Page 87 of Wrecked on the Mountain

I pocket my phone, but not before she catches a glimpse of the resort website.

"Can't a man research weekend activities for his girlfriend's visit?"

"Piper's visit," she corrects. "Activities for Piper, not activities for me."

I grin, because she knows me too well already and somehow that doesn't scare me the way it should.

"Actually..." I loop an arm around her waist and pull her closer. "I was thinking…wecould use a getaway before she arrives."

Brooke's eyebrows shoot up. "A getaway? Jamie, we literally live in paradise. Where exactly would we go that's better than here?"

I steer her toward the bench with a stunning view of the entire valley, the one where tourists always stop to take selfies with the mountain range spread out like a postcard behind them.

"Sit," I say, pulling up the resort website on my phone. "And prepare to be impressed by my romantic planning skills."

She settles beside me, close enough that I can smell her vanilla perfume mixing with the lingering scent of Chloe's bakery on her clothes.

"Cascade Mountain Resort," I say, angling the phone so she can see the screen from the glare of the sun. "Private spa suites. Massages. Five-course dinners overlooking the valley. Hot springs under the stars."

The photos scroll past and I watch her melt. Luxury cabins with floor-to-ceiling windows, that expensive infinity pool that basically drops off into the mountains, spa treatments that look like something out of a Hollywood romcom.

"Jamie..." Brooke's voice goes soft. "This looks incredible. But it must cost—"

"Don't worry about the cost."

"I can't let you—"

"Yes, you can." I turn to face her fully, tucking a wisp of silky hair behind her ear. "Brooke, I want to do this. For us. Beforeyour friend gets here and we're sharing you with someone else for the first time."

Something flickers across my face and I can't quite school it quick enough for her not to notice.

"You're nervous about Piper visiting."

It's not a question. And she looks pretty chuffed with herself right now for figuring it out.

I consider denying it, but what's the point? She sees right through me anyway.

"Fine. Maybe a little," I admit. "She's your best friend. Your connection to Chicago. What if she takes one look at this place and reminds you what you're missing back home?"

Brooke's hand finds mine and she squeezes them tight.

"Jamie Striker," she says, lifting my chin with her finger. "You think I don't know what I have here?"

"I think you're brilliant and accomplished and could have anything you want anywhere in the world."

"Right now, all you need to know, is that… I want you," she says simply. "I want this. In this exact moment. I want Sunday dinners with your family and watching the sunrise from your mountain deck."

I study her face, looking for any hint of uncertainty. All I find is that steady warmth that's been healing parts of me ever since she arrived.

"Okay. I'll stop being stupid."

"Good. So…" she says, bumping my shoulder with hers. "Tell me more about this romantic getaway you're planning?"

I stand and offer her my hand, pulling her up from the bench.

"I think you're gonna love it…"

As we start walking toward Mom's flower shop, the afternoon sun warming our backs, I launch into the details I've been researching all morning.