Page 84 of Gunnar

At last, Gunnar looks in my direction. “Glad to hear this, Alexandria.”

“Thank you,” I say quickly.

“Melissa and I talked about what to do with Little Miss Tiddles,” Torin continues.

“Tabitha,” I correct with a smile.

“She couldn’t keep her at her place—she’s allergic—and I gather your mom’s not the most…” he trails off looking embarrassed.

“It’s fine. No, she’s not.”

He clears his throat. “I figured it was more of a risk for Melissa to keep going over to feed him than for me to just go that one time and collect him. So, I went in last night at three a.m. It was real quiet, no one watching the place.”

I almost ask how he knew that, then stop myself. Bear shifter, that’s how.

“Figured I might as well grab a bunch of your stuff while I was there. Then I took the long way back. Made sure no one was following me.”

I let out a long breath. “Thank you. Really.”

He gives a small grin. “No need to thank me again. All part of the service.”

He frowns. “That neighborhood you’re in, though… it’s not great.”

I think of coming home late, keys already in my hand before I reach the door. Shady-looking people hanging around on the corner. Car engines idling, no one getting out. The hallway light that’s been broken for months.

I exhale. “I know. It’s what I could afford.”

“You shouldn’t be somewhere like that,” Gunnar says.

I look up. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while.

“When you live in the city, you don’t always get a lot of choice,” I say.

He holds my gaze. “You do now.”

My breath catches.

Torin leans back in his chair and laces his hands behind his head. “You could live in a broken-down hotel instead.”

“Not broken-down,” Gunnar growls. “I’ve been making improvements.”

Torin blinks. “Wait a minute,” he says slowly. “There’s electricity.”

“I fixed the generator.”

“Well, wonders will never…” He leans forward, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “What else did I miss?” His gaze slides from Gunnar, to me and back again.

I freeze, staring at my plate, the tips of my ears burning.

“Nothing,” I say, and push back from the table.

I gather up the empty plates and stack them in the dishwasher. “Is it okay if I take some meat for Tabitha?” I ask, rooting in the cupboards for a suitable dish.

“After what she put me through?” Torin says. “She can have the whole pan.”

My eyes drift to his forearms.

“Almost healed,” he says, rubbing at them carelessly.