Mont Blanc Recipe Novels & Stories

Fights would likely spill over onto what was once neutral ground. Gabe and I chatted as I prepared his usual order, The Mountain man breakfast, it consisted of bacon, eggs, sausage, ham, toast, home fries, and three pancakes. He had never finished it all in one sitting but had come close. He was always up for the challenge, as the victors got their meal free. I had consumed it all before easily, as my wolf’s appetite could be ravenous. But I did not put my picture up next to those brave souls who had conquered it over the years.

I was probably the only one who hadn’t gotten drunk last night—well, maybe Madame Blanchet too, though her Medusa wig had been slightly crooked by the end of the night. It had been… interesting to meet her. There was something about her—her voice, her eyes—that tugged at something faint and unplaceable in my memory. Why did she feel so familiar? Trying not to dwell on it, I tiptoed to the kitchen and got to work making my legendary hangover-cure breakfast: scrambled eggs with herbed goat cheese, crispy rosemary potatoes, thick sourdough toast, and my signature freshly-pressed green juice with ginger, lime, celery, and cucumber.

I leaned back, closing my eyes to savor it. When I opened them, I found Mason staring down at me. His expression wasn't cold anymore—it was hungry. A blush scorched my cheeks. "You like it," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "I do," I stammered. "What’s the secret ingredient?" "Amaretto," he said. "Apricot and bitter almond. It cuts through the darkness." "It's perfect," I said, holding his gaze as I used my thumb to wipe a fleck of foam from my lip.