Chapter 19
Alexandria
I’ve been trying to stay out of the common areas all morning. The lodge is big enough that it’s easy to disappear if I want to, and after last night, disappearing feels like the safest option.
But eventually thirst wins. I check that Tabitha is still snoozing on a chair in the corner and slip out into the hallway.
The kitchen is quiet, but I have the sense that it’s occupied. I walk a little louder than I need to, letting my steps carry along the wooden floor.
As I reach the doorway, I see Torin leaning against the counter, looking thoughtful.
And Gunnar… sitting at the table, bent over a pair of boots, fiddling with the laces.
My stomach flips.
“Am I interrupting something?” I ask.
“No,” Torin says easily.
Gunnar looks up like he’s dragging himself out of deep thought. “No.”
“Just getting some water,” I say.
I go to the sink, aware of everything—my steps, the sound of the tap, the fact that Gunnar is right there behind me.
I drink the glass straight down, keeping my back turned.
God. When did I start swallowing so loudly?
I fill it again, drink slower this time.
“Want to run an errand with me?” Gunnar’s voice cuts through the silence, and I turn, caught off guard.
“You mean… away from the lodge?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing.
“I’ll need you to stay out of sight, but I figured you might enjoy the change of scene.”
My heart lifts. “I’ll get my shoes,” I say, already skittering down the hallway.
“And sunglasses if you’ve got them,” he shouts after me.
I make sure Tabitha has food and water, then kiss her little head, and tell her I’ll be back soon.
She barely acknowledges me.
Typical.
By the time I step outside, there’s a truck idling in the driveway.
Big. Black.
The windows are dark and I can’t see Gunnar at all.
I go around to the passenger side and climb in.
His scent hits me immediately—spice and pine and something warmer underneath. It’s going to be a problem, being this close.
“Tinted windows?” I say, settling into the seat.
“Orson’s truck,” he says. “He had them put in. For privacy.”
I give a dry laugh. That tracks.
I put on my sunglasses. Then he leans across and hands me a ball cap.
“Put this on too. Just to be safe.”
I nod, pull it on, and adjust it when it slips low over my eyes.
Gunnar glances at me. “Suits you.”
“Thanks,” I say, tightening it a little.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he pulls away from the lodge and starts down the steep track.
“For fuel.”
“Fuel?”
He exhales. “Usually it’s Orson’s job, but he’s gone.”
My stomach tightens.
“Gone?”
“Yeah.”
He glances at me, and our eyes meet. There’s more behind that word than either of us is ready to get into.
“He left his truck,” I say instead.
Gunnar shrugs. “Left in a hurry. Tank was empty, so he took mine.”
I nod, trying not to picture the state he must have been in to leave like that.
“Will he come back?” I ask after a moment.
The road winds down through dense pine forest, cutting back on itself in tight switchbacks. Gunnar takes it steadily, easing the truck over the ruts and patches of ice.
“I don’t know,” he says.
That’s all I’m going to get.
I sit back, the back of my neck prickling. I’m the reason for the rift between them. There’s no way around that.
Should I say something? Apologize?
For what exactly—existing?
Finally, we stop descending and level out onto quiet country roads.
It’s a crisp winter day, the sky a pale, unbroken blue. Sunlight catches on patches of snow along the fields.
Something in my chest loosens. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this.
I’ve always been a city girl. But out here, with nothing pressing in on me from all sides, it’s easier to breathe.
The road stretches ahead, long and straight, and I find myself hoping it doesn’t end too soon. I could sit here for hours, looking out at the open land while Gunnar drives beside me, solid and entirely too distracting.
“How does it feel to be out here?” he asks.
“Good,” I say, and then, because that doesn’t quite cover it, “Really good.”
I lean back into the seat.
“I thought it might,” he says. “Can get a bit closed in up there.”
“I’m used to small spaces,” I say. “My entire apartment is smaller than your kitchen.”
That gets a faint reaction from him—not quite a smile, but close.
“But yeah,” I add. “This is… a nice change.”
A few minutes later, Gunnar flicks on the blinker and turns onto a narrower road. At the end of it is a small fuel depot, the kind that looks like it mostly serves locals and passing trucks.
“No one can see you, but stay low anyway,” he says.
I slide down in the seat and pull my cap lower over my face. He gets out, slamming the door behind him.
I stay where I am, letting my mind drift, breathing in the trace of his scent that still hangs in the cab.
Voices carry faintly from outside, then the dull thud of something being loaded into the back. After a few minutes, the driver’s door opens and Gunnar climbs back in, energy still running through him.
“You okay?” he says.
“Never better.”
I wait until we’re back on the road before sitting up again.
“You?”
He shrugs. “Same.”
Then, after a beat, “Used to make Orson do this. Get him talking to people. But I don’t mind it. I like meeting people.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And I thought you were a surly, unsociable bear.”
He snorts. “I can see where you got that impression.”
When we reach the main road again, he doesn’t turn back. We keep going a little farther.
“Is there anything you need from a store?” Gunnar asks.
“Yes,” I say, a little too quickly.
He opens the center console. “There should be a pen in there. Maybe some paper.”
I lean over and rummage around. “Yeah—got it.”
“Make a list,” he says. “Anything you need.”
My heart lifts a little. There are a few things I’ve been missing.
“Okay.”
I smooth the scrap of paper against my knee and start writing.
More food for Tabitha, for one. She’s used to eating commercial food—I don’t think she’s ready to switch to a full-on raw diet just yet.
Then there are a couple of toiletries I need as well.
I keep going, adding one, then another, scribbling things down as they occur to me.
Gunnar pulls into a strip mall and cuts the engine. The sight of it—familiar, ordinary—settles something in me.
He glances over. “Alright. What do we need?”
I hand him the list. “Cat food and toiletries. Mostly.”
He scans it, then looks up. “We can get all this here?”
“Sure can.”
He frowns slightly. “No books?”
I blink. “What?”
“I’m guessing you read. And those books up at the lodge have seen better days.”
“Oh-yeah,” I say haltingly, touched that he’d think of such a thing. “I guess I am.”
He shrugs. “Not a whole lot to do at the Lodge. Figure you might want some entertainment. Write down a few titles. I’ll see if I can find them.”
With a flicker of excitement, I add a few titles quickly, trying to remember what’s on my wish list.
“Alright.” He gives me a lingering look. “I’ll be back soon.”
I shift in my seat and watch him move from one store to the next. A couple of people greet him as he passes, but he doesn’t stop—just nods and keeps going, like a man on a mission.
Before long, he’s back, arms full of bags.
He opens the back door, drops them onto the seat, then climbs in and hands one to me.
A bookshop bag.
It was the last place he went.
As he starts the engine, I pull the books out, already smiling.
“Oh my God—you got all of them.”
“Sure did.” He smiles, easy, like it didn’t cost him anything.
“Thank you, so much, Gunnar.”
“Any time, Alexandria. I want you to be comfortable here.”
He says it plainly, like it’s obvious.
We pull out of the strip mall and back onto the road. The buildings thin out, then cluster again, and a few minutes later we’re passing onto the main street of a small town.
I sit forward without thinking. “We’re in town.”
“Figured you’d want to see it,” he says. There’s a shift in him—quieter, like he’s not entirely sure he’s got this right.
“I do,” I say, looking out at the line of cafés and boutiques and bakeries. “It’s so pretty here.”
“Guess it is,” he says.
He pulls into a parking spot and leaves the engine idling.
“I’d take you into all these places if I could,” he says, glancing at me, “but we’re going to have to compromise for a while.”
I nod. I get it.
Then his expression changes. “Tell me—how do you like your coffee when you’re not having it shifter-style?”
“I—” I hesitate.
“Go on,” he says, a hint of a grin breaking through. “You like a load of ridiculous stuff on it, don’t you?”
“Okay,” I say, giving in. “I would really like a pumpkin caramel spice latte.”
He repeats it slowly, like he’s committing it to memory. “Pumpkin. Caramel. Spice latte.”
“Yes.”
He claps his hands. “Right. That’s it.”
Then he’s out of the truck, heading toward an impossibly cute little café on the corner.
I watch him go.
He looks out of place here—too big, too solid for a street full of pastel shopfronts and delicate signage.
Heads turn as he passes. Conversations falter for a second, then pick up again once he’s gone by.
Mine, I think, and the thought burns through me.
A minute later, he’s back.
My heart jumps at the sight of him—ridiculously handsome in that red and black plaid shirt and jeans, while everyone else is bundled up in coats and scarves against the cold.
He’s carrying two coffees on a cardboard tray and he bounds back into the truck with an easy, unthinking movement.
“There you go,” he says, handing one to me.
I ease the lid off and inhale.
“Smells amazing,” I say.
He glances at me, watching my reaction. “Worth it, then.”
“For the coffee?”
“For that look on your face.”
I blink, caught off guard, but he’s busy peeling the lid off his own cup.
“What did you get?” I ask.
“The same thing.”
I give him a suspicious look. “I did not have you pegged as a pumpkin spice kind of guy.”
He takes a sip, considering it. “Guess I like to try new things.”
I set the lid back on my cup, expecting him to pull away any second.
But he stays where he is, sitting back in the driver’s seat, holding the cup on his knee, looking out through the windshield.