Page 33 of Broken on the Mountain
"I catch feelings like other people catch colds. Fast and completely."
"I've been terrified since approximately hour two of knowing you."
My throat tightens. I steady my breathing, anchoring myself before I do something monumentally stupid like book a return flight for tomorrow.
Because that's the thing about Chase Morrison that my parents would never understand.
He doesn't hide. He doesn't calculate. He just...feels.
And apparently, so do I now.
The way he looked at me at my door last night… wanting but not taking. Hoping but not demanding. He could've asked to stay. Could've pushed for more than a kiss. In my experience, that's what most men would have done.
Instead, Chase gave me space, and choice, and the quiet certainty that he'd be there when I was ready.
Looking back, it's made me feelmorewanted, not less.
But back home, here in Chicago? My parents' world doesn't work that way. In their universe, love is negotiation. Attraction is strategy. Relationships are mergers with favorable terms.
Chase just... wanted me. The real me. The one who climbs fire escapes drunk and can't start a campfire and now, apparently, someone who gets weirdly emotional about an old gummy bear wrapper.
"I really need to get a grip," I say out loud.
I sink onto my pristine white sofa, the one I'm terrified to actually sit on most days, and let myself feel it. The terrifying realization that I left a piece of myself on a mountain in the middle of nowhere, and now, I don't know how to function without it.
Four days. I was there for four days.
My phone lights up again.
Chase:Wearing the flannel yet?
Me:Maybe.
Chase:Liar. You're definitely wearing it.
Me:Fine. Yes. But only because it smells like you. (winking emoji)
Chase:Keep it. Looks better on you anyway. (blowing kiss emoji)
I curl into the sofa, flannel wrapped tight, and stare at the skyline that suddenly feels like a beautiful cage.
All this glass and steel and money, and none of it makes me feel half as safe as a beat-up truck and a man who carries gummy bears in his pocket.
The wildflower guide now sits proudly on my counter, the gorgeous compass bookmark peeking out. I rise from the sofa to refill my water, then flip it open to a random page.
I shake my head as I find Chase's handwriting in the margin:Page 47 - these were blooming at the meadow. Remember?
Purple lupine. Delicate and wild.
Just like me in Stone River.
Then, out of nowhere, my penthouse door flies open with zero warning. I shriek and launch the wildflower guide across the room like a frisbee, nearly decapitating a very expensive orchid display.
My mother stands frozen in the doorway, Chanel purse dangling, eyebrows climbing toward her perfectly highlighted hair.
"Darling! You're home!" She breezes across the room, nose high as she air-kisses both my cheeks. "You look... rested."
Translation:You look different and I don't approve.
