Page 62 of Gunnar

I’ve been so freaked out with everything—with the state this place was in—that I hadn’t really stopped to think—they were as unprepared for my arrival as I was.

Their lives have been upended, too.

A moment later Gunnar returns carrying two steaming plates.

He puts one in front of me.

A rich stew, thick with carrots and onions, sits beside a mound of mashed potatoes.

“Venison?” I ask cautiously.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I thought you might be a little over venison today.”

He slides the plate toward me.

“It’s rabbit.”

I inhale.

It smells incredible.

“This looks amazing.”

“Surprised I can cook like this?”

“A little, I guess.”

There are two bottles of beer on the tray as well.

“Sorry,” he says. “Couldn’t find any wine.”

“Beer is perfect.”

I grin.

“Especially if you open it with your teeth again.”

He laughs.

“No teeth tonight.”

He pulls a bottle opener from his pocket, pops the caps, and pours into wine glasses.

Then he sits beside me.

I lift my glass.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“Orson isn’t joining us?”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Oh?”

“He’ll eat later.”