.

"People get tunnel vision," Herb says. "Seeing your trip through your eyes, really understanding it from your perspective might be good for him."

"He never wavered about going to the DRC," I say. "No matter what I said to him. I just—I don't think this," I tap the tablet, "will do anything but give me a brief glimmer of false hope. He's committed, and it's not to me."

"Most of the time, people only regret the chances they don't take."

"Ugh," I say with a groan. "That's like my life motto. Why'd you have to say that?"

"There's a print shop in Gore Bay," Herb says, standing up to clear his lunch. "If you have a copy for me by Friday, I'll make sure head office delivers it to him, wherever he might be."

As he wanders around the kitchenette, I try to hold back the impulse bubbling in me. But it feels like he lifted the lid, and now all I want to do is leak my feelings everywhere.

"Do you know where he is? In the DRC?" I ask just before he leaves.

His hand is on the door, and he turns back to me with a thoughtful look. "I know where he is, which is why I thought he might appreciate hearing from you."

Then he opens the door and disappears out into the warehouse, and I'm left wondering what he knows. His cryptic response sends my mind spinning, and I reopen my tablet to finish my drawing, recenter myself.

I don't know Herb well enough to understand whether he's guiding me towards a sure thing or a dead end, but I do know that if I don't try, I'll always wonder.

Where is Blake? Take your guess.

❤️Read my note below if you like my writing and want a chance to read more.❤️

I'm going to be publishing Book 1 in the Tuckers of Bellerive series on Radish. It'll be in Wait to Unlock. Chapters will publish 2-3 times a week. If any of you are willing to pop over there and give me some feedback, I would love it. I hate that I can't publish it here, but contracts and reasons and whatever. I just can't. If Radish isn't your thing or you don't have access, I totally understand. It'll be on Amazon/KU in 2024.

And if Amazon/KU isn't doable for you, you can always sign up for my ARC team. BUT you have to be able to post a review on Goodreads as a minimum. Ideally, also Amazon or BookBub or StoryGraph or TikTok or any of the other places readers hang out. Reviews of published books (not of my first drafts on here) are very, very helpful.

The title for Radish will be The Billionaire Baby Daddy by Wendy Million/WMillion. I'll be dropping a brief summary on my conversation wall sometime this week. It's the story of Maren's youngest brother, Gage, and the baby he ends up raising due to a one night stand.

When Before Thirty is complete, I'll be doing fun bonus chapters here, and I'll be updating Aidan's Obsession regularly.

I will return to contemporary romance on Wattpad at some point, so if you like my writing and you aren't following me, maybe you should. 😁

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