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.
CHAPTER FIVE
Gunnar
The kitchen's quieter now.
Most of the members have filtered out to the common room or headed home, leaving just the mess behind—empty pans, dirty plates, the lingering scent of garlic and tomato sauce.
Ingrid's at the sink, scrubbing a lasagna pan with more focus than necessary.
I grab a dish towel and start drying the clean dishes she's already stacked in the rack.
We work in silence for a few minutes.
Not uncomfortable.
Just... aware.
Of each other.
Of what just happened outside.
Of the fact that she finally stopped running.
"You don't have to help," she says quietly. "I can finish."
"I know."
"Then why?—"
"Because I want to." I set down a clean plate and reach for another. "That okay?"
She glances at me, something soft in her eyes. "Yeah. It's okay."
We fall back into rhythm—her washing, me drying, the comfortable domesticity of it feeling significant in a way I can't quite name.
This is what I want.
Not just the heat and passion of last night.
But this.
