Page 17 of Broken on the Mountain
Saved him?I know a wound when I hear it, even wrapped in a joke. It makes me want to bandage whatever bled.
I lean closer, pressing a kiss to his shoulder through his shirt.
We sit in comfortable quiet, sipping coffee and flipping through photographs of meadows and mountain peaks. His thumb continues its maddening circles, making my insides all gooey and warm.
When we finally head back downstairs, Chase quietly approaches the counter while I'm distracted by a display of local authors. I don't notice what he's doing until he hands me the wildflower guide with something tucked inside.
"I hope you don't mind, but I got you something," he says, that shy smile making an appearance. "For when city life gets overwhelming."
I open the book to find a tiny compass bookmark nestled between the pages, delicate and brass and completely perfect. The inscription readsTrue Northin flowing script.
"Chase..." My voice comes out softer than I've ever heard it.
"For trail emergencies," he says, echoing his gummy bear excuse, but his cheeks are definitely pink.
I press the bookmark to my lips like a secret kiss before slipping it into my coat pocket. "Thank you."
He taps the book's cover. "Lunch break study session?"
"Only if there's sunshine."
His grin could power the entire mountain. "Come on. I know exactly where to take you."
We swing by Brooke's cabin where my luggage is so I can change out of last night's dress. Lucky for me, she's not home, so five minutes later, I'm in jeans and a simple top, keeping my coat for warmth.
I keep Chase's flannel layered over everything because the soft fabric smells like him.
"Looking very local," he teases, eyes crinkling as I climb back in the truck.
The drive to Wildflower Meadow takes fifteen minutes through winding mountain roads that make my Chicago driving skills feel completely inadequate. Chase navigates the curves with easy confidence, one hand on the wheel of his enormous truck, the other resting on my knee in a way that makes concentration impossible.
Then, around a sweeping corner, the road opens suddenly into an explosion of color.
"Ohwow…This is..." I trail off, because there aren't words.
Purple lupines, golden buttercups, delicate bluebells, and bursts of violet fireweed create a living kaleidoscope that stretches all the way up toward snow-capped peaks. The air bursting through Chase's open window smells like honey and sun-warmed grass.
"Yeah," Chase says simply, like he understands. "Pretty incredible."
When we pull up, he shakes out a faded flannel blanket from his truck and unpacks simple sandwiches, kettle chips, and two sodas. Everything about this moment feels simultaneously brand new and like coming home.
"Turkey and swiss cheese," he says, handing me a sandwich wrapped in brown paper. "Figured you for a classic."
"Good guess."
We settle on the blanket with the wildflower guide propped between us, and Chase pulls out the compass bookmark to demonstrate proper navigation techniques.
"Find east," he says, sitting behind me and guiding my hand with the compass. His chest presses against my back, and his voice rumbles against my ear. "Good. Now sight the ridge—there you go."
"If I get lost, will you come find me?" I ask, leaning back into his warmth.
"Every time," he says, staring deep into my eyes.
We eat while naming clouds and identifying flowers with the guide. A bee hums lazily past, and somewhere in the distance, a creek bubbles over stones.
In my coat pocket, my phone buzzes with what I know is a calendar reminder from my mother. Probably something about the charity luncheon next weekend. Or the dermatologist appointment she scheduled for me without asking.
I silence it without looking and nudge the flower guide closer instead.
