Page 76 of Torin

“Can you cook?”

I laugh. “I can make a decent lasagna.”

He nods. “Useful.”

Torin chuckles. “Don’t mind him. He judges people by whether they’re useful.”

Orson reaches for another piece of toast. “What else am I supposed to judge them by?”

I grin and pick up my coffee. It’s good. Strong, with milk already added.

I take a proper look around the kitchen. It’s enormous, built to feed far more people than the three of us. Stainless-steel worktops run along two walls, and the battered six-burner range looks as though it’s seen better days.

“This really used to be a working lodge?”

“Yeah,” Torin says. “Long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“Went bust. Place sat empty for years.”

“And you found it?”

“Gunnar did,” Orson says. “We were hunting up here.”

“Lucky find.”

Torin smiles. “Yeah. It was.”

I finish the last piece of bacon and start clearing the table.

I reach for Orson’s empty plate before he can.

“Leave it,” Torin says.

“No chance.” Before he can object any further, I carry the plates over to the sink.

Orson barks something incomprehensible.

Torin clicks his tongue. “What did I tell you about talking with your mouth full?”

“Sorry. Said, there’s a dishwasher.”

“Oh?” I yank open a couple of handles until I discover one is a huge industrial dishwasher. “You weren’t joking,” I say.

I slot the plates into the rack while Torin gets up and washes the frying pan in the sink behind me.

Orson drains the last of his coffee and gets to his feet.

“I’ll be outside.”

Torin glances toward the window. “More firewood?”

Orson gives him a look.

“Thought so.”

The screen door closes behind him.