When I get home from the Powwow, it's late, but Blake is still up, standing in the kitchen, drinking something in a mug—likely water. No caffeine rush this close to bed for him.

There's a weird tension coming off him, but it's been there since he ran into whoever that guy was at the Powwow. I'd ask, but he wouldn't tell me. My whole life is an open book, but turning even a single page in his seems like it would cause the whole binding to come undone. Back when I scrawled the rule about not getting to know each other on a deeper level, I never expected that he'd know everything about me, and I'd know absolutely nothing beyond the surface with him.

"I've been thinking," Blake says.

"I like it," I say, pretending he's not giving off a weird vibe. "New adventure for us?"

He grimaces and sips whatever is in his mug again, which I'm just now realizing is a delay tactic.

"Did you make a new rule?" I peer around him to the counter where we left what is now, a book of rules.

"When we get to Niagara Falls, I think we should go our separate ways," he says.

I can feel all the color drain from my face. Where is this coming from? What did I do?

"Originally, we never intended to travel together, and I think we want different things out of this trip."

He wants to sit alone in a hotel room to think deep thoughts, and I want to do things, experience the world. A problem I thought we'd fixed by being flexible with each other. When I suggested he come back to the cabin for some Blake time, I never expected this to be the result.

"Did I..." I swallow and try to fight back tears. Crying isn't something I do very often, and I'm not doing it tonight over some guy I'm not even sleeping with. Absolutely not. Toughen up, Gwen. "Did I do something wrong?" My voice is stronger this time.

"No," he says, but he doesn't elaborate, and I can't help thinking the answer is actually "yes" but he just won't say it.

"Fine," I say, and I stand up straighter. "I'll book a hotel in Niagara Falls. Are you good to cancel everything else going forward?" That was a rule we made at some point—that the person who no longer wanted to do something had to be the one to cancel it.

He stares into his mug, the tendrils of his overly long hair falling forward to partially conceal his expression, and he nods.

"I'll see you in the morning." Then I flee to my room and shut my door. Instead of getting ready to sleep, I flop onto the mattress and try to keep myself from sobbing. Somehow, I fucked things up, and I don't even know how. Will probably never know because he's a vault that I don't have the code to open.

I check the time, and I decide to use my precious data to check my email which I haven't looked at in weeks. Anything to avoid thinking about how I'll be back on my own starting tomorrow when we arrive in Niagara Falls after what will likely be the longest car ride of my life. One where I pretend to be totally cool with the fact he can't wait to ditch me.

Blood rushes around my body as though my senses opted for a second loop of the rollercoaster when I see an email from one of the colleges I applied to. Inside is a request for additional information. I forward the email to my mom who's handling any outstanding application questions for me.

The email drives home that this trip is fleeting and temporary. In two and a half months, I've vowed to settle into something more permanent, whether that's a better supply management job or accepting a position at a college for graphic design. None of it excites me.

The urge to sob is gone, but as I curl onto my side, I can't ignore the crushing sadness. Ever since Blake and I agreed to travel together, life has felt light and easy and fun. What hurts the most is that I thought it was all those things for him too, and to realize I might have been a burden this whole time, someone he thought he was saving from themselves, causes this aching hollowness in my chest.

~ * ~

The ferry ride from the island to the mainland isn't awful because we ignore each other as though we've never once shared anything. It would be deeply infuriating if I wasn't so sad about it all. Despite my vow not to say anything to him a second time—to accept that, for whatever reason, our traveling is done—just before we reach Niagara Falls, I can't help myself. If I don't ask, I'll always wonder if I'd said something once more if that might have laid a bridge across the chasm opening between us.

"I must have done something." Not a question, but definitely invites comment.

"It's not you, Gwen," his reply is sharp. "We're just different people who want different things. There's no blame in that."

"We've been different people this whole time, and up until yesterday afternoon, I would have sworn you were having a good time." I stare at his profile, but he doesn't say anything in response. He can shut a door tighter than anyone I've ever met. "You still want to go our separate ways, fine. At least tell me what happened. Was it something your friend said to you?"

"What's the name of your hotel?" he asks, signaling to take the highway headed toward Niagara Falls.

I grab his phone from the console and I type in the name, starting the directions before setting it in the cupholder, like always. Then I cross my arms and stare out the window.

"We've been traveling together for months, and do you know what I know about you? That you're a doctor and you have family in Newfoundland. That's it."

"You know more than that," he scoffs.

"No, I don't." I turn in my seat to face him. "I've shared so much with you—about my sister, my parents, my life back home—and I've gotten nothing in return from you. Nadda. Any time I've asked you a personal question, you've clammed up or changed the subject."

"Your rules—"

"Are bullshit."

"Not all of them," he says, and his gaze sweeps over me, and that snap of sexual tension, the one I haven't felt since the bus, hits me square in the chest. But it's like a jab—powerful, but too quick to truly measure—because when he meets my gaze, it's gone.

Did I imagine it?

The GPS tells him to turn off, and he takes the exit, cruising into the parking lot of the motel I picked online for its cheap price, even though it's far from the main strip.

"Gwen," he says, and he tries to grab my arm as I scramble out.

I open the back door, and I take out my pack. At the passenger window, I fight tears and try to act completely nonchalant about the fact we may never see each other again.

"Thanks," I say, "for everything." I turn on my heel to leave, but then I think better of it. "I hope," I say, walking backward, "that you let someone love you someday. You deserve it."

Then I practically run to the door of the front desk. While I check in, the truck idles in the parking lot for so long that I wonder if he's going to come after me, but he doesn't. Maybe he's just inputting the directions to his own hotel because he's gone by the time I get my keys.

~ * ~

Originally, we'd agreed to spend three nights in the Niagara Falls area, and so I decide, after a great deal of moping around my motel room, that I'm going to stick to the schedule Blake and I set up. I'll have to rent my own car and sort out all my accommodations again, but we'd already mapped out a workable route and schedule. No need to abandon that just because he's abandoned me.

Girl power. Also, fuck him.

And it's with that attitude and a few glasses of wine that I call my best friend, Izzy, after hiding out in my motel for two of the three nights, doing none of the things Blake and I planned to do and having an absolutely miserable time.

"Here's the thing, Izz," I say. "If he was going to dump me anyway, I should have just slept with him."

"Um," Izzy says with a laugh, "I'm not sure that's the moral of this story."

"Do you have any holidays left? I can book us a cottage on the St. Lawrence River. Blake and I were going to do that, but obviously, not now. I can still do it, though. For a week. You and me. Just like old times."

"I guess that means I can't bring Jeremy."

"Oh, my god, no, Izzy. No one who identifies as male is allowed in the cottage." I take another huge gulp of my wine.

"Have you even been down to look at the falls? They do a light show at night. You can't stay holed up in your cheap hotel forever."

That comment makes me feel like I'm behaving how Blake would, and that's the opposite of how I want to behave. I'm not a shut-in or someone who doesn't know how to have a good time.

"What are the rules on open alcohol in Canada in whatever part of the country I'm in? Can I walk there carrying this?" I hold up my half empty wine bottle to examine it, even though Izzy can't see it. Awkward, but doable. A paper bag, maybe? "Blake isn't a drinker at all, so I've become a lightweight." 

With an open mind, I scan the motel room for another solution to my open carry quandary. "Actually, never mind. I just thought of something." I dump my water bottle in the sink, and I fill it with the white wine that's left. You'd have to look pretty closely to know it's not water. Or take a drink.

"Public intoxication carries a fine and they lock you up until you're sober," Izzy says. "Remember that."

"Wouldn't be the first time," I say, though I was much younger those other times, and Paige came to collect me so our parents didn't find out.

"I'm too far away, and so is Paige, to bail your ass out."

And since I deleted Blake's number in a fit of spite, I wouldn't even be able to call him. Doesn't matter though. I'll order an Uber, watch the pretty lights while buzzed, and come back to my motel.

Tomorrow, I really need to get my act together.

"Cottage? On the river?" I wheedle. "You know you want to."

"Let me check with work," Izzy says. "Not sure I can do the whole week, but maybe a long weekend."

When I hang up the phone, at least I've got something to look forward to because the end of my trip has never been it.

~ * ~

The Uber drops me off at the end of the falls with a clear view of the American side. Izzy was right, everything is lit up with lights, and there's a real buzz in the crowd. As I wander along, sipping from my water bottle of wine like a total sad person with no friends, I hear talk of fireworks happening soon.

August is still high tourist season, and it's a bigger crowd than I feel like being around right now. The chatter sweeps over me and around me, but I'm not invigorated by it. Eventually, I find a spare slot along the railing, and I drink my wine while observing the mass of falling water and changing lights reflected across the distance. If I was in another mood, other than the one I'm in now, the view would likely be stunning. Can't seem to drum up the enthusiasm for anything.

The wine is pretty good, though.

Horns are honking, there's music blaring from somewhere—a popular pop song—and a chill permeates the air from the mist rising off the falling water. On a hot day, it would be quite nice. On a cool evening, not so much. Once again, I have not dressed for the weather. A common problem, and I rub one arm with my free hand. 

My lack of weather sense is an issue Blake liked to tease me about. As someone who grew up in Michigan, Canadian weather shouldn't be such a constant surprise. Inevitably, he dug a sweatshirt or light jacket out of his daypack for me to use. That thought sours my mood even further. Clearly his teasing must have been laced with annoyance.

Blake is gone, and quite frankly, I don't want him anyway. Men shmen. Who needs them? Not me. I'm an independent woman. Happy and carefree and not at all missing the hulk of a man who's kept me entertained. The next two and a half months will be even better than the last two and a half because I'll be doing whatever I want without having to worry about someone else's opinion.

Despite my rah-rah being alone mantra, I'm starting to wonder if I should have waited for the quieter early morning to come down here instead of this bustling atmosphere when someone squeezes into the spot beside me, their broad shoulder brushing against mine. The wind kicks, and the minty cologne of the person beside me mingles in the air around me, causing a rush of memories. Blake.

Almost against my will, afraid to hope, I turn and my gaze connects with his gorgeous blue-green eyes.

"Hi," he whispers.

"Hi." I search his face, trying to figure out if this is some weird coincidence or he knew it was me. I'd know him anywhere—alone or in a crowd—he's become that familiar to me.

"I'm an idiot, and I'm sorry," he says.

"I'm going to need more groveling," I say. "I've spent the last two days miserable, and I don't do misery, Blake. That is not my default setting."

"You must love this atmosphere then. Total recharge." He glances around us.

"Would you believe it's made me more miserable?"

His eyes widen. "This is serious."

He has no idea, and I'm not about to give him specific details. "How did you find me?" I squint at him. "Did you put a tracker on me?"

"No," he says with a chuckle. "But trust me, I've wondered why I didn't a few times in the last couple days. I was starting to worry I really never would see you again. No response to my text messages."

Because I also blocked him before deleting him. My wrath knows no limits. Not quite sure how I undo that combination. I've never had to worry about it before.

"I asked for you at your motel, and they said there wasn't a Gwen Johnston staying there. Did you change locations?"

"Uh, no." I take a swig from my water bottle. "I checked in under Betty Rubble."

"What?" His laugh is genuine. "Like a famous person who needs an alias?"

"I always do." I fling my hair over my shoulder. "I didn't actually expect anyone to look for me. The intrigue is fun, though."

He stares at me for a beat before holding out his hand for my water. Not exactly the groveling I'm looking for, but the expression on his face in a second might be worth it. I pass it to him, and he squirts the wine into his mouth and then immediately emits a startled noise. A little dribbles down his chin, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

I laugh at the surprise and confusion that skate across his face before his blue-green gaze connects with mine. He passes the bottle back. "That was unexpected."

Above us, a giant boom sounds, echoing across the space, and the sky is alight with a cascade of glittering, multi-colored lights. The wind sweeps over the open water, and I shiver.

Beside me, Blake shrugs out of his sweatshirt and passes it to me. I scan his face for a beat, the sweatshirt between us, as another firework releases above us. The crowd oohing and aahing around us.

"I know I owe you an explanation, and I want to make things right between us." He pushes the warm shirt into my hands.

He holds my wine and purse while I tug the sweatshirt over my head. As the fabric crosses my nose, I breathe him in. Someday, I'll catch a whiff of this combination again, and it'll make my heart squeeze in my chest, just like it is right now. Painful and wonderful. Like I want to sink back into the moment, into the memories.

"I missed you," I whisper before I can think it through.

He nods and wraps his long arm around my shoulders, drawing me close. "I missed you too," he says in a husky voice across the top of my head. "I'm really sorry I made us both miserable."

The next firework streaks across the sky, and I settle against him, content for now to let things be. 

Update: Friday

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