Tor winks at me. "This is going to be fun."
Dinner is chaos in the best possible way.
Seven people around a table built for six, passing dishes back and forth, talking over each other, laughing at jokes I don't fully understand.
Apparently, Arik, Dalla’s adopted older brother should be here, but he’s out with his latest conquest.
Fern keeps piling food on my plate despite me telling her I’m full.
Runes watches me with that assessing gaze, but there's less hostility in it now—more curiosity.
Tor tells embarrassing stories about Dalla's childhood while she threatens to reveal equally embarrassing stories about him.
Meghan and Fern try to keep the peace.
Tindra provides commentary on everything like she's narrating a reality show.
"And then—" Tor is practically crying with laughter— "she tried to put out the fire with orange juice. Orange juice, RJ. Because it was the closest liquid."
"I was twelve!" Dalla protests. "And it was a small fire!"
"The toaster melted. Completely melted. We had to buy a new one."
"Okay, but remember when you?—"
"All right, that's enough," Fern interrupts, shooting Tor a look that only mothers can manage. "No more embarrassing stories. We have a guest."
"He's not a guest, Mom. He's Dalla's?—"
"Bodyguard," Fern finishes firmly. "Who is also our guest. And who doesn't need to hear about every embarrassing thing you children did growing up."
"But Mom?—"
"Tor, you're forty-four years old. Act like it."
Meghan snorts into her wine glass.
Tor shoots her a betrayed look. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"I'm on the side of not having to hear the toaster story for the hundredth time."
"So," Tindra says, leaning forward with her chin in her hands, eyes bright with mischief, "RJ. Tell us about yourself. What's it like being a professional bodyguard? Is it like in the movies? Do you have to throw yourself in front of bullets and stuff?"
"Tindra," Meghan sighs.
"What? I'm curious! This is the most interesting dinner guest we've had in years."
"I'm not that interesting," I say.
"You're Irish. You're hot. You're sleeping with my Auntie Dalla." She ticks off on her fingers. "That's already more interesting than Uncle Fenrir's fishing stories."
"Tindra!" This time it's both Meghan and Fern in unison.
Dalla is hiding her face in her hands. "I'm going to die. I'm actually going to die of embarrassment."
"You're not going to die." Tindra waves a hand dismissively. "You're going to answer my questions. How did this happen? Like, did he save you from bad guys and then you just looked at each other and boom, romance? Because that's how it happens in books."
"That's... not entirely inaccurate," Dalla admits.
