Page 82 of Gunnar

“You’ve had a long day. Let me do this.”

He relents. “Alright. All yours, girl boss.”

He grabs a beer from out the back, drops into one of the kitchen chairs, kicks out another one and puts his feet up, then cracks it open and takes a long drink, letting out an exaggerated ahhh.

Now it’s just Gunnar and me.

Side by side.

I wonder if his skin is prickling the way mine is.

I keep my focus on the board.

I cut the onion finer than I need to. Then finer again.

I grab another one.

“Ready for the onion?” I say a few minutes later. My voice comes out high and tight.

“Yeah.” He flicks the gas back on.

I tip the onion into the pan. It hits the oil with a soft hiss.

I catch his scent. The same one that filled my nostrils when he was kissing me last night⁠—

I stir the onion fast and step away.

I clear the counter, scraping the waste into the trash.

The onion starts to color.

I reach for the salt.

He gets there first. Our fingers brush. He snatches his hand away like I’ve burned him.

I take the salt, add a pinch, stir, then step back.

He moves in again, sliding the meat into the pan beside the onion.

It sizzles like crazy. I lean in, stir furiously with the wooden spoon.

“Too hot?” he says.

“Yeah, I think so.”

He turns it down.

“Maybe some water?”

“Just a splash.”

He grabs a glass and pours it in slowly.

I watch his hand on the glass. His big, thick forearm flexing.

Behind us, Torin gets up, the chair legs scraping across the floor.

He goes to the sink, fills a glass, takes a drink.