Chapter 10
Alexandria
Torin suddenly has a lot of energy. He’s dashing from one room to another, tracking down his wallet, keys, phone.
Orson follows him a few steps toward the door. “You’re not on vacation, Torin.”
Torin yanks a navy vest from a chair and waggles his eyebrows as he slips into it. “I know how errands work.”
“You know how trouble works too.”
“Relax,” he says. “I’m not planning to introduce myself to the Russian mafia.”
“People are looking for her,” Orson says flatly.
Torin shoots him a look. “Yeah,” he says. “I remember.”
Behind them, Gunnar hasn’t moved from the counter.
He’s watching the exchange quietly.
The others argue, I’ve noticed. But when he speaks, the argument ends.
“Torin.”
Just the name.
Torin stops at the door.
“Don’t stay in town longer than you have to,” Gunnar says.
Torin nods. Then he turns to me. “Alright,” he says. “Where am I going?”
He looks like a nightclub bouncer who accidentally wandered into a finance meeting. I have to stop myself from asking where he got the vest from.
He hands me a notepad and a pen. My stomach knots when I write down Melissa’s address. She’s one of my co-workers, and probably the closest friend I have these days. I hate that I’m involving her in this, but I don’t have any choice.
“You’ll be discreet, right?” I ask Torin.
For the first time, his endlessly-amused expression fades. He studies me seriously.
“Of course, Alexandria. I give you my word.”
I nod and take a breath, forcing myself to think clearly.
“Tell her I’m safe. That’s the first thing.”
Torin nods.
“Then ask her to go by my apartment. If she could just make sure he’s got food and water. There’s an automatic feeder in the pantry…”
I hesitate.
“And my mom,” I add at last. “She lives three blocks away from me. If Melissa could stop by and see if she’s alright. Don’t explain everything. Just say work’s taken me out of town for a few days.”
Torin listens without interrupting.
“Got it,” he says.
“Tell Melissa not to talk to anyone about me,” I say. “If anyone asks questions — work, whatever—she should say she hasn’t seen me.”
Torin nods. “Anything else?”
I think for a moment. Then I shake my head. “That’s already a lot to ask.”
Torin folds the paper and slips it into his pocket.
“I’ll handle it.”
He opens the door.
Cold mountain air rushes in.
For a moment he glances back at the room. “Try not to start a civil war while I’m gone,” he says.
Orson grunts.
Gunnar doesn’t move.
Then Torin steps outside and pulls the door shut behind him.
Gunnar and Orson exchange a look.
I have no idea what passes between them, and I don’t ask. They are all putting themselves in danger for me, and that’s enough.
A long silence rings out. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen trying not to wring my hands is killing me.
“Could I make some food?” I blurt out.
Gunnar moves immediately.
“Make yourself at home, Alexandria,” he says. “This is your place too.”
Orson mutters something under his breath and stalks to the door.
A moment later it slams behind him.
The lodge goes quiet again.
Gunnar and I stand there for a moment.
At last, he shakes his head. “Don’t mind him,” he says.
“He doesn’t like me.”
Gunnar glances at me. “He doesn’t like anybody before breakfast.”
“That’s reassuring,” I mutter.
A corner of his mouth lifts. “He’ll come around.” He turns toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll show you where things are.”
He starts opening cupboards as he talks. “Pans are here. Knives there. Fridge out the back. “Help yourself to anything.”
“What’s that?” I ask of a heavy metal door built into the counter.
He crosses the kitchen and opens what turns out to be a huge industrial dishwasher.
“Nice,” I say. “Didn’t expect that.” I don’t add that I’d kind of assumed they washed their dishes in the nearby river.
He shrugs. “Would be if we had power.”
Right. Keep forgetting about that.
He turns toward the stove. “You like eggs in the morning?”
I blink. “Yeah,” I say slowly.
He glances at me. “What?”
“I guess I just… didn’t picture bears cooking eggs.”
A grin spreads across his face.
And it transforms him. He suddenly looks almost boyish, and so handsome…
“What did you think?” he says. “That we just tear hunks of meat off carcasses three times a day?”
“Something like that,” I say, distracted by the dangerous little flutter in my chest.
He laughs.
“Orson probably would,” he says. “It’s been a challenge convincing him not to eat the livestock before cooking it.”
“Oh my god,” I say and I laugh with him to cover the sudden warmth in my cheeks.
“But Torin and I spent part of our childhood around humans,” Gunnar continues, pulling a cast-iron skillet from the rack and setting it on the stove. “We learned about things like heat and seasoning.”
He cracks two eggs one-handed against the edge of the pan, dropping them neatly into the sizzling butter.
“How do you like them?”
“Over easy,” I say quickly.
He nods and focuses on the pan.
“Toast?” he mutters after a minute.
“Yeah. But let me—”
Gunnar tips his head toward the door at the back “Bread’s in the freezer outside.”
I follow his lead, going through a utility room, then through a back door. Cold air bites through my sweatshirt as I pull open the lid of a chest freezer sitting alongside the rear wall. It’s not switched on, but the loaf of bread I find is pretty much frozen.
Back inside, I hand it to Gunnar, and he slides several slices under the oven grill.
“What was this place?” I ask, eyeing a huge electric toaster abandoned in a corner.
“Well, it was a guesthouse for a long time.” He flips the eggs, his jaw set with concentration. “Till it went bankrupt. Too remote. Roads are impassable all winter and it doesn’t have any of that tourist crap people expect on vacation.”
“Tourist crap?” I echo, fighting a smile.
“Hot tubs. Spa treatments. Wi-Fi strong enough to stream movies.”
I give an exaggerated shudder. “That does sound awful,” I say gravely.
“Right?” he agrees.
“So guests had to survive with nothing but… mountains and fresh air?”
“Barbaric, I know.”
“So, it closed?”
“Went into liquidation,” he says. “Nobody wanted it.”
He yanks out the grill tray and dumps it on the counter.
“It sat empty for a long time before we found it.”
I grab a slice of the toast.
“Hot,” he says.
I drop it immediately and blow on my fingers. “Had it under control.”
Gunnar watches me for a second. “Sure you did.”
At least the toast is not even a little bit burned. I butter it like nothing happened.
Gunnar slides the eggs on top.
“There you go.”
He sets the better-looking one in front of me.
I pretend not to notice. Instead, I glance toward the door.
“Orson’s not eating?”
“He went for a run.”
The way Gunnar says it, run sounds like something else entirely.
“He’ll probably catch something on the way,” he adds casually.
I suppress a shudder. Of the three of them, Orson is the one I can most easily imagine devouring a rabbit whole.
Gunnar takes his seat across from me.
Without Orson’s hostility and Torin’s constant joking, the room feels different.
Now there’s nothing to look at but him.
I glance up—and wish I hadn’t. His amber gaze is steady, and I have the sense he’s been watching me this whole time.
“You sleep alright last night?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Better than I expected.”
He nods.
“Especially since I usually sleep during the day.”
His brows draw together. “You work nights?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not good for humans.”
I blink. “No?”
“No.” He sounds completely certain. “You’re meant to be asleep when it’s dark.”
I almost smile at that. No one’s ever said that to me like it matters.
“It’s just temporary,” I say. “I’m working as a night cleaner while I save up to try the bar exam again. I’m training to be a lawyer.”
Gunnar goes still. “Again?”
I shrug. “Didn’t pass the first time.”
He lets the silence sit, his attention on me as he takes that in.
“You worked nights while you were studying?” he says at last. “That’s a lot.”
I tear a piece of toast with more force than I mean to use. “I did what I had to.”
His gaze stays on me.
“You don’t look like someone who quits easily,” he says.
I laugh softly. “My professors didn’t think I’d make it.”
“How so?”
I hesitate. Explaining it always comes out wrong.
“Law school’s… political,” I say. “A lot of the students already know people. Their parents are judges, partners, donors.”
“And you?”
“I was raised in a rough neighborhood. Single mom. Scholarship. Missing class because I was at work.”
The words still come out sharper than I mean them to. I look down at my plate.
But Gunnar doesn’t react the way most people do.
“You were working twice as hard as everyone else,” he says. “And you still almost passed.”
Something in my chest loosens.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Almost.”
He leans back in his chair.
For a moment he’s quiet. Then he nods.
“You’ll get it next time.”
The certainty in his voice catches me off guard.
“You don’t know that.”
He gives me a calm look. “I do.”
Then he nudges the plate toward me.
“Go ahead, Alexandria. Eat.”
Suddenly self-conscious, I pick up my silverware and saw at the toast like someone who’s never encountered a knife before.
A small sound escapes him.
I look up.
His mouth twitches. “Need a sharper one?”
“No, I’m good.”
For a moment the only sound in the room is the faint scrape of silverware against plates.
Then I glance up again. “Why did you all move here?” I ask, mostly to distract myself from the strange heat creeping up my neck. I’m still chewing when I realize how abrupt the question sounded.
I swallow.
“These are really good,” I add, which only makes it worse. They are, though—rich and buttery.
He watches me for a beat, like he’s forgotten the question.
Or maybe he doesn’t want to answer.
He starts on his second slice of toast. “Seemed like a good place to disappear.”
I frown. “From what?”
His chest rises and falls. “Family business.”
The words come out flat, like that’s been weighing on him for a long time.
Part of me expects him to leave it there.
Instead, he adds, almost as an afterthought—
“Things got… complicated.”
I watch him—the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes shift away.
“Families,” I say. “They can be a lot.”
His gaze comes back to me. It lingers.
“Yeah,” he says. “They can.”
I could ask more. A hundred questions come to mind.
It doesn’t feel like something to push. I finish the last bite of toast instead.
After a moment he pushes back his chair and gets to his feet. I start gathering the plates, but he’s faster. He scoops them up and takes them to the sink, then he turns the water on.
I dash after him. “Hey—I’m doing those.”
He doesn’t pause. “I’ve got it.”
“You made breakfast,” I say. “It’s only fair.”
“I’ve got it,” he repeats.
I reach for the plate anyway. Our hands brush, and I pull back like I touched something hot.
That sensation again.
I catch myself before I do it twice.
“I’m not just going to be waited on while I’m here,” I insist.
He pauses, then hands me a plate. “Fine. You dry.”
I snatch up a dishtowel and dry each item as he passes it to me, far more thoroughly than I need to.
“What are you going to do today?” he asks.
“Thought I might go for a hike,” I shoot him a sideways glance.
His jaw tightens. “Where?”
I shrug. “Oh, just around that area you mentioned yesterday.”
“Like you were listening.”
I frown. “I was.” I was, kinda.
“You’re not going to do anything reckless, are you, Alexandria?”
I meet his gaze. “I can handle a short walk in the woods.”
His eyes stay on mine. “That’s not what I asked.”
I dry the plate in my hands again, buying myself a second.
“You think I’m going to make a run for it?”
He doesn’t answer.
The water is gushing from the faucet.
“You won’t get far,” he says at last.
I hold his gaze for a second. “Relax. I’m not going to make a break for it.”
His hand stills. “Good,” he says.
I take the wet pan, dry it a little too carefully.
“Besides,” I say, aiming for casual, “I wouldn’t even know which way to go.”
“You’d find a way,” he says.
I glance at him. “You think you know me?”
His eyes flick to mine. “I think you’re the kind of person who doesn’t just accept things as they are.”
I shrug. “Not if I can help it.”
“Figures.” He rinses the dishcloth then wrings it out. “Still—” He gives me a serious look. “Stay close.”
He wipes his hands on a towel. “Right, I’ll be out back. I’m going to take a look at the generator.”
“It’s broken?”
“Don’t know,” he says. “Never tried using it before.”
“So why—?”
“Thought you’d appreciate a little home comfort.”
That boyish grin again, and while I’m still recovering, he lifts a hand in a half-wave and steps outside.
“Catch you later, Alexandria,” he calls, just before the door slams.
I stare at the closed door for a long moment.
Lights. Heat. Not sitting in the dark.
And he’s doing it for me.