Chapter 4 #2
"A start to what? Ruining our friendship? Making everything awkward? Proving that I'm exactly as fucked up as everyone thinks?"
"A start to being honest." She turns back to her meat. "And for the record, nobody thinks you're fucked up. We just think you've been hurt and you're protecting yourself. There's a difference."
"Njal—"
"Njal might be my son, but he’s an asshole.
And Bjorn's is just a hot mess. Don’t get me wrong, I love my boys, sweetheart, but they were never the right ones for you, no matter how much you cared for both of them.
" Her voice hardens. "But Gunnar? That boy's been in love with you since you were twenty. Everyone sees it except you."
"That's what my mom said."
"Because it's true." Magnolia starts layering the lasagna. "Now the question is, what are you gonna do about it?"
"I don't know."
"Well, you better figure it out soon. Because he's gonna walk through that door in about an hour and you're gonna have to look him in the eye."
My stomach flips.
"Maybe I'll hide in the walk-in freezer."
"Maybe you'll be brave." She gives me a pointed look. "You're Fenrir's daughter. Act like it."
By seven, the kitchen smells incredible.
Three pans of lasagna baking, garlic bread warming, salad prepped.
Members start filtering in—some heading straight for the common room, others lingering in the kitchen doorway, asking when food will be ready.
I keep my head down, focusing on tasks.
Slicing bread.
Tossing salad.
Anything to avoid thinking about Gunnar walking in.
But I know the moment he arrives.
Feel it like a shift in the air.
I'm at the counter, arranging bread in a basket, when his presence registers behind me.
Close.
Too close.
"Excuse me," he says, voice low.
I freeze.
"What?"
"Need to get into the fridge."
I'm standing directly in front of it.
Could step aside.
Should step aside.
But before I can move, he's there—body pressing against my back as he reaches past me for the fridge handle.
His chest against my shoulders.
His heat seeping through my shirt.
His breath stirring my hair.
My heart slams against my ribs.
"You could've asked me to move," I manage.
"Could have." His voice is a rumble against my back. "Didn't want to."
He opens the fridge, takes his time selecting a Coke from inside.
The whole time, his body is pressed against mine.
Deliberate.
Intentional.
Making a point.
When he finally steps back, I can breathe again.
But then his mouth is at my ear, voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear. "You look beautiful, sweet girl."
Then he's gone.
Walking away like he didn't just set my entire nervous system on fire.
Like he didn't just call me sweet girl in a voice that made my knees weak.
I grip the counter, trying to steady myself.
Magnolia's watching from the stove, eyebrow raised, small smile playing at her lips.
"Told you," she mouths.
I focus on breathing.
On not falling apart.
On not running after him and demanding to know what that was, why he's doing this, how he can act so normal when my entire world is tilting.
"Ingrid?" Magnus appears in the doorway. "Food almost ready? The kids are getting restless."
"Five minutes," Magnolia calls. "Tell them to wash their hands and sit down like civilized humans."
He grins, disappears.
I pull the lasagna from the oven, hands shaking slightly.
"You okay?" Magnolia asks quietly.
"Fine."
"Liar."
"I'm fine," I repeat, more firmly. "Let's just get through dinner."
And man, dinner is complete chaos.
Thirty-plus people crammed into the main room and kitchen, plates piled high, conversations overlapping, laughter echoing off the walls.
I serve food, smile at jokes, and accept compliments on the lasagna.
Act normal.
But I'm hyper-aware of Gunnar across the room.
The way he talks with Hakon and Ulf.
The way he laughs at something Aren says.
The way his eyes find mine across the crowd and hold.
Every time our gazes meet, I remember.
His hands on my skin.
His voice in my ear.
The way he looked at me like I mattered.
The way he whispered sweet girl like it was my name.
I help clean up, wiping down counters, loading the industrial dishwasher.
Magnolia works beside me, humming softly.
"You survived," she observes.
"Barely."
"He's still watching you."
"I know."
"You gonna talk to him?"
"Eventually. Maybe. I don't know."
She dries her hands, turns to face me.
"Can I give you one piece of advice?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"No." She smiles. "Stop punishing yourself for their mistakes.
Njal and Bjorn broke your trust. That's on them.
But Gunnar? He's been nothing but good to you.
Patient with you. There for you. And if you keep pushing him away because you're scared, you're gonna lose something real because of something fake. "
"What if it doesn't work?"
"What if it does?"
The question hangs between us.
What if it does.
What if I let myself believe him.
What if I stop running.
What if I'm brave enough to try.
Before I can answer, Gunnar appears in the doorway. "Ingrid. Can we talk?"
My heart stops.
Magnolia gives me a pointed look. "Go," she mouths.
I dry my hands on a towel, trying to calm my racing pulse. "Okay."
He jerks his head toward the door. "Outside."
I follow him through the main room, past members still drinking and laughing, out the side door into the warm night air.
The parking lot is quieter.
Just the distant hum of the highway, the chirp of crickets, the pounding of my heart.
Gunnar walks to his bike, leans against it, and waits.
I stop a few feet away, arms crossed over my chest.
Armor.
"You wanted to talk," I say.
"Yeah." His eyes are steady on mine. "About last night. About this morning. About the fact that you're still running."
"I'm not—"
"You are. You ran from my bed. You tried to run from that massage room. You've been avoiding me all night." He pushes off the bike, takes a step closer. "I get it. You're scared. But I meant what I said—this isn't like the past. This is different."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you. The real you. Not the version you show everyone else. Not the wild child or the broken girl or whatever role you're playing. I see you, Ingrid. And I'm not running."
Tears blur my vision.
"You should."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a mess. Because I don't know how to do this. Because everyone who gets close to me ends up leaving, and I can't—" My voice breaks. "I can't survive you leaving, too."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not going anywhere."
"You don't know that."
"I do." He closes the distance between us, hands coming up to frame my face. "I've known it for years. I just had to wait for you to catch up."
"Gunnar—"
"I love you."
The words stop everything.
My breath.
My heart.
My ability to think.
"You don't—"
"I do. I'm in love with you. Have been for years, and I'm done pretending I'm not."
Tears spill over, running down my cheeks into his palms. "I don't know how to do this," I whisper.
"Then we'll figure it out together." His thumbs brush away my tears. "But no more running. No more pushing me away. No more pretending this doesn't matter. Just give us a chance, sweet girl."
"What if I mess it up?"
"Then we'll deal with it. Together."
"What if I'm not enough?"
"You're everything."
The word breaks something open inside me.
Everything.
Not just good enough.
Not just worth keeping.
Everything.
"I'm so scared," I admit.
"I know. But I've got you. I promise."
And for the first time in years, I let myself believe it.
Let myself lean into him.
Let myself be held.
Let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, I'm not as broken as I thought.
That maybe love doesn't always end in pain.
That maybe Gunnar's different because we're different.
"Okay," I whisper against his chest.
"Okay?"
"Okay. No more running. I’ll give this a go, even if it scares the ever loving shit out of me."
His arms tighten around me.
And standing there in the parking lot, wrapped in his arms, I finally let myself stop running.
At least for tonight.