End of Story(60)

“Hello, Susie.” Deborah gave me a cool smile and her son a kiss on the cheek. “How have you been, sweetie?”

“On the mend,” Lars said then took a seat at the table. When she went to grab his arm to help, he gently shook her off. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“Of course, you are.”

“I wasn’t sure what to bring,” I said, setting the charcuterie board on the table beside the salads and bread rolls. “Hope this is okay.”

“A cheeseboard.” Deborah smiled. “Unfortunately, I’m lactose intolerant and Henning is watching his cholesterol.”

My return smile was weak as water.

“What would you both like to drink?” she asked. “We have beer, wine, soda...”

“Beer would be great, thank you,” I said.

Lars threw a stuffed habanero into his mouth. “Same.”

As soon as Deborah was gone, I hissed, “Your mom is lactose intolerant?”

“Sorry. Forgot.” He rested his free hand high on my leg. “I’ll eat your charcuterie board, Susie. And that’s not a euphemism.”

“Yeah, but you already like me. I was trying to suck up to your mother.”

He gave my thigh a squeeze. “I appreciate the effort.”

“I’m not sure I’m supposed to interact with families. It’s not my natural environment.”

“Such a pity Tore and his new girlfriend couldn’t come,” said Deborah, handing out the bottles of beer. And there was a distinctly judgmental tone to her voice. Oh this night would be awesome.

“They had tickets to a show. You weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow,” Lars reminded her. “You can hardly blame them.”

“Of course I’m not blaming them, Lars. Don’t be silly.”

If I drank every time his mother made a passive-aggressive comment, there was a good chance Lars would have to carry me out at the end of the night. And Lars was in no condition to carry me anywhere. It was a damn shame I hadn’t put an edible in my purse. Just a nibble would have made everything better.

“So what have you been up to?” asked Deborah. “Watching a lot of TV?”

Lars finished chewing some cheese. “Actually, I read a couple of books Susie recommended. Romance novels.”

“Romance?” Deborah raised a brow. “Goodness.”

Henning’s gaze turned curious. “What did you think?”

“They were...interesting,” said Lars. “Instructional.”

I just smiled. Any day I converted a reader to romance was a good day.

“Hear you’re heading back to work on Monday,” said Henning.

“Mostly in a supervisory capacity.” Lars waved his cast in the air. “Not good for much until this comes off.”

“I imagine you’ll be glad to move back home,” said Deborah. “You were always so keen on having your own space.”

He shrugged. “Lived with Tore for years.”

“But never with a girlfriend,” said Deborah. “We were surprised you chose to stay at Susie’s. And I’m sure she’s eager to have her house to herself again.”

I kept my mouth shut. This seemed like another situation where the less I said the better.

Lars hadn’t volunteered any information regarding plans to move back to his condo and I hadn’t asked. I liked him just fine where he was. Not that I was ready to invite him to stay long-term, or anything. And as for being labeled his girlfriend...hmm. Interesting. No alarm bells were ringing inside my head. Despite my fear of dating, I guess I didn’t mind. After some sexing and almost a week of living together I was willing to admit we were something. I just wasn’t sure what, exactly.

“This isn’t the first time he’s been injured,” said Henning. “Tell Susie about all of the times Lars hurt himself when he was little.”

“Oh, goodness.” Deborah smiled broadly. “He always was a handful. Bucked off a pony he wasn’t supposed to be on at a petting zoo at the age of five. That was two broken fingers. Hit by a falling potted plant at a friend’s house when he was eight. Seven stitches on the top of his head. I still have no idea how that even happened. Ran into a log at the park when he was eleven. They had this play fort and...well. Five stitches to his forehead. The scar disappeared into his hairline as he grew, fortunately. Then he fell off his bike when he was fourteen. No stitches or broken bones, but lots of nasty little cuts on his back and a sprained ankle. Those were all of the major incidents.”

“Holy shit,” I said. Then I winced. “Sorry. I mean gosh.”

Deborah actually laughed. “You should have heard some of the language I used when they were growing up.”

“You’d think Tore would be the problem child,” said Lars. “But strangely not.”

“You always had to go first.” His mother waggled a finger at him. “Lars led the way. Undisputed leader of the pack. That’s what we used to say.”

“It was either that or let Tore crack his skull open attempting something stupid.” Lars smiled. “Though it meant I always got in trouble for everything, too.”

Henning chuckled. “You did a good job keeping your siblings out of trouble. Even if it did come at a cost.”