Page 42 of Gunnar

“I’ll handle it.”

He opens the door.

Cold mountain air rushes in.

For a moment he glances back at the room. “Try not to start a civil war while I’m gone,” he says.

Orson grunts.

Gunnar doesn’t move.

Then Torin steps outside and pulls the door shut behind him.

Gunnar and Orson exchange a look.

I have no idea what passes between them, and I don’t ask. They are all putting themselves in danger for me, and that’s enough.

A long silence rings out. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen trying not to wring my hands is killing me.

“Could I make some food?” I blurt out.

Gunnar moves immediately.

“Make yourself at home, Alexandria,” he says. “This is your place too.”

Orson mutters something under his breath and stalks to the door.

A moment later it slams behind him.

The lodge goes quiet again.

Gunnar and I stand there for a moment.

At last, he shakes his head. “Don’t mind him,” he says.

“He doesn’t like me.”

Gunnar glances at me. “He doesn’t like anybody before breakfast.”

“That’s reassuring,” I mutter.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “He’ll come around.” He turns toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll show you where things are.”

He starts opening cupboards as he talks. “Pans are here. Knives there. Fridge out the back. “Help yourself to anything.”

“What’s that?” I ask of a heavy metal door built into the counter.

He crosses the kitchen and opens what turns out to be a huge industrial dishwasher.

“Nice,” I say. “Didn’t expect that.” I don’t add that I’d kind of assumed they washed their dishes in the nearby river.

He shrugs. “Would be if we had power.”

Right. Keep forgetting about that.

He turns toward the stove. “You like eggs in the morning?”

I blink. “Yeah,” I say slowly.