Page 17 of Alice & Meg: Summer Vacation (Fallen Lords MC & Devil’s Knights MC Crossover)

Meg

I woke up to the quiet of the motel, with the sunlight barely streaming through the slats in the blinds. My stomach grumbled in protest of its emptiness, and I rolled over, smacking Lo on the chest. “Get up,”

I whispered.

“Paul Bunyan’s awaits.”

He groaned, rubbing his face.

“Babe, five more minutes.”

“You’ve got five seconds before I start singing show tunes.”

That got him moving.

Downstairs, the whole group was buzzing with energy. Greta was already bouncing in her flip-flops, chattering with Adley. Alice and Wendy were drinking coffee out of mismatched mugs, laughing over something Raven had said. It was , the second-to-last full day of our vacation, and we weren’t wasting a second of it.

Everyone loaded up, and we headed out. Paul Bunyan’s Cook Shanty wasn’t far, but the roads were alive this morning. The Falls had a buzz to it in the summer that nothing else could match.

We pulled up to the gravel lot, and it was, of course, packed. Cars everywhere, families piling out in bright clothes and floppy hats. But somehow, miracle of miracles, we only had to wait five minutes before they called our name.

Inside, the place was a time warp. Heavy timber beams stretched across the ceiling, with old saws, lanterns, and cast iron pans hanging along the walls. Red-and-white checkered tablecloths, pine log booths, and the smell of bacon thick in the air. Giant wooden cutouts of Paul and Babe smiled down at us like we were part of their logging crew.

They seated us at one long table in the middle of the dining room. Fifteen people meant elbows bumping, menus overlapping, and more chaos than any one server should have to deal with.

“I want one of everything,”

Greta announced and opened her menu wide.

“Because I’ve got my own lumberjack that needs to be fed.”

Bear just grinned and kissed her cheek.

I chuckled and unfolded the menu. I’d been to Bunyan’s before, and it was hands-down my favorite breakfast spot in the Falls. The pancakes were bigger than your head, the French toast came with a cinnamon glaze that could make you see stars, and the sausage links were thick enough to count as a meal all their own.

Our waitress, Christy, came over with a cheerful smile and an impressively large notepad.

“Morning, folks! Who’s ready to eat like a lumberjack?”

We all raised our hands like we were kids in a classroom.

Christy started with Greta, who ordered the Lumberjack Platter and a coffee black enough to peel paint. Bear matched her order. Alice got blueberry pancakes and eggs over easy. Adley went for strawberry French toast. Wendy ordered Canyon Camp Oatmeal with cinnamon apples and raisins.

I ordered the pancake stack with a side of sausage, scrambled eggs, and extra syrup. Lo grunted something about getting “whatever she’s having,”

and the rest of the table chimed in with variations of the same.

“We’re gonna need a forklift to bring all this food out,”

Clash joked.

As Christy disappeared with our order, we started talking about the day ahead.

“Can you believe we only have today and tomorrow left?”

Alice asked.

“It flew by,”

Reva said and stirred her coffee.

“Feels like we just got here.”

“What do you guys want to do today?”

I asked.

“I was thinking either the magic show or Mt. Olympus.”

Greta’s eyes lit up.

“Rides. Rides and slides. I want to scream until I lose my voice.”

“I can make you scream, baby. We don’t need a roller coaster to make that happen,”

Bear teased.

“Shut up,”

she said with a smirk.

Alice nodded.

“I’m down for Mt. Olympus.”

Adley, Hero, and Reva all agreed.

“Show for me,”

said Raven.

“I’m not trying to break my neck.”

The votes split nearly evenly.

“Alright,”

I said.

“Split it is. Wrecker, you good going with Alice?”

He nodded.

“No one else can handle her.”

“You’re not wrong,”

she said with a wink.

That’s when Christy returned, arms loaded with plates. Behind her came two more servers, each carrying trays full of golden-brown everything.

The table was covered with dishes stacked sky-high, eggs dripping with cheese, bacon curled like ribbons, and fruit piled like artwork. Everyone started digging in, passing plates, and stealing bites. We had each ordered our own meals, but we wanted to try everything.

“Try this,”

I said and slid a forkful of my pancakes toward Alice.

She took the bite and moaned.

“Holy crap. This could end wars.”

“You’ve gotta try this cinnamon glaze,”

Raven said, handing over her French toast.

“Gimme one of those sausage links,”

Clash said, reaching across Lo.

There was no such thing as personal space or separate meals, just one long, loud, shared breakfast.

When we were so full we couldn’t move, we finally paid the bill. As we rolled out of the restaurant, everyone groaned about needing a nap, and I tugged them toward the Paul Bunyan statue.

“Photo time! Get over here!”

We all lined up—me, Alice, Greta, Cyn, Adley, Wendy, Raven, and Reva—posing in front of Paul and Babe the Blue Ox. Lo took the picture, and we all cheered when he managed to get one where all of our eyes were open.

“Alright,”

I said.

“You youngins’ head to the amusement park, and we’ll go check out the magic show.”

We split, ready to see what the day had in store for us.

Two more days. We were going to make the most of every second.

Alice

I was not young.

Not by a long shot.

Neither was Wrecker. And I didn’t know what I had been thinking when I said I wanted to come ride the roller coasters and all the other gravity-defying contraptions the younger crowd still found thrilling. My adventurous spirit hadn’t quite aligned with the reality of my aging body. As a result, Wrecker and I had spent the last hour with our butts parked on a sun-warmed bench at Mt. Olympus, watching the kids scream themselves hoarse from a distance.

Reva, Hero, Greta, Bear, and Adley had bolted for some rickety old wooden roller coaster the second we got through the gate, leaving Wrecker and me behind with nothing but a half-empty water bottle and each other’s company.

“I fear I may have made a mistake,”

I confessed and leaned against Wrecker’s side with a groan.

He chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating against my cheek as he pulled me in tighter.

“Getting old, babe?”

I sighed.

“I prefer to think of it as selectively energetic.”

Wrecker’s hand came to rest on my knee, his thumb rubbeing slow circles.

“We may be getting older, but we still know how to have a good time. We just have to pace ourselves.”

I looked up at him with a smirk.

“You mean nap and snack our way through the day?”

“Damn right.”

Right then, someone walked past us carrying a funnel cake the size of a hubcap, with powdered sugar dusting the air behind them like a sugary snowstorm. My stomach perked up, interested.

And then another scent drifted by, warm and buttery, like popcorn. A hint of chocolate. Maybe cinnamon, too.

I looked at Wrecker. He looked at me.

“We may not be able to hang with the youngins on the rides,”

I said slowly, “but I can totally throw down with some popcorn, funnel cake, and milkshakes.”

Wrecker stood and held out his hand.

“Let’s do Mt. Olympus our way, babe.”

He hauled me up and wrapped an arm around my waist as we wandered off in the direction of that divine scent trail. Abandoning roller coasters for fried dough and ice cream seemed like the best idea. Honestly, it felt like the most adult decision I’d made all week.