Page 91 of Forged

“Can you blame me? I have an insanely hot husband cooking me dinner. I would even say I’m allowed to drool.”

He chuckles as he stirs. “Is that all it takes? A simple dinner served by a man in sweatpants?”

“I’m easy when it comes to you.”

He glances over his shoulder with a crooked grin. “I’ll remember that, and I’ll use those words against you someday.”

I laugh softly and lift my glass.

Lars carries two plates to the island a moment later and I cut into the food, humming in satisfaction with the first bite. For a few minutes we eat in comfortable silence. The penthouse is quiet around us, the low sound of the city drifting through the glass and it’s peaceful.

That word—peaceful—still feels strange attached to my life.

But the past few days, anytime my mind quiets, the memory of our night with Gabriel slips into my thoughts before I can stop it. I see flashes of dim lights and champagne glasses, the curve of Gabriel’s smile across the table, and the way Lars’s hand held mine while we watched him. The tension between them had been electric even before their mouths met, and the moment it happened something inside me changed in a way that has made me question everything.

I take a sip of wine, trying to decide if I should say what is on my mind. We haven’t really spoken about that night. He’s been in countless meetings all week and I’m trying to gain my footing in a new city. But he promised me his schedule was cleared tonight, that this time is ours, so, I need to ask questions.

“My life has changed so quickly,” I say finally.

Lars looks up from his plate. “That sounds ominous.”

“It isn’t ominous, just an observation. You’re dramatic,” I tease.

“I’m realistic. Tell me what’s on your mind, Bella.”

I set my fork down. “Do you ever think about him?”

Lars’s brow furrows slightly. “Who?”

I give him a look and understanding dawns, and the corner of his mouth tips up.

“Gabriel?” he asks.

“Yes.” I nod.

He studies me for a moment before answering. “Sometimes.”

“I do too,” I admit.

Lars leans back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass while his eyes remain fixed on mine.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he says over the rim of his glass.

“Does it worry you?”

He shakes his head. “Not particularly.”

“That sounds like another careful answer.” I push.

“It’s an honest one.”

I rest my elbows on the counter and watch him beside me at the island.

“I also think about poker. I miss playing,” I say after a moment. “I miss the unpredictability of it. The way the room feels when you sit down at a table and know anything could happen.”

Lars’s expression softens with quiet amusement. “You miss the thrill.”

“I do.”