Page 98 of Gunnar

“There’s a drive-thru nearby. Heard it does the best burgers in town.”

I hesitate for a second, picturing it.

He looks at me. “Or we can go somewhere else.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’d love that.”

A few minutes later, we’re in line behind two other cars.

We place our orders—double cheeseburgers with bacon and onion rings, fries, strawberry milkshakes—and pull forward.

When the food comes, Gunnar passes the bag over to me.

“Hold tight,” he says, and keeps driving.

A moment later, he turns off the road onto a narrow dirt track.

The ground is iced over in places, but the truck handles it easily, climbing through the bends as the road winds up through the pines.

We keep going, deeper in, the trees closing in around us⁠—

then suddenly they fall away.

The view opens up all at once.

We’ve come out onto a lookout.

From here, I can see for miles—snow-dusted ground stretching out under the bright winter sky, the sunlight catching on everything.

“This is amazing,” I say.

He glances at me. “Figured this would be a better place to eat.”

The burgers are ridiculous—greasy, overstuffed, exactly what they should be—and I laugh under my breath as I take another bite.

I shake my head, still smiling.

“Thank you,” I say.

He shrugs it off, but I can see he’s pleased.

And it clicks.

This wasn’t just about getting out of the lodge.

He planned this—the coffee, the town, the food—because he knew what I’d been missing.

“How did you find this place?” I ask.

“Me and the guys used to come here,” he says. “Drink beers. Let off steam.”

I glance at him sideways. “Bring girls here too?”

“No.”

The answer comes instantly.

He’s serious now, in a way that cuts straight through the easy mood.