Page 83 of Gunnar

“You want me to⁠—”

“No,” I say.

“No,” Gunnar says at the same time.

We both stop.

Torin huffs out a breath. “Right.”

He sets the glass down and leans back against the counter instead, arms folded, staying out of the way.

The pan crackles. A mouthwatering smell fills the room.

At last, the meat is done.

I set some plates on the counter. “Orson joining us?”

“Nope,” Gunnar says quickly.

Three then.

I turn the heat off, grab a dish towel and go to lift the pan.

“Here.” Gunnar takes it from me. “It’s heavy.” He carries it to the counter.

I pick up a spoon, he tilts the pan, and I start serving. One, two, three portions. Gunnar follows me, holding the pan at just the right angle.

When we’re done, he picks up two of the plates and carries them to the table.

I sense Torin’s attention flicking between us. “You two alright?”

My grip tightens on the spoon. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

He shrugs. “Just asking.”

Gunnar sets the plates down. “We’re fine.”

“Alright,” Torin says, like he doesn’t quite believe it, but lets it go.

I bring the silverware over and set it down beside the plates.

Torin and Gunnar dig in like they haven’t eaten all day.

My stomach’s tight. I focus on the plate, cutting smaller pieces than I need to.

Gunnar doesn’t look up.

I keep wanting him to.

Instead, I turn my attention on Torin. “How was it really?” I ask.

Torin gives me a kind smile, then sets his fork down. “It went fine,” he says. “The cops had already spoken to your friend, so she knows what’s going on.”

I nod. “She was okay?”

“Yeah. Shaken, but okay.” He takes a sip of his drink. “They’ve got someone with your mom as well. Keeping an eye on her.”

I let out a breath. “Thank goodness.”