Page 52 of Broken on the Mountain
A woman in a crisp navy blazer appears at the entrance as we park, her smile beaming through Chase's rolled down window. She's holding a red velvet folder.
"Mr. Morrison, Ms. Whitman—welcome to Fox Hollow Lodge!" Her voice has that hush-luxury quality I recognize from Chicago's finest establishments. "I'm Nora, and I'll be taking care of you this evening."
I turn to Chase in the truck's cab, giving him my bestwhat-the-hell-did-you-dolook, the one that usually makes patients confess they 'forgot' to swallow their pills.
He just grins, all dimples and zero remorse, and slaps my thigh. "Come on."
"Come on? That's it? That's all I get?"
"Yep." He's already out of the truck, jogging around to my side.
"Chase Morrison, if you rented some ridiculous—"
He opens my door, and I step out on wobbly legs that have nothing to do with the hike and everything to do with the realization that he plannedthis. For me. For us.
Nora leads us past the main lodge, where a massive hearth crackles and the scent of mulled wine and wood smoke tempts me closer. We move down a candlelit path to one of the private cabins.
The pines are fading to silhouettes against a pink-streaked sky, and lanterns glow along the walkway like fireflies guiding the way.
She unlocks the door with a brass key, then hands the velvet folder to Chase with a smile.
"As requested, you have a couples massage at six. We will provide champagne on demand, and if the stars behave, the hot tub will, too." Nora winks at me and smiles at Chase. "Enjoy!"
Then she's gone, footsteps fading down the path, and I'm standing in the doorway of what might actually be heaven.
The cabin isgorgeous. Wide-plank floors, exposed beams, a stone fireplace already crackling with fresh logs. Huge windows frame the mountains like a painting, and on the table sits a handwritten card propped against a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket.
Welcome, Piper & Chase.
My throat goes tight.
"Don't cry, please." Chase moves behind me, hands covering my eyes. "Not yet. Come on."
I laugh, stumbling forward as he guides me through the cabin. "This is ridiculous."
"Shh. No peeking."
He steers me around a corner, and I can feel the warmth of another room, hear the faint crackle of a second fireplace. Then his hands drop away.
"Ta-da!"
Chase steps back and the bedroom I'm staring at is a dream wrapped in flannel and firelight.
"Chase Morrison, what did youdo?"
A king-size bed piled with soft throws, more windows framing the mountains, a rainfall shower visible through an open bathroom door. And on the dresser are two impossibly plush white robes, folded perfectly neat, beside a glass dome covering chocolate-dipped strawberries.
I turn to face him, and he's grinning like he personally built the mountain just to give me this view.
"So, I got us a room for tonight." He shrugs, but his ears are pink. "Thought you might like it better than my apartment floor."
I laugh, the sound shaky with something that feels dangerously close to tears. "You didn't have to… You know I like your apartment."
"You do not like the creaky floors,orthe questionable plumbing." He scratches the back of his neck, grinning. "Plus, Mrs. Jones next door can heareverything. I'm pretty sure she's been listening out for it ever since that night on the fire escape."
I laugh despite myself. "Chase."
"What? I'm just saying, this place has soundproof wallsanda hot tub. Seemed like an upgrade."
