Page 3 of Wrecked on the Mountain
"We are not discussing my sex life."
"Correct. We're discussing yourlackof a sex life. There's a difference."
"Piper—"
"I'm just saying, maybe this mountain adventure is exactly what you need in more ways than one. Fresh air, gorgeous scenery, a chance to remember what it feels like to want something other than perfect surgical outcomes."
I'm about to argue when movement outside the window catches my eye. A hawk circles overhead, riding the wind with grace, and for a moment I'm struck by how different this view is from my Chicago apartment.
No sirens, no traffic, no constant reminder of the city chaos I've been living in for years.
"It is beautiful here," I admit.
"Good. And the people?"
"I stopped at this café yesterday. Cute name… Bear Paw Café. The owner remembered my name after five minutes. She gave me extra whipped cream on my hot chocolate and asked about my 'settling in process' like I was a rescue animal being rehabilitated."
"That's adorable. See? Small-town charm."
"It's definitely different." I think about the lady's smile, the way she seemed to see straight through me. "Everyone's so... present. Like they actually have time to care about strangers."
"Because they're not running on adrenaline and caffeine, trying to save the world one trauma at a time," Piper points out. "Speaking of which, I should probably get going. I'm covering an extra shift tonight, and if I don't eat something that isn't vending machine food, I'm going to pass out on a patient."
"Piper."
"I know, I know. Practice what I preach. But seriously, Brooke… try to actually enjoy yourself, okay? Do something completely un-doctor-like. Take a hike, learn to fish, burn dinner attempting to cook over an open fire. Be bad at something that doesn't matter."
"Be bad at something that doesn't matter," I repeat thoughtfully, watching the hawk outside.
"Exactly. And text me pictures of the sexy mountain men. For… you know… research purposes."
"There are no sexy mountain men!"
"Oh, there will be," Piper says with smug satisfaction. "Love you, babe. Don't overthink everything."
The line goes dead, leaving me alone with my coffee and the absurd idea that I should intentionally be bad at something.
Which is exactly when my eyes land on the neat stack of firewood beside the cabin.
Sure enough, half an hour and three more YouTube tutorials later, I'm standing in my athletic wear freezing my ass off in the cold mountain air.
Because apparently I packed for a mountain spa retreat. Not actual wilderness living.
I move across the yard and stare at an axe that weighs approximately the same as a small child.
The wood-chopping area behind the cabin is clearly set up for someone who actually knows what they're doing. There's a proper chopping block, a neat stack of logs waiting to be split, and even a covered area to keep everything dry.
Be bad at something that doesn't matter,Piper's voice echoes in my head.
Well, if I'm going to fail at something, might as well be spectacularly.
I picked up the axe with confidence. I recall the three YouTube videos. I've got excellent hand-eye coordination and core strength from years of Pilates classes squeezed between eighteen-hour shifts at the hospital.
This should be simple.
I position a log on the chopping block, lift the axe over my head with what I hope looks like mountain woman competence.
"Argh!"
