“I said I’m sorry. I get it. It won’t ever happen again.” What the heck did he want her to do, grovel?
He rolled his lips inward and rubbed his stubble-covered jaw. His hair went every which way from wearing the motorcycle helmet, there were dark circles under his eyes from the long and stressful night and he still managed to look sexy as hell.
All she wanted to do was make him forgive her. Quick decision. Okay, so she would grovel. A little. “Let me buy you dinner tonight so I can give an official apology.”
He torqued his brows and got that steely-eyed look again, then shook his head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Please, Gunnar, let me buy you dinner.” Against her better judgment, she’d been meaning to get in touch with him anyway. Something about a rain-check kiss she’d promised. “That is if you don’t already have plans.”
“No plans.” He shifted his weight from one jeans-clad muscular thigh to the other, then ran his fingers through the mishmash of hair, still thinking.
“Then, let’s do it.” She walked closer, stood right in front of him, engaging his slow-to-trust gaze. Heck, she’d been trained by two of the toughest tiger parents on the planet. She could make him do what she wanted. “Have dinner with me. Come on.”
Something twinkled way in the back of those green irises. “Okay, if you insist. I’ll take you to husmanskost for a proper Swedish meal. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
She’d won the match, but was careful not to gloat, and he’d quickly taken over the plans. She needed to regain some control. “I’m paying.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, the way it had the first day she’d met him when he wrote out her jaywalking warning and she knew he didn’t want to smile. He scratched it, then turned to leave. “We’ll discuss that later.”
Chapter Five
Gunnar patted the aftershave on his cheeks and crinkled his nose over the initial potent spicy scent. Okay, so he hadn’t opened it since his sister had given it to him two Christmases ago because that was the month his mother had died and Christmas hadn’t seemed possible to bear that year. Had the stuff fermented or something? He fanned the air, grateful aftershave didn’t last like cologne, then ran a comb through his short hair and took one appraising look in the mirror. Looked good enough for him, but would he look good enough for Lilly?
Since he was still ticked off at her for exposing something so personal about him, something he worked to make up for every single day of his life, it would take a lot of effort and charm on her part to make him forgive her. He shouldn’t give a darn what she thought about how he looked.
Truth was it never took much to set off those horrible memories, to relive the mortification of a twelve-year-old kid who’d found out his father had broken the law and was going to jail. Gunnar brushed away the quick thoughts of panic and how he’d literally thought it meant the whole family would be homeless, but more importantly, how ashamed he’d been of his father, and how he wouldn’t be able to hold up his head in Heartlandia ever again.
If it wasn’t for a big Swedish kid two years older than him, one of the cool and popular kids named Kent Larson who, seeing how distraught, unpredictable, angry and explosive Gunnar had become, insisted on being his best friend, well, Gunnar may have very well followed in his old man’s footsteps.
All he knew for sure was that not a day went by when he wasn’t trying to make up for the shadow of shame on his family name and, damn it, Lilly had nailed that part, said it for everyone to read right there in the newspaper.
He took a deep breath and shook his head, walked shirtless to his closet and grabbed his favorite royal oxford shirt, fresh from the laundry and perfectly pressed, the way his mother used to do. Gunnar, we may not have money for nice clothes like the other people around here, but we can keep what we do have clean and pressed, yes?
The shirt was pale blue with navy pinstripes and he’d been told by a lady or two that it made his eyes look blue.
Not that he wasn’t happy with his green eyes, it was just that they’d always reminded him of his father. Shifty sea green eyes. And the lies his old man had told. I’m innocent, he’d sworn. Been set up. The way he’d left his mother after she’d been so loyal to him. She’d never said a word against the man when he was in jail, while she worked two jobs to keep him and his sister fed. Her reward? The minute the man got out of the slammer he took off and was never heard from again. That was until he got sent back to jail ten years later and needed money for bail.
Some role model he’d turned out to be.
Gunnar shook his head. Knock it off. He was taking a new lady out for dinner, his favorite pastime. Now was not the moment to get all morose about his father.
When he became a teenager, Gunnar had discovered that girls could take a guy’s mind off his lousy family history and put it on much more entertaining things of the physical nature. Since then he was rarely without a lady. Yet these past few months, seeing Kent so happy with Desi, Gunnar had slowed down on the constant superficial dating. So why was he so hell-bent on going out with Lilly?
Because she was different? Or maybe because, since she’d let slip some pretty telling information about her own old man, Gunnar thought they might have something in common. Since when did he give a hoot if he and a lady had anything in common besides attraction?
Okay, he was starting to give himself a headache, so he looked into the mirror and said, “Dude, knock it off.”
He buttoned and tucked, slipped on his best loafers. Tonight, like every other day of his life, he’d be the man he wanted his own father to be. And that was all there was to that. Gunnar grabbed a sports jacket and headed for the door. Wolverine made a disapproving meow.
He patted his head. “Oh, hush up. You’ll be fine. Go take another nap or something.”
But unable to get off the rough subject of his father, he admitted he had major issues with people who said one thing but did another. Lilly had run his name in the paper, said some strictly private information and made a very public connection between him and his dad without his official consent. She’d said it was an example of his honor and dedication to the job, but Gunnar wondered if it wasn’t more to prove how good she was at getting a story so her own old man might cut her some slack.
For now he’d give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since she was taking him for an apology dinner. But he’d make it clear that from now on everything he said was strictly off the record and he expected to read in advance anything she intended to print about him. If she couldn’t deal with that, then sayonara, baby.
*
He parked in the guest section at the Heritage and took the elevator up to the fifth floor—the top floor, because that was as high at it got in Heartlandia thanks to a hundred-year-old city building code. Truth was, he liked that there weren’t any high-rises, like so many other coastal communities had, blocking the view of the water for those like him who dwelled on the hillside.
He tapped on her door and, wow, when it flew open she looked stunning. In pink. She greeted him wearing a loose-knit sweater that casually fell off one shoulder with a darker pink cami underneath, and a frilly girlie necklace. Once he pulled his gaze away from the smooth white skin of her shoulder he noticed she’d sculpted her hair in a sexy and fun way, and that her eyes were enhanced by mascara and perfectly applied three-toned eye-shadow. And those fine lips glistened, also in pink.
Which was beginning to be his favorite color.
“So how’s it goin’?” he asked, sounding like a doofus even to himself.
“Pretty good. You hungry? Because I am. This is way past my dinnertime.”
He’d noticed the black pencil skirt and black hose and pointy black heels, so his answer got delayed. “Oh, sorry. But the wait makes everything taste better.”
“Well, I cheated and ate some cheese and crackers about an hour ago.”
“Someone your size probably has a picky and fast metabolism, right?”
&nbs
p; “I’ve never thought of it that way.” She’d picked up her purse from the hotel-style living room chair, leaving him waiting at the threshold rather than asking him in. The lady really was hungry.
She closed the door, which automatically locked shut, and they walked down the hall of the oldest hotel in town. With a replica of the original patterned wallpaper making the walls feel claustrophobic, and thick red carpet splattered in huge yellow-and-white hibiscus nearly lifting off the floor, he ducked on reflex thinking he might bump his head on the ceiling, then broke the silence. “The restaurant is just a couple of blocks away. It’s really pretty out tonight, and I thought it would be nice to walk there. You up for that?”
She made a decisive nod.
“You going to be able to walk in those shoes?” With the sexy pointy toes…
“No problem. They’re more comfortable than they look.”
“Could have fooled me.” He used the excuse of looking at her shoes to notice her legs and athletic calves. Okay, so he was ogling her, he admitted it, but he’d make up for it over dinner with pithy conversation, where he’d let her talk all she wanted.
Truth was, he really wanted to get to know more about Lilly.
The late-summer evening was crisp and cool, with the hint of moisture from the river, and it felt great on his skin. Others might complain about the weather in Oregon, but he loved it here. Of course, it was his home and the only place he’d ever lived.
She looked straight ahead. “So I hope you’ve had time to cool down.” She looked up at him with earnestness in her eyes, like it was really important. “The last thing I ever wanted to do was make you upset.”
“I don’t want to rehash things, but when it comes to trusting, let’s just say I have issues with people who aren’t straightforward.”
“I understand. I don’t like to think of myself as not being straightforward, though. It’s not a good quality.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“No. Of course I don’t want to be thought of as a liar.”
“I didn’t call you that.”
“No, but that’s what you implied.”
“Not true. I was complaining about not being notified or giving approval.”
“And so by skipping that part, I lied to you. Right?”
“Okay.” They’d stopped in front of Hannah’s Handmade Sweaters, and he really didn’t want to get stuck in an argument with Lilly all night, because something told him she wouldn’t back down. “Hey, it’s a beautiful night, let’s not muck it up with semantics. What do you say we call a truce?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“With the promise that we can trust each other from now on.”
“Okay.”
He encouraged her to walk again with a gentle touch to her elbow. “And whatever I say when we’re together is always off the record.”
She paused again, but smiled. “I get it.”
“And anything you print about me in the future gets my approval first.”
She saluted. “Yes, sir. Tell me whatever you want. My lips are sealed.”
“Well, that’s a shame because I was just thinking how kissable they looked.”
She nailed him with a “seriously?” kind of glance, then trudged ahead of him. Okay, unsubtle, he got it, plus he might be behaving a little chauvinistically, but he was a guy and he was allowed now and then to slip up, and man, someone needed to remember their kiss.
She didn’t pursue the kissing topic, which disappointed him a little, and thankfully after a few more steps they were already outside the restaurant.
He gestured to the door of the modest white building with the blue-and-yellow canopy.
She squinted at the sign out front. “What is husmanskost?”
“A style of Swedish cuisine. You’re gonna love it.” He swung the door wide open into a darkened dining room lit only by candlelight. Bringing Lilly here made him see it from another perspective. Tables for two were selectively arranged near plants and white-lattice-panel room dividers. All the tables were round with white tablecloths, with a hint of blue-and-yellow thread woven around the edges. The overall appearance was clean and modern. He liked it and hoped she would, too.
It had been a long time since Gunnar had brought someone here as he usually came by himself when he got nostalgic for his mother’s cooking. The young waitress brought the menu with the night’s supper specials, then left to retrieve some water.
“So how do you say it? Husmans-kost?”
“That’s right.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s traditional Swedish countryside cuisine made with local ingredients. You don’t get to pick and choose from the menu, like at other restaurants. Basically we eat what they’ve made today.”
She glanced at the long list on the day’s specials. “All of this?”
He liked how her eyes lit up with wonder. “I’ll help.”
“I won’t be eating animal brains or pickled eyeballs or anything, will I?”
He gently laughed. “Don’t worry. I guarantee you’ll like the food or I’ll pay for dinner. How’s that for a money-back guarantee?”
“I’m so hungry it won’t be a problem.”
When the waitress returned he ordered some dishes from the night’s menu. “Ärtsoppa, rotmos med fläsk.” He leaned toward Lilly. “Would you prefer potato dumplings or potato pancakes?”
“Dumplings sound good.”
“Okay. We’ll have palt. Oh, and why not, we’ll have some raggmunk, too.”
The waitress nodded. He glanced at Lilly. “You’ve got to try raggmunk.”
She lifted her narrow shoulders in a “whatever” gesture.
“Oh, and you can warm up the apple cake now, because we’re definitely going to have that.”
“Share,” Lilly said. “We’ll share a piece.”
Lilly obviously liked to take control. Problem was, so did he.
Once the waitress walked off, Lilly tapped Gunnar’s arm. “What did all that mean?”
He smiled. “Pea soup with yellow peas, boiled and mashed carrots, rutabaga and potato with free-range pork tenderloin and, since you wanted potato dumplings, that comes with ground meat, also free-range. But I decided you had to try potato pancakes, too, so I ordered raggmunk.”
“That’s a lot of potatoes. I’ll explode if I eat all that.”
“We’ll take it slow, and you can take the leftovers home.”
“Sounds like comfort food.”
“It definitely is.” He took a moment to study Lilly, looking so pretty in pink, appreciating her being open to food she’d probably never try otherwise. “I know after your little incident at the bar last week you probably don’t want to drink, but the best way to eat this food is with vodka.”
“My incident at the bar?” She immediately bristled.
He used his thumb to imitate a person drinking from a beer bottle.
“I beg your pardon, but I was fine.” She pulled her sweater up over her shoulder and sat straighter. “Well, almost fine.”
Continuing to tease, he shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head, giving her some slack. She went quiet, but not for long.
“Vodka? Like a martini?”
“No. Just vodka. Straight,” he said.
“Well, anything would taste good after that.”
“It actually enhances the flavors. That is if you sip it. No guzzling like you and beer.”
She playfully slapped his arm and he realized how much he enjoyed giving her a hard time, and being around her in general.
“Let’s go for it, then. I may as well experience my first husmanskost the authentic way. Maybe I’ll even do a piece for the paper on it. That is if it’s okay with you?”
Did she ever get her mind off work? But in this case he really liked that angle—a human interest story spotlighting a local business, just what they needed more of these days.
He smiled. “That would be a great idea.”
He
waved the waitress over and made their drink orders, then not wanting the easy flowing conversation to go dead, thought up another topic. “So what’s your favorite food?”
“I’m a California girl, sushi, what else?”
“That’s it?”
“Sticky rice, teriyaki chicken, seafood. Oh, and avocados.”
“Can you make sushi?”
“My sobo taught me to make makizushi.” She played with the silverware on her napkin and he detected a nostalgic gaze.
“Maki sushi?”
“Close enough. Rice-filled rolls wrapped in seaweed. Mostly vegetarian, celery, cucumber, avocado, since she didn’t trust me with raw fish.”
“Who is Sobo?”
“My grandmother.” There it was again, endearment in her eyes. All he remembered about his grandmother was that occasionally she’d pull him by the ear when he’d acted up.
“I’d love to try some of your maki sushi.”
“Once I find a place with a kitchen I’ll make you some.”
“You’re looking for a permanent place?”
“I’m planning on sticking around and making something out of that newspaper. Maybe even asking Bjork to sell it to me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Well, in that case, I know a man who has a guesthouse sitting empty. He built it about ten years ago for his mother after his father died. But then a few years later she died, and a year after that his wife died, so it’s been sitting empty for two or three years now. Maybe he’d rent it to you.”
Her eyes enlarged and brightened. “Can you ask for me?”
“Sure. His name’s Leif Andersen.” The excitement in her gaze doubled when he mentioned the name. “The best contractor in this part of Oregon. Built the city college. Sure, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
*
Lilly couldn’t believe her good fortune. Leif Andersen was on that secret committee, and maybe he’d be her ticket to Big News so she could lay off Gunnar. “The sooner I can move out of the Heritage, the happier I’ll be.”
Her Perfect Proposal Page 7
