Page 34 of Gunnar

“So,” he says casually. “How many times did you get up?”

I pause halfway to the sink. “…What?”

“Last night,” he says. “Let me guess. Three? Four?”

I glare at him.

Torin nods knowingly. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” He strolls across the kitchen and sets the coffee pot on the table. “Because around two in the morning I heard someone pacing holes in the floorboards outside a certain bedroom.”

I say nothing.

Torin pours another mug and slides it across the table toward me.

His voice drops. “Relax,” he says. “I’m not judging.”

I pick up the mug and take a long drink.

The coffee is strong enough to strip paint.

Good.

“Sleep’s the first thing to go when you lose your mind over a woman.”

“I’m not losing my mind.”

Torin leans against the counter, studying me with open amusement. “Sure you’re not.”

He gestures toward the door behind me.

“You just ran the mountain before dawn for the first time in about a year.”

“That’s not true.”

Torin tilts his head thoughtfully.

“Two years, then.”

I say nothing.

He watches me for another second, then chuckles quietly to himself.

“Man,” he says. “You are in trouble.”

The kitchen door smashes open.

Orson shuffles in barefoot, hair tied in a greasy knot on top of his head and beard all matted.

He heads straight for the coffee pot without saying a word.

“Morning, sunshine,” Torin says.

Orson ignores him. Only after draining half his mug does his gaze land on the counter.

On the rabbits.