Chapter 2 #2
"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 to keep having 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.
"Rule one," Piper announces, ignoring me completely. "Weekends Only."
"For clarification purposes," I interrupt, pointing my fork at her, "is that Chicago time? Or Stone River time? Because time zones matter, Whitman."
She stares at me with a reluctant smile tugging at her mouth.
"Stone River time. So Monday through Friday, you do…" She waves a hand vaguely in my direction. "Mountain man hero things. I do nurse things back in Chicago."
"Got it." I nod gravely. "Hero things. Saving kittens from trees. Resolving bar fights. The usual."
Her smile widens, warming me more than the hot chocolate. "Exactly. Rule two: No strings." She writes it with a decisive flourish. Then pauses, her pen hovering. "Except honesty," she adds, softer now. "No ghosting. That's just cruel. If it stops being fun, we say so."
The casualness of her words lands like a punch. Once again, it's 'No strings. Temporary. Disposable.'
But this woman is too goddamn beautiful to pass up a chance at changing all of that.
"Deal," I say, holding my nerve. "No ghosting, Chicago."
Even when you realize I'm not enough.
She writes 'HONESTY' in all caps and underlines it twice.
"Rule three: Keep it fun and low drama. There’s enough of that in my life already." She taps the pen against the napkin. "Consider this just… recreational cardio."
A bark of laughter escapes me. "Recreational cardio? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
"As a matter of fact, yes."
"Fine. Rule four," I counter, leaning in. Her perfume wraps around me, spurring me on. "Public flirting permitted."
"Agreed. And lastly, rule five," Piper adds, pen hovering. "No catching feelings. This is purely physical."
"Wouldn’t dream of it, Chicago."
Lie. The biggest lie I’ve told since I said ‘I’m fine’ after Mom’s postcard.
Piper chuckles and slides the napkin toward me. "Perfect. Sign here, Mountain Man."
I take the pen and scribble my name with a flourish. Before handing it back, I hover the pen over the dot on the 'i' in her signature. Piper Whitman.
I turn the two dots into a tiny cute hearts and slide the napkin back.
She doesn't say anything, just stares at the hearts until a sudden crash shatters the moment.
Over by the kitchen door, the teenager Betty hired last week juggles a wobbling tower of dirty plates. They teeter, gravity winning the battle until I’m out of the booth without thinking.
"Whoa there, Sam," I say, easily taking half the load from his trembling arms. "Need a hand?"
My hand shoots out, steadying the top plates just before the whole stack avalanches onto the floor.
The poor kid blushes as the entire café watches on. "Thanks, Chase. Slippery fingers."
"No problem." I dump the plates onto the wait station counter. "Try balancing them like this next time."
I quickly rearrange the remaining stack into a more stable formation, removing the forks and spoons layered between the plates and putting everything off balance.
"Center the heaviest plates, light stuff on top. Build a solid base."
Sam nods, eyes wide with gratitude. "Got it. Solid base. Thanks man."
I clap him on the shoulder. "You got this."
Turning back to our booth, I catch Piper watching me. There’s a strange expression on her face—part surprise, part something softer. Warmer.
"You just… do that?" she asks quietly as I slide back in beside her, our thighs bumping again. "Leap up and save the day?"
"Only when Betty's precious plates are involved," I joke, grabbing my cooling pancake. "Or kittens in trees. Or damsels climbing fire escapes. I'm telling ya, occupational hazards are everywhere these days."
She doesn't laugh. Just studies me with that unnerving intensity. "Well… you’re good at it. Taking care of things."
The compliment lands like sunshine on my skin.
"Someone’s gotta do it."
She traces the edge of our newly signed napkin-contract. "Etta just mentioned the trail conditions are good today. And something about a wine tasting at the bookshop?"
My head snaps up, the hope escaping from my chest. "You want to play tourist? With me?"
"Why not?" She takes a delicate sip of hot chocolate, leaving another perfect little whipped cream mustache on her lip. "We've got a contract now. Recreational cardio clause starts immediately, right?"
Before I can reply, before I can even process the sheer, giddy relief that she’s not bolting for the hills, Betty slams a Polaroid camera down on our table. It’s the old-school kind, bulky and loud.
"Wall of Sweethearts needs an update," she declares, gesturing to a string of fairy lights pinned with dozens of slightly blurry Polaroids of grinning couples. "Come on you two. Smile pretty for the discount."
Piper groans and rolls her eyes. "Betty, we are not sweethearts—"
"Couples discount, remember?" I nudge her shoulder with mine.
She rolls her eyes, already scooting out of the booth. "Fine. But if this ends up on some Stone River Mountain romance blog, I'm suing."
We stand by the big front window, morning light streaming in. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She fits against my side like she was designed for it, soft and warm beneath the borrowed flannel.
"Closer!" Etta shouts from her table. "Oh, come on! Grab her ass, Morrison!"
"Etta!" Mabel hisses, swatting her friend's arm.
Piper bursts out laughing and I grin down at her, unable to help myself.
Yes. God, yes. Last night really did happen.
The camera flashes before I look up and the Polaroid spits out the picture. Betty snatches it, waving it like a trophy.
"Adorable. Could be the cutest one yet!"
Piper peers at the developing image as Betty pins it proudly beside a photo of Jamie and Brooke looking similarly flustered and happy.
In the picture, Piper’s head is tipped back mid-laugh, her eyes crinkled. My arm is tight around her waist, my grin wide enough to crack my face.
We look… happy. Like we're together.
Like one of those couples on brochures for places I’ve never belonged.
Piper turns to me, her expression shifting back to something more guarded, more Piper.
"Okay, Golden Boy," she says, tapping the napkin contract in her pocket. "Rules are real. Weekends Only. Fun only."
I shove the dangerous hope back into its box and lock it tight.
"Copy that," I say, forcing lightness into my voice. My hand finds hers, lacing our fingers together. "I can do fun."
As we move to the door and hit the chilly morning air, Piper shivers despite the huge city-girl coat wrapped around her.
I shrug my own jacket off but Piper stops me.
"Don't," she protests. "You'll freeze."
"Nah," I say, wrapping it around her. "Hero things, remember?"
"Thanks." She smiles up at me and my damn heart skips a beat.
I clear my throat. "Now wait here… I'll grab hot chocolates for the road."
Betty's already at the door with to-go cups. "Saw you coming, Romeo!"
She hands me the cups and when I turn back, Piper's staring at the empty gummy packet in her palm. She slips it into her pocket like some kind of treasure.
Hope, that traitorous bastard, flickers in my chest.