Page 8 of Broken on the Mountain
"I've been around too," she admits. "When I was a kid, we were always traveling, always on the move. At least now I'm settled. For work, mostly."
I arch an eyebrow. "And what's 'work' for you, Whitman? International spy? Diamond smuggler?"
She laughs, a delightful sound that makes my heart speed up. "Not quite. I'm a... a nurse."
"A nurse?" I repeat, surprised. "Really?"
She nods, her gaze dropping to her half-eaten pancakes. "Yeah. Perhaps notmyfirst choice in career, but yeah. That's what I am."
Notherfirst choice? Who's choice was it? Doesn't everyone get to choose what they do with their own life?
Hmmm. There's a story there. But for now, I don't push.
Instead, I let the silence stretch between us until under the table, her knee bumps mine. Her gaze flicks to mine, suddenly serious beneath the playful morning-after haze.
"So… should we talk about… you know… about last night."
"You're going to finally let me brag about the best night of my life?" I say around a mouthful of pancake. "Don't worry. You were top five, easily. Maybe even top three."
She backheels my knee this time. "Chase. The fire escape thing was… impulsive. It was fun. But I’m flying back to Chicago in less than two days."
I swallow, the pancake suddenly tasting like sawdust. "Right. Chicago."
Piper dodges my eyes. "Exactly. And you live here… in a town where apparently breakfast comes with relationship clauses."
Her words feel like a door closing too soon. "So what are you saying?"
Her fork traces the edge of her pancake heart. "I’m saying, maybe—"
"You want to see me again, don't you?"
I lean in, my smile turning mischievous. "Admit it, Whitman. You climbed this mountain man for a reason."
Her cheeks flush, and she narrows her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Morrison."
"Oh, I'm not. I just happen to have an impeccable memory," I say, mimicking her voice. "Chase Morrison, you are a delicious specimen of American masculinity."
She buries her face in her hands, groaning. "Ohmygod!I did not say that!"
I grin wider. "Want me to re-enact the rotor skills demonstration again?"
Her eyes dart up. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," I challenge, loving the way she blushes deeper.
"Stop it." She huffs a breath and folds her arms across her chest. "All I'm saying is… it was fun. And fun is good. But if we want tokeephaving fun, we need rules."
The air rushes out of my lungs. Rules. Boundaries. The words people use when they want to keep you at a safe distance.
Yeah. I know the script. I’ve lived it my whole life.
I lean back against the cracked vinyl booth, forcing my posture into something resembling relaxed. "I'm listening. Lay it on me, Chicago."
She fishes a pen out of her designer purse and grabs a clean napkin.
"Okay," she says, drawing a firm line across the top. "Last night was fun. So I'm proposing… Friends with benefits… but with rules!"
"Oooo… rules…Sexy,"I drawl sarcastically.
