Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Chase
The bell above Bear Paw Café jingles like it's happy to finally see me with a woman.
And holy hell… not just any woman. Piper Whitman.
She moves ahead of me, shoulders squared beneath that absurdly expensive coat, her spine rigid as if bracing for combat rather than Betty's world-famous blueberry pancakes.
The door closes behind me, and I pause to take in the smell of sizzling bacon and maple syrup. Yet all I get is the smell of last night.
Her vanilla shampoo. Her soft warm skin.
All of it now tangled with the woodsy scent of my flannel shirt peeking out beneath her collar. Proof that the memory of her moaning my name against the wall wasn’t some lonely fantasy conjured by too much whiskey.
Christ, did that really happen?
I’ve had one-night stands before, but they never stayed for breakfast. Never lingered long enough for sunlight to catch the gold in their hair, or for me to notice the nervous flutter in their throat when they commence their walk of shame away from my apartment.
It's odd, because…
Good things don’t stick to guys like me. The military washout. The kid whose mom sent one lousy postcard from Berlin, just ‘Hope you’re well’ scribbled above a generic skyline, before vanishing like I was a mistake she’d packed away with her winter coats.
I've learned that too good never lasts… so I know how this ends. With whispered apologies and taillights disappearing down the mountain road.
"Morning, Betty!" I call out over the clatter of plates and the hiss of the espresso machine. I help Piper out of her coat and swallow the lump in my throat when she smoothes my shirt over her perfect curves.
Betty Simmons appears like the town's resident fairy godmother, her silver curls pinned back with a pencil, flour dusting her apron like she's been here all night.
Her eyes land on Piper, then me, then back to Piper's borrowed flannel.
"Well now," she says, wiping her hands on her apron. A slow, knowing smile spreads across her rosy cheeks. "Looks like someone found her way up the fire escape after all."
Piper's cheeks start to glow. "I—it's not—"
"Window booth's free," Betty interrupts, already steering us through the maze of mismatched tables. "Best view for the newly…"
Betty looks at me with a question on her lips.
"Acquainted," I say, glancing at Piper who looks mortified.
Betty chuckles and shakes her head. "Well, alright. I'll get you two some drinks to toast to new... friendships."
Piper’s fingers brush mine as we slide into the booth. My heart skips, the warmth of her touch more comforting than any cup of coffee.
But there's no time to dwell on what all of this is, what it might mean. Because Etta and Mabel, Stone River gossip queens, materialize beside our booth before we even settle in.
Etta peers over her cat-eye glasses, sharp as a hawk spotting prey. Mabel clutches a Tupperware container like a security blanket, her sweet face radiating innocent curiosity that's about as genuine as a three-dollar bill.
"Morning, ladies," I say, nudging Piper to scoot along.
"We were just discussing the special," Etta announces, leaning her elbows on the edge of her table. "I heard Betty's making heart-shaped pancakes today."
"For luck," Mabel adds, nodding earnestly. "They're scientifically proven to increase romantic outcomes by at least…" She glances at Etta.
"Fifty percent," Etta finishes smoothly. "Minimum."
Piper stares at them, her blue eyes wide. "Is that an actual statistic?"
"Stone River Mountain bylaws, dear," Etta says, reaching across to pat Piper's hand. "Section four, subsection romance. Amended last night."
Before Piper can process that, Betty slides two steaming mugs of hot chocolate onto our table.
"Thanks Betty," I groan, rubbing my hands together gleefully. Piper laughs at my excitement but I shrug it off. "Shut up. It's the best damn hot chocolate in the world. You'll see."
Mountains of whipped cream tower over the rims, dusted with chocolate sprinkles and crowned with a single, perfect peppermint stick. It's the kind of decadence that can only be found at Bear Paw Café.
"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.
"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 not my first choice in career, but yeah. That's what I am."
Not her first 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.