Page 21 of Broken on the Mountain
"Oh, come on. You're about to make out with that burger, baby."
She blinks, then laughs. "I am not. I'm a lady of good grace. Now where's my knife and fork?"
I throw my head back with laughter. "You are absolutely not eating that thing with a knife and fork. Plus, I've seen that look before." I gesture at her plate. "That's the same expression you had right before you kissed me this morning."
"Chase Morrison." Her cheeks flush pink. "That is completely different."
"Is it though?" I pick up a fry, dragging it through ketchup. "Because you're looking at that burger like you want to take it home and do unspeakable things to it."
"Oh my God." She covers her face with both hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. "You're ridiculous."
Her laugh is bright and unguarded, and I want to bottle it.
Charlie somehow lingers close enough to catch the entire exchange. I catch him grinning and he just winks at me and says, "Booth's yours all night. But if you two get mushy, you owe me a jukebox slow dance."
"Deal," I say without thinking, because watching Piper's irresistible body sway to music by the firelight of my favorite place in the world… that sounds like the best idea anyone's ever had.
Charlie disappears again, and I turn my full attention to the woman beside me.
She's backlit by flames, hair catching copper and gold, licking salt from her thumb. Her eyes sparkle with honey-whiskey warmth, and that sweater she's wearing makes the world feel like its ours tonight.
Ours.
The word slips through my defenses before I can stop it.
Our booth. Our place. Our forever weekends.
I shove the thought down with a massive bite of burger, because we have rules. Rules that I helped create to keep this… thisthingon track.
Except I'm pretty sure I've already broken every single one.
The teen server who I helped with dishes this morning at Bear Paw Café swings by and drops extra napkins and a side of pickles on our table with a shy smile.
"From Charlie," he says. "We've got some more drinks coming too. You need anything, just wave."
"Thank you," Piper raises her glass in a toast, eyes locked on mine. "To burgers and weekly bad decisions. May my mother have a fit upon my return."
"Hear, hear!" I clink my glass against hers, holding her gaze. "To weekends that feel like always."
Her smile falters for just a second, and something vulnerable and scared flickers across her face. Then she recovers and takes a long sip before I can look too much further.
I file that reaction away underthings to worry about laterand focus on the present.
Right now, she's here. In Stone River. Laughing. Looking at me like I'm the only person in the room worth seeing.
That's enough.
It has to be.
Because that's more than I've ever had.
The tavern door swings open with a blast of cold air, and Knox and Travis barrel in like they always do… like they own the place. My best friends are somehow drawn to this place by some sixth sense that tells them the food is hot, and new gossip awaits at the bottom of a beer glass.
"Well, well, well," Knox says, sliding into the booth across from us with zero invitation. "Look who finally emerged from his love nest."
Travis follows, eyeing our burgers with the intensity of a sommelier judging wine. "Burger-to-bun ratio looks solid tonight. Charlie's glaze application is the best I've ever seen."
"Get your own," I say, slapping Knox's hand away from my plate.
