“I’m saying, use whatever the hell you want, and don’t give a shit about what I think.”
My hands lift in frustration. “It’s for you. Of course I care what you think.”
He says nothing in response to that, his hard gaze remaining in place.
“You’re welcome, Gunnar,” I mock in a deep voice.
“Thank you, Ellie,” he mocks right back, flashing me a grin.
“You’re such an ass.” I laugh.
Chuckling, he pulls me in for a hug, not the least bit concerned about getting oil and grease all over me. Probably because he knows I don’t care either.
“Thank you,” he says with more sincerity. “You know I appreciate you and your flowers.”
“As you should,” I murmur, but hug him back, savoring his warmth.
Gunnar’s arms are my favorite place to be, they can ease the pain and heal any wound. I spent a lot of time in them after Paw passed away.
He drops a kiss on the top of my head before breaking contact. “Come on, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”
Nodding, I begin unpacking the take-out containers while he grabs us each a Coke from the bar fridge.
Afterward, he pulls his chair up next to mine, choosing to sit beside me rather than across from me.
“You got someone watching the shop for you?” he asks, popping the top off our sodas.
I shake my head. “I just flipped the sign to ‘back in an hour.’ I’ve got a few deliveries this afternoon, but it should be quiet otherwise. Mondays usually are.”
Something I appreciate since weekends are always so busy, especially during wedding season.
The last take-out container I open holds my favorite dish: honey garlic chicken.
My mouth waters at the rich aroma.
Just as I reach for the chopsticks next to me, ready to dig in, Gunnar swoops in out of nowhere and snatches the container right out of my hands.
“Hey!”
Ignoring my protest, he pops a crispy strip into his mouth and groans, exaggerating his delight with a smirk. “Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmmm.”
My eyes narrow into a glare.
Two can play at this game, bucko.
Moving quickly, I swipe the ball cap off his head, watching all that messy brown hair fall into disarray, before placing it atop my own, flashing him a triumphant smile.
He chuckles, not the least bit bothered by it.
Turd.
He gives me back the chicken, but I decide to keep his hat for a little while longer.
“How’s business going anyway?” he asks, starting in on the beef and vegetables instead. “Busy?”
“Yep, and it’s about to get even busier with wedding season upon us. My first order is next weekend and it’s a big one,” I tell him. “Huge, actually. The largest one I have ever done. Wanna know why?”
He smirks at my question. “Why?”
“Because there are eight bridesmaids and eight groomsmen. Eight, Gunnar! Who the hell has that many people in their wedding party?”
“The same people who are dumb enough to get married in the first place,” he says, making both of us laugh.
I should have seen that one coming.
“How about you?” I ask, turning the question on him. “Still busy?”
“Yep, and I’m not mad about it.”
I’m sure he’s not. Gunnar loves spending his days working on cars. It’s always been his favorite thing to do—well, aside from hanging out with me, of course, but that’s a given.
“I see Ryland is still showing up.” A smile peeks through my words as I make the observation.
It prompts a matching one from Gunnar. “We called it, didn’t we?”
“We did.” I laugh.
“It’s good for him,” Gunnar adds with a shrug. “It’s not like he has any kind of social life to keep him busy.”
