Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Piper
I sit across from Chase in our usual booth at The Bear Paw, waiting for my breakfast while guilt eats me alive.
Last night was perfect. This morning's hike down was perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
I woke at dawn to find Chase already awake, staring at the sunrise with that far-off look I've learned means he's overthinking.
When I asked what was wrong, he just kissed my forehead and said, 'Nothing. Just memorizing this moment.'
On the hike down, I tried to bring up next weekend and the Harvest Dance—testing the waters on how bad he wants me there—but he went quiet and pivoted to trail maintenance talk.
I should've pushed.
Because now, we're sitting in the same perfect booth, ordering from the same menu, the fairy lights twinkling over my head like I'm not about to go and ruin everything by telling him I can't come next weekend.
Betty slides two plates across the table—French toast for me, drowning in rivers of maple syrup with fresh strawberries arranged like tiny hearts. Scrambled eggs for Chase, fluffy as clouds and studded with chives.
And of course, to go with today's theme, the bacon is perfect.
Crispy-edged and glistening to go with the fresh-squeezed orange juice Betty's served in mason jars.
"Eat up, sweetheart." Betty pats my shoulder, her flour-dusted apron smelling of cinnamon. "Chase, make sure she finishes every bite."
"Yes, ma'am." His voice is as flat as I feel this morning.
Polite. Wrong.
Didn't we just share a magical night under the stars?
Take me back there, please!
Betty's eyes narrow, flicking between us, reading the tension like she's decoding a foreign language. She opens her mouth, then closes it again, bustling away with a worried glance over her shoulder.
Chase cuts his eggs, not looking at me as I pick my fork up and try to eat something.
The French toast that looked like heaven thirty seconds ago now sits on my plate like an accusation, those strawberry hearts mocking me with their cheerful arrangement.
I force myself to take a bite.
This is torture.
Sweet, syrupy, absolutely delicious torture. And not the fun kind we had under the stars last night when his hands were in my hair and his mouth was doing things that should be illegal in a national park.
No, this is the kind where every chew feels like a betrayal, where the silence stretches between us like the miles I'm about to put there when I tell him I can't come back.
Just say it, Piper. Rip off the Band-Aid.
But my throat closes around the words, trapping them somewhere between my heart and my stupidly full mouth.
"The French toast is amazing," I try, forcing brightness into my voice. "You should taste it."
"I'm good."
"Chase—"
"Your flight's in two hours." He finally looks up, and those hazel eyes that usually light up when they see me are dim. Guarded. "We should leave by nine. Weekend traffic on the mountain road can be unpredictable."
Traffic. We're talking about traffic?
Not once since I've been visiting have we ever ventured into talking about traffic.
I swallow hard and stab a strawberry. It bleeds juice across my plate, mixing with the syrup until everything looks like a crime scene.
Last night under the stars, I felt infinite. Safe in his arms. Home with the words he muttered as we had sex beneath the stars.
This morning, I feel like I'm drowning. What's changed?!
"Next Friday," I start, and my voice cracks. "I was thinking maybe we could—"
"Piper." He sets his fork down with a clatter. "Can I ask you something?"
My heart stops. "Of course."
"Are you happy?"
My brow furrows. "What?"
"In Chicago. At your job. In your life." He's not looking at me now, he's just studying his coffee like it holds the answers he suddenly seeks. "Are you happy?"
No. The truth sits on my tongue, desperate to escape. I'm miserable. I hate the apartment I didn't choose, and my job, and my 'perfect' life that isn't mine at all. The only time I feel like I can breathe is here, with you, and I'm terrified that if I admit that out loud, it'll disappear.
"I—" I start, but Betty appears with a coffee refill.
"More cream, honey?"
"No, thank you." I wait until she leaves. "Chase, I—"
"Because you seem happy here." He's still not looking at me. God! What is with him this morning?! "You laugh more. You're... I don't know. Lighter."
"I am happy here," I whisper. "Chase, we've talked about this."
"Happy… but not enough to stay."
"It's not that simple—"
"It actually is." Now he looks at me, and the hurt in his eyes makes me want to crawl under the table. "Because the way I see it, you either want to be here, or you don't. You either choose this—" He gestures between us. "—or you choose Chicago."
I stare at him, my throat tight.
"That's not fair." My voice rises, and Etta and Mabel glance over from their corner table. "And you know it."
We sat in this exact spot weeks ago, drawing hearts on a napkin while Betty watched like she's seen this all before. Weekends Only. No Strings. No Feelings.
Chase had signed it with a flourish, adding little hearts like it was all a joke.
This wasn't part of the rules, and he knows it.
But then again, last night wasn't either. The fire, the stars, the sex.
None of that was casual. None of that was friends-with-benefits.
The whole arrangement has been a lie from the start. A safety net we pretended would catch us when the fall came. Except we've already fallen, and the net dissolved somewhere between the compass bookmark and one amazing night sleeping in the mountains.
"Chase, please. Don't do this. Not today." My voice comes out small, and I hate how desperate I sound. "Can we just... can we go back to how things were an hour ago? When we were laughing on the way down the mountain? What happened?"
"An hour ago, I was pretending this didn't matter. That you flying back to Chicago every Sunday didn't feel like watching you choose a life that doesn't include me."
"That's not—"
"Isn't it?" He leans forward, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've got one foot out the door every weekend. Like you're just... visiting. Playing mountain girl until real life calls you home."
"You knew what this was when we started."
But the accusation still stings because there's truth in it. Truth I've been trying to ignore.
"Yeah, I did." His laugh is bitter, nothing like the warm sound I've grown addicted to. "Friends with benefits, right? That's what you wanted. Except somewhere between teaching you to live and opening up my world for you, I forgot to protect my own damn heart."
My throat closes up. "Chase..."
"And the really pathetic part?" He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in ways that shouldn't be adorable right now.
"I keep thinking if I'm just good enough, patient enough, enough enough, maybe you'll realize what we have here is worth more than whatever's waiting for you in Chicago. "
"But you know I have responsibilities!" My voice catches the attention of the entire café. "My job. My family—"
"Your family who treats you like a show pony?" The anger flashes across his eyes. "Your mother who calls you to make sure you're attending galas instead of asking if you're okay?"
I freeze at that line. "Wh-when did my mother call you?"
His jaw tightens and he looks out the window, chewing the inside of his cheek.
"Friday. At the cook-off. You left your phone, and she called. I accidentally answered thinking it was mine."
I swallow hard. "What did she say?"
"Does it matter?" He pushes his plate away, eggs half-eaten. Betty humphs and crosses her arms over her chest behind the counter. "She made it pretty clear what she thinks of me. Of this. Of us."
Oh God. "Chase—"
"She said you have plans next Saturday. Some gala." His eyes meet mine, and they're full of quiet devastation. "Tell me, Piper. Were you going to tell me? Or were you just going to text Friday morning with some excuse about work?"
The two bites of French toast now sits heavy in my stomach. "I was going to tell you—"
"When?"
"Today. Now. I just—" I reach for his hand, but he pulls back. "I didn't know how!"
"How about 'Chase, I can't make it next weekend because my mother expects me to play dress-up at a charity event'?" His voice is bitter. "That would've been a start."
Tears prick my eyes. "You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me." He leans forward, desperate now. "Make me understand why you keep choosing a life that makes you miserable over one that makes you happy."
Because I'm a coward. The truth burns in my throat. Because I've spent twenty-nine years being the perfect daughter, and I don't know how to be anything else.
"I can't just—" My voice breaks. "I can't just walk away from everything. My mother has expectations. The gala is for the Whitman Foundation, it's important, I'm expected to—"
"Be perfect." He finishes, and it sounds like a curse. "I know. God, Piper, I know. But when are you going to stop living for their approval and start living for yourself?"
"I'm trying," I whisper.
He stands abruptly, tossing bills on the table. "Well, from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're just... visiting. Like Stone River is your vacation from real life, and I'm your—" He stops, swallows hard. "I'm your weekend entertainment."
"That's not true—"
He grabs his jacket and moves for the door. "Come on. You'll miss your flight."
The drive to the airport is silent, all except for the radio playing some country song about lost love that feels deliberately cruel right now. I stare out the window, watching Stone River disappear behind us, and I've never hated myself more.
I could skip the gala. Just choose him. Why aren't I choosing him right now?
But I can't. Because choosing Chase means disappointing Mom. Means facing her cold fury and my father's disapproval. It means admitting that I want a different life than the one they've carefully constructed for me.