"Then you'd be like every other woman who's loved a biker. We're all a little broken, honey. The right man doesn't try to fix you. He just loves you through the cracks."
I want to believe that.
Want to believe that Gunnar could be that person.
That I could let him be.
For fuck’s sake, we’ve been friends since we were kids, pretty much grew up together.
"I slept with him," I blurt out. "Last night. And this morning I ran because I'm a coward, and now I don't know how to face him."
Magnolia doesn't look surprised.
Just nods slowly.
"Well. That's a start."
"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.
