Page 53 of Broken on the Mountain
"You didn't have to do all this."
"I wanted to." He cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "You've had a shit week. You deserve something good."
The ache sneaks in again. Tomorrow, I have to leave. Forty-eight hours felt like forever when I landed yesterday, and now it's slipping through my fingers like water.
Where did the time go? Is this how I'm going to feel every weekend?
Chase must see it on my face because he kisses my forehead. "Tonight's itinerary: zero itinerary."
I exhale, letting him pull me back into the moment. "I approve of this."
He grins and tugs me toward the champagne. The cork pops, and he pours two flutes that bubble and fizz over the rim.
"We're celebrating like it's Friday," he announces, handing me a glass.
"It's Saturday."
"Exactly. Bonus celebration." He tilts his glass to mine. "To forever Fridays!"
I smile and clink my glass to his. "Forever Friday's!"
I take a sip, unable to stop the smile on my lips and the pounding of my heart. Imagine a forever Friday, where the happiness and joy I feel when I'm around this goofball is forever.
I stand and just watch him move around the cabin. He's still in his damp shirt from the falls, hair sticking up at odd angles, and still… he's never looked more beautiful.
"Try on the robe with me," he says, nodding toward the dresser.
"Now?"
"Yeah. I wanna see if they're as soft as they look."
I set down my glass and slip out of his flannel, then my damp shirt and jeans, until I'm standing in just my bra and underwear. His gaze goes molten hot, tracking every movement as I shrug into the robe.
It's like being wrapped in a fluffy cloud.
"Oh my god." I close my eyes, sinking into the fabric. "Now, I know luxury because I've lived it my entire life. But this…Thisis obscene."
"Good obscene or bad obscene?"
"The kind that makes me want to steal it."
He laughs and strips down to his boxer briefs, pulling on the second robe. Then he's behind me, tucking me into his side, both of us facing the window as the sky bleeds a gorgeous sunset.
"Look at us," he murmurs. "Matching robes and everything. Very domestic."
"Verytemporary," I correct, but my voice lacks conviction.
He reaches for one of the strawberries, bringing it to my lips. I bite down, the sweetness exploding on my tongue, and then he's kissing me, tasting the chocolate and fruit and champagne all mixed together.
A soft knock at the door interrupts us, and when Chase opens the door, a tray has appeared as if summoned by magic.
Chase looks down the walkway, but there is no one to be seen. Just a stunning assortment of tiny canapés, local cheeses, little jars of jam that Chase places on the small kitchen island.
We start to relax, graze the food and sip the wine. We laugh, and over the next hour, I let myself sink into the fantasy that this is my life. That I get to do this every weekend. That Friday'sareforever and Sunday doesn't exist.
Another knock eventually comes at the door, softer this time.
"That'll be Lina," Chase says, squeezing my fingers. "The massage therapist. But we can cancel if you want. No pressure."
