Page 25 of Complete Me

I snort. “Jocelin’s dad doesn’t sound too bad.”

Gunnar shrugs. “True. But he gives in to his wife too much. Though I suppose I might, too, just to keep the peace.”

“Well, if they can’t see how good you and Jocelin are for each other, then they’re blind. And you shouldn’t have to impress them. Especially after the way they treated you. If anything, they should be trying to impress you.”

I’m not expecting the bear hug Gunnar hauls me into, and I have to fight down the lump in my throat. But I squeeze him hard and kiss the side of his head before we let go and hurry after the rest of our class.

As we walk past Chef Bouchard, she hands us hair and beard nets, and we put them on before moving to the industrial sinks to wash our hands. “Over the next two and a half hours, we will be preparing French onion soup, a classic Moules Marinières served with French baguette and homemade butter, Steak au Poivre with creamy leek gratin, and a traditional crème brûlée. And when we are finished, we will sit down for a meal and enjoy the results of our efforts.”

My stomach growls at the delicious-sounding menu. French food isn’t necessarily what I think of when I’m trying to decide what to make for the family, but when I went to the website for the evening cooking classes Gunnar had mentioned, this menu jumped off the page. I love seafood and steak, and I’ve always wanted to learn to make crème brûlée without burning the sugar. When I asked Gunnar to come with me, he quickly agreed. I’d half expected him to tell me no, but he keeps surprising me. And I’m really happy about that.

We wash and dry our hands under the watchful eye of Chef Bouchard, then take one of the free work surfaces. Chef walks to the front of the class and stops at the center stovetop, turning to face us. “You have baskets of ingredients on the shelf at your workstation. Please begin with basket number one.” Gunnar checks the shelf and pulls out a brown wicker basket with the number one on the handle. “You will also find canisters and tins of basic ingredients on your workstation.”

Everyone pays close attention while the instructor walks us through our first recipe, but when we’re set free to try it on our own, a low buzz of conversation begins.

I get busy chopping onions while Gunnar minces leeks and garlic the way Chef Bouchard showed us. “So…” Gunnar pauses in his chopping. “You’re still recovering from being stabbed, but when you’re better, are you really willing to help Jocelin move into my house?”

“Absolutely. And I’m fine now. All healed and ready whenever you need me.” Gunnar’s expression clearly calls bullshit. “Seriously. I had a doctor’s appointment last week, and I’m cleared for work.”

Gunnar raises his eyebrows. “On full or light duty?”

I glance around for Chef Bouchard. She’s busy with the other group, so I turn to Gunnar and flip him off. “Light duty, but that’s because I’m assigned to SWAT. I can still lift boxes that are less than fifty pounds, and I’ve been cleared to drive. So you guys can load up the furniture in the trucks, and I can drive one to your place. It’ll speed things up.”

“So, if you’ve been cleared, why aren’t you back at work?”

It’s a valid question, so I don’t give him shit for asking. “It’s the SWAT thing. I can’t be out in the field, and they don’t have much desk duty for SWAT members. So work still has me on medical leave even though I’ve turned in the release papers. I’m not in a rush to go back, anyway. The delay gives me time to investigate what I want to do instead. Hence our little excursion tonight.”

He snorts. “Did you just say hence? And I thought you invited me along to help me win over my future in-laws.”

Gunnar grins mischievously, but I stop chopping and stare at him in surprise. “Are you serious?”

His grin morphs to confusion. “About winning over Jocelin’s parents? Hell yes.”

“I meant the future in-laws thing. Are you guys that serious already? It’s a big step, Gunnar. Be really sure before you make that leap.” I realize my mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

The glower he aims at me is thunderous, and I brace myself, fully expecting him to blow up and storm out. Especially with how fast his jaw is flexing and how tightly he’s gripping his knife. I’m about to suggest he put it down, but that will only make things worse. Gunnar takes a few deep breaths, closes his eyes, and by feel alone, he sets the knife on the cutting board. “Sorry, Gunnar. That was a dick thing to say. You’re fully capable of making your own decisions.” He continues to stand quietly, eyes closed, breathing slowly, and I’m on pins and needles. But the blowup never happens.

With one final, deep inhalation, followed by an equally slow exhalation, Gunnar opens his eyes and looks at me. When he speaks, his voice is even and calm. “That was a load of bullshit. But I’m glad you recognize it, and I accept your apology. You’re trying.” He takes another moment before he continues. “But that’s only going to buy you so much time. You have to let it go, Bjorn. I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m not perfect, and I’m absolutely certain I’ll fuck up again. But it’s not your responsibility to make sure I don’t. Or to clean things up when I do. That’s on me.”

I hang my head. “Yeah. I know. I am trying to stop. I promise.”

“I know.” To my surprise, he pulls me into another hug. “You’re an asshole, but I love you. And now we need to wash our hands again. Then can we please focus on cooking? I have people to impress.”

For a long minute, I hold him tightly, then let him go and step back. “I love you, too.”

We walk to the sink and wash up again, using the scrubbing time to really calm down. I reach around him to grab a paper towel and dry my hands, then jerk my head toward the garlic. “Can we please finish so we can move on to the next part? We’re lagging behind the other group.”

Gunnar snorts and nudges me. “Your fault.”

I nudge him back. “True. Sorry.” When we’re at our table again, I glance over at the other students. It doesn’t seem like we lost too much time but we refocus on chopping ingredients. “I am happy for you. Jocelin’s a great guy, and you two are perfect together.”

Gunnar keeps his head down, but I see his soft smile. “We’re not perfect, but we are much better together than we are apart. I am, anyway. He keeps me grounded.”

“I’m a little jealous.” Gunnar’s head shoots up, and I laugh at his shocked expression. “Not of you being with Jocelin. But of what the two of you have. What the rest of you all seem to have found.”

Gunnar shakes his head. “I know what you meant, asshole. And you’ll find someone. They’re out there.”

It’s sweet of him to say, especially after I just told him he’s rushing things. But it’s not likely. “I’m not so sure.”

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