Page 58 of Broken on the Mountain
Flaky croissants, little pots of raspberry jam and honey, fresh berries flushing bright colors beside a French press of coffee so good it makes the station brew taste like dirty snow.
I'm staring like a creeper, trying to commit every detail of Piper to memory.
How she tucks her feet under my thigh for warmth. The small sound she makes when she finds a particularly good bite. Her tongue licking every crumb of that sexy bottom lip.
Because in four hours, she'll be thirty thousand feet in the air, and I'll be back in my apartment trying to remember how I survived weekends before she crashed into my life wearing designer heels and zero survival skills.
A knock interrupts my spiral.
"If that's housekeeping, tell them we're not done yet," Piper says through a mouthful of pastry.
I open the door to find Brooke and Jamie, both looking annoyingly well-rested and smug.
"Morning, lovebirds." Brooke breezes past me without asking.
"Sure, come in," I say sarcastically, shaking hands with Jamie as he shakes his head at his new girlfriend.
Brooke pulls up a seat beside Piper. "We're here to steal pastries and judge your life choices."
Jamie follows with that smirk that usually makes me want to tackle him into a snowbank. "Woman's right. You two have been radio silent since Friday night. I was starting to think Morrison got eaten by a bear."
"The only thing getting eaten—" Piper starts.
"Nope." Brooke holds up a hand. "You know my rules. It's too early. I need coffee before sex jokes."
Piper grins and throws a blueberry in her mouth.
"So." Brooke spreads raspberry jam on a croissant with her doctorly touch—perfectly even application and no bare edges."Babe, blink twice if you were kidnapped by a mountain grump this weekend."
"We were… detained," Piper says, dodging my eyes.
Jamie studies me over the rim of the mug of coffee he's helped himself to. "You've both got that post-Fox-Hollow glow. And yet… you're weirdly quiet."
I shrug, reaching for more coffee. "Saving my voice for when I kick your ass at darts later."
"Psychological translation," Brooke announces, "he's not ready for Sunday drop-off."
Fuck.
The words land like a stone in my chest.
Because she's right.
I'mnotready. Last night I told Piper things I've never said out loud. About Mom leaving, about feeling like I wasn't enough to make her stay, about Lily's gummy bears being the only thread connecting me to a family that chose an entirely different continent over me.
I woke up this morning feeling soft and raw, but weirdlygoodabout it.
Like maybe telling someone doesn't make you weak… it just makes you known.
But now it's Sunday, and that old bruise is right at skin level where the day can squeeze it. Squeeze ithard.
Another knock saves me from having to respond.
Nora reappears with her clipboard and that serene smile.
"Just collecting keys, but please, don't rush." She sets a wicker basket on the table, packed with snacks. I see a bunch of fancy granola bars, bottled spring water, those little cheese and cracker things that cost eight dollars at the airport. "And dropping off a little something for the road. For a smooth trip home," she adds, smiling at Piper.
The wordhomehits different when it means Chicago instead of here.
