Page 7 of Broken on the Mountain
"And just for that, they're now on the house," Betty says, winking at me.
Piper takes a careful sip, leaving a tiny smear of whipped cream on her upper lip. I want to lick it off. I want to do a lot of things. Preferably right here in this booth.
Betty leans closer to me, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that carries perfectly to Piper's ears.
"Remember, Mr. Morrison, there is a couples discount." She straightens up, beaming. "But only if there's kissing." She shrugs at Piper's stunned expression. "I don't make the rules, dear… I just invent them."
"I swear this town runs on peer pressure." Piper sets her mug down carefully, licking the cream from her lip. "And carbs. Lots of carbs."
"And somehow," I murmur, leaning close, "you make both look good, Chicago."
A flush blooms across her cheekbones, the same delicate pink as the wildflowers that pepper the mountain trails in spring. My chest tightens, because I want to bottle that color and keep it safe forever.
Which is ridiculous.
She’s a Chicago princess visiting her friend for a weekend, and I’m the guy who still gets excited when his sister sends him German gummy bears because it’s the only real family connection he’s got left.
Not exactly a match made in heaven. More like a collision course.
While Piper’s distracted by Betty’s retreating back, I palm one of the mini packets of gummy bears from my pocket and slide it onto her saucer.
Piper's big beautiful eyes glance down, then move back up at me, one perfect eyebrow arched.
"What are these? Bear Paw currency?"
"I always carry a pack. Emergency rations," I say with a smile. "For when the pine trees try to stage a coup."
She tears the packet open, her French-tipped nails flashing. Watching her eat a red gummy bear shouldn't be erotic, but fuck me, it is.
The heart-shaped pancakes arrive before I can spiral further. Betty sets the plates down and we both lean over big golden-brown heart pancakes, crisp at the edges, swimming in a deep purple berry compote that glistens like jewels. Powdered sugar drifts over them like freshly fallen snow.
"Wow," Piper breathes, picking up her fork. "This is…"
"Breakfast porn?" I offer, grinning when she nearly drops her fork. "Go on, Whitman. Get dirty with it."
She takes a careful bite, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. A tiny moan escapes and the sound shoots straight to my groin. "Oh my god. That’s…good."
"Told you." I spear my own huge bite, berry sauce dripping down my hand. "I said the day I moved here that Betty’s pancakes could broker world peace."
Piper hums around another mouthful. "Oh. You haven't lived here your whole life?"
"Nope," I say, my eyes never straying from Piper's now berry-stained lips.Fuck she's sexy even when she eats."Didn't grow up here."
"Really?" She looks genuinely surprised. "But you seem like such a... mountain man."
I chuckle and stroke my poor attempt at growing a beard. "Is that so, Chicago?"
She laughs, hiding her smile behind her coffee mug. "Well, you're tall, rugged, and you work in mountain rescue. That's pretty manly."
"Fair point." I twirl my fork around the remains of my pancakes. "I moved here two years ago. Before that, I was… everywhere."
"Everywhere?"
"Yeah. Just sort of… floating around." I shrug, my fingers tracing the rim of my coffee mug.
It's one of those moments where I wish I had a more glamorous backstory. Something about saving orphans from burning buildings in Afghanistan, or getting a medal for bravery.
But my past is far less heroic than I wanted it to be when I set my heart on being a war hero.
