Page 107 of Forged

Lars studies me over the rim of his glass.

“What was it like growing up there?”

“I grew up in a little town called Cedar Falls,” I add. “Everyone knows everyone else. The biggest excitement mostweeks was the high school football game. The town treated every Friday night like a national holiday.”

Neomi laughs. “Sounds riveting.”

Lars smirks.

Neomi tilts her head. “Did you always know you’d leave?”

“I think I figured it out early,” I say. “Small towns are great places to grow up, but they can feel…” I search for the right word. “Limiting once you realize how big the world actually is.”

“And trading was the escape route?” Lars asks.

“Eventually.”

Lars sets his glass down.

“Have you dated while traveling?”

I shrug. “Here and there.”

Neomi studies me with quiet curiosity. “So, is this new territory for you? A situation like the three of us?”

“No,” I say calmly. “I’ve dated the spectrum of genders and a couple once. Attraction’s never been something I’ve limited to one category.”

Lars nods once, absorbing the information without any visible reaction.

“Good to know,” he says simply.

Dinner stretches comfortably once we sit at the table. The three of us linger there longer than the meal requires, wine glasses slowly emptying while conversation drifts from one subject to another. Lars moves around the kitchen occasionally when someone needs more water or another slice of bread with the quiet ease of someone who genuinely enjoys feeding people. Neomi praises the pasta more than once, which earns that flush along the back of his neck every time she does it.

It’s domestic, the way he moves through the kitchen, confident and practiced. It’s evident that his talent comes from years of doing something because he loves it, not because anyone expected it from him.

When we’re finished, Neomi begins to gather the dishes and stands before either of us can move.

“You cooked,” she tells Lars over her shoulder. “You’re not touching the cleanup.”

“I’ll help,” I add.

I rise, stacking the plates before carrying them toward the sink.

Lars watches us for a moment from the table before standing and bringing the wine bottle to the counter. I load the dishwasher while Neomi rinses the last glass and passes it to me.

It feels strangely natural.

When everything is clean, Neomi pours the last of the wine into our glasses and carries them toward the living room. The couch slants toward the tall windows overlooking the city, the skyline glowing softly beyond the glass.

She settles into the center of the couch first, tucking one leg beneath her. I sit beside her while Lars lowers himself onto the other side a moment later.

For a few minutes we simply sit there.

“Thank you for cooking, Lars. Neomi was right, I might be ruined for restaurants now.”

He grins, eyes catching mine. “I’d be happy to cook for you anytime.”

I lean forward, placing my glass on the coffee table. My chest is warm with the wine and the ease of the evening.