Page 60 of Cold as Stone
“Lee, I have so much work?—”
“The work will still be here when we get back. But you need to eat something that doesn’t come out of a wrapper.” I touch my foot to hers. “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
I lean in until my lips are almost touching hers. “Try me.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to keep arguing. Then her shoulders sag in defeat. “But we have to be back before the lunch start. I really do have a lot to do.”
“Deal. Come on,” I say, grabbing my cut from the chair. “We’re taking a ride.”
She stares at my outstretched hand for a moment, then sighs and takes it. “If I freeze to death on your bike, I’m haunting you.”
“I’ve got an extra jacket in my saddlebag. You’ll be fine.” I reach into the other bag and pull out a second helmet, a sleek black model with silver trim. “And this.”
Kya stares at the helmet in my hands. “You bought me a helmet?”
“Safety first,” I say, though we both know it’s more than that. “Can’t have you riding around with some beat-up loaner. This one’s yours.”
She takes it carefully, running her fingers over the smooth surface. “Lee…”
“Just try it on.”
She does, and it fits perfectly. Of course it does, I spent twenty minutes at the shop making sure I got the right size.
“How did you know what size to get?”
“Lucky guess,” I lie. The truth is I’d asked Emma years ago, back when I thought I might get Kya on my bike someday. Never thought it would actually happen.
Twenty minutes later, we’re climbing into the mountains on the winding road that leads to the peak. Kya’s arms are wrapped around my waist, her body pressed against my back, and every curve makes her hold me tighter. It’s torture of the best kind.
The ride up takes forty-five minutes, but there’s a little place called Mountain View Café that sits right on the ridge. Family-owned, been there for decades, and they serve the kind of breakfast that’ll stick to your ribs.
We pull into the gravel parking lot, and Kya climbs off the bike with shaky legs.
“That was…” She pauses, pulling off the helmet I’d given her. “Actually kind of amazing.”
“Good. We’ll have to do it more often.” I lead her toward the weathered wooden building with its wraparound porch and mountain views. “Wait until you see the inside.”
The café is exactly what you’d expect—checkered tablecloths, mismatched chairs, and windows that showcase the valley spreading out below us. We grab a table by the window, and I watch Kya take in the view.
“This is beautiful,” she breathes. “I’d forgotten how gorgeous it is up here.”
“Worth the ride?”
“Definitely.” She picks up the menu, scanning it with renewed interest.
“The waffles here are supposed to be incredible,” I tell her. “And the hash browns are basically a religious experience.”
When the waitress comes, I order for both of us—waffles, eggs, bacon, hash browns, orange juice, and coffee. Enough food for three people, but I want Kya to have options. I want her to remember what it feels like to have abundance instead of scarcity.
“This is too much food,” she protests when the plates arrive.
“Eat what you want. Take the rest home.” I cut into my waffle, watching her do the same. “Tell me about Portland.”
“What about it?”
“Your life there. What you liked about it. What you didn’t.”
