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Gunnar slips the phone back in his pocket. “Night, Joce. I had a great time tonight.”
I grin like a fool, not quite believing how this evening turned out. “Night, Gunnar. See you Sunday.”
I step back and let the doors close, feeling like this might actually be the start of something good.
8
Gunnar
Iwipemyforeheadwith the back of my arm and look toward the sound of clinking glass. Bjorn walks across the driveway, two amber bottles in one hand and the socket wrench I need in the other. He steps through the open garage door and pauses beside the Harley, handing one of the bottles to me. “You change the spark plugs yet?”
“That’s next. Just finished cleaning the carburetor. It didn’t take as long as I thought.” I raise my beer in salute. “And thanks.” I take a long pull on the bottle and smile as the tangy, slightly bitter liquid hits my tongue.
Bjorn squats next to me and hands me the wrench. “Figured you probably need this. I was fixing the treadmill last night and left it in the gym.”
“So that’s where it went.” I take the wrench from him and switch out the socket, then remove the first spark plug. The dark black powder at the end of the terminal isn’t surprising.
Bjorn takes the plug from me and examines the tip. “Looks like she was running a little rich on the fuel mixture.”
He says it like I don’t know that. Like I haven’t been working on engines since I was old enough to ‘help’ Dad by handing him tools as he worked under the hood of his latest vehicle. But I keep my comment to myself. “Yeah.”
“Did you adjust the intake on the carburetor?”
Biting my tongue, I remove the second spark plug and see the same dark color. “That’s next.”
It’s Bjorn’s turn to grunt an acknowledgement. “So how are things?”
I glance over at him, weighing what to say without throwing him into dad-mode. Although my therapist, Cassandra, would tell me not to base my response on someone else’s reaction. I set the fouled spark plug aside, take the new ones out of the box, and adjust the gaps. At the very least, I need to tell him about Jocelin coming to dinner. “Things are good.” I think about last night and don’t bother hiding my smile. “Have you talked to Astrid today?”
Bjorn side-eyes me. “No. Should I have?”
And there’s the ‘what have you done’ tone I’ve been expecting. Which I’m not supposed to do. Don’t pre-ascribe intent on someone. But years of habit are hard to break, even after therapy. I take a breath and let my annoyance go. Bjorn is asking a legitimate question, not grilling me about doing my homework or asking if I did my chores. “Not necessarily. I thought maybe she’d call and tell you about last night’s event at Jupiter Winery.”
I don’t imagine Bjorn’s sigh of relief. “Oh. No. I figured she’d tell me about it tomorrow at dinner.” He takes one of the finished spark plugs and screws it into the cylinder head while I adjust another.
I’d be an idiot not to take this opening, but I actually consider letting it go. Then I imagine Cassandra’s disappointed look and leap in before I can second guess myself. “Speaking of dinner tomorrow—”
Bjorn cuts me off. “You’re not bailing, are you?”
I sit back on my heels and glare at him. “Bailing?”
His hands are immediately up, palms out. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” I stare at him for a few seconds, then focus on screwing the second spark plug into place. Maybe I should forget about Jocelin coming tomorrow. “Really, Gunnar. I’m sorry. What did you want to say?”
I push to my feet and walk to the other side of the bike, trying to control my reaction. It’s just as hard for Bjorn to break old habits as it is for me. Kneeling, I concentrate on removing the other set of plugs and work to keep my voice level. “I’m bringing someone to dinner. Don’t make me regret it.” You could have heard a pin drop in the garage, and after a few uncomfortable heartbeats, I look up at Bjorn. His mouth is hanging open, and he’s utterly gobsmacked. “What?” It may come out a bit defensive, but Bjorn doesn’t call me on it.
“Nothing. That’s great. I’m just surprised.” He comes around the bike and pulls two new spark plugs out of the box, handing me one. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
I take the plug from him and adjust the gap. “I didn’t know I had to tell you if I was.” Sighing, I drop my hands into my lap and hang my head for a second before I meet his eyes. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “No. I am. We’re having one of those poor communication days, and I seem to have started it.”
My shoulders relax, and I smirk as I screw in the plug and take the second one from him. “You always start it.”
“Shut it.” His grin belies the terse words. “Now, who are you bringing to dinner?”
I have half a mind to let it be a surprise, solely so I can avoid the ‘are you absolutely sure that’s a good idea’ speech, but he’s going to find out eventually. There’s no way Astrid can resist spilling the beans, and I’d rather he gets my version. She’ll make it some floofy romantic fairytale and embarrass the hell out of me in front of Jocelin. “So, here’s the thing.”
I matter-of-factly go through the highlights of what happened at the winery, from the asshole coworker who won’t take no for an answer, to being invited to the second work party. “Sounds like you did this guy a solid. That was really nice of you. I’m—” He cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence, even though I know he was going to tell me he’s proud of me. A phrase that shouldn’t set me off. But it does. Sometimes. “—curious why you’d go to so much trouble for a stranger, though.”
