Page 111 of Broken on the Mountain
"Stone River," she says. "I want Stone River. I want Sunday dinners at your apartment and hikes to Silver Falls and wildflower meadows. I want Betty's pancakes and Martha's pot roast and Charlie's terrible karaoke nights. I want a life that's messy and imperfect and real."
My heart stutters. "Piper—"
"I want you, Chase. Not just on weekends. Not just when it's convenient. I want all of it."
I can't speak. Can't breathe. All I can do is pull her close and kiss her, right there in the middle of the dance floor, in front of Chicago's elite and her horrified mother and everyone who thinks we don't belong together.
When we finally break apart, she's smiling. Really smiling, in a way I've never seen before.
"But before we go," she says, pulling back slightly, "I have one thing left to do."
"What's that?"
She takes my hand and leads me toward the center of the ballroom, where the crowd is thickest.
And then, with every eye in the room on her, Piper Whitman straightens her spine, lifts her chin, and spins. The gorgeous gown flares out, a cascade of silk and delicate beading that catches the light like stars.
It's breathtaking.She'sbreathtaking.
But it's what happens next that stops the entire room cold.
As the gown settles, the hem lifts just enough to reveal her shoes.
Mud-streaked teal… hiking boots.
The gasp that ripples through the crowd is audible. Somewhere near the bar, Piper's mother sways and Maxwell's mouth falls open.
But Piper doesn't stop. She lifts the hem of her gown higher, showing off the boots fully, and the message is unmistakable:
This is who I am.
I stay where I am at the edge of the dance floor, hands stuffed in my pockets, watching her completely unravel every expectation they've ever had.
She doesn't need me to rescue her. This is her moment. Her rebellion. Her choice.
And God, I love her for it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Piper
The bell above the door jingles as Chase pushes into The Bear Paw Café, and I follow on legs that feel like they've forgotten how to work properly.
Five hours in Chase's truck will do that to you.
But at least he didn't get lost.
I left Chicago. Really left. Walked out of my mother's precious gala in hiking boots, drove back to the penthouse at midnight, and started throwing things into suitcases while my phone blew up with increasingly frantic messages from my parents.
I haven't answered a single one.
As always, Betty's café smells like heaven. Fresh coffee, cinnamon rolls straight from the oven, and that indefinable warmth that only exists in places where people actually give a damn about each other.
Today especially, it wraps around me like a hug, and I feel my shoulders drop for the first time since we left the city.
"Well, well, well." Betty appears at our table, apron tied at her waist, silver curls escaping from the pencil holding them back. Her eyes are twinkling. "Look what the mountain dragged back."
"Hi, Betty." I manage a tired smile, suddenly aware that I'm wearing jeans and Chase's oversized Stone River Mountain Rescue hoodie, the one he gave me weeks ago that I've been sleeping in every night he wasn't there to hold me.
