Page 45 of Gunnar

Gunnar goes still. “Again?”

I shrug. “Didn’t pass the first time.”

He lets the silence sit, his attention on me as he takes that in.

“You worked nights while you were studying?” he says at last. “That’s a lot.”

I tear a piece of toast with more force than I mean to use. “I did what I had to.”

His gaze stays on me.

“You don’t look like someone who quits easily,” he says.

I laugh softly. “My professors didn’t think I’d make it.”

“How so?”

I hesitate. Explaining it always comes out wrong.

“Law school’s… political,” I say. “A lot of the students already know people. Their parents are judges, partners, donors.”

“And you?”

“I was raised in a rough neighborhood. Single mom. Scholarship. Missing class because I was at work.”

The words still come out sharper than I mean them to. I look down at my plate.

But Gunnar doesn’t react the way most people do.

“You were working twice as hard as everyone else,” he says. “And you still almost passed.”

Something in my chest loosens.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Almost.”

He leans back in his chair.

For a moment he’s quiet. Then he nods.

“You’ll get it next time.”

The certainty in his voice catches me off guard.

“You don’t know that.”

He gives me a calm look. “I do.”

Then he nudges the plate toward me.

“Go ahead, Alexandria. Eat.”

Suddenly self-conscious, I pick up my silverware and saw at the toast like someone who’s never encountered a knife before.

A small sound escapes him.

I look up.

His mouth twitches. “Need a sharper one?”