Page 13 of Only and Forever
“You first,” I tell her.
She throws me a “get out of here” look. “Hell no.”
“Respectfully, Tallulahloo, you already ducked out on me yesterday. I’m going to need you to go first, an act of good faith.”
There’s that chilly scowl again. I like it way too much. She’squiet for a minute, wide, dark-lashed eyes dancing between mine. I stare at her irises, because I’ve always wanted to, knowing, in my gut, they weren’t as simple as plain old brown.
I was right.
Sunlight bathes her face, and finally I see those irises for what they really are—a dozen slivered shades of amber, topaz, and gold—rich and warm, a dramatic rim of dark chocolate wrapped around them. They’re so damn pretty.
Stop, Viggo. Stop romanticizing this moment with a woman who barely tolerates you.
At least she used to barely tolerate me. I can’t get a read on her now.
Tallulah says quietly, “I don’t think I’m ever going to finish this book.”
Her words land with a shocking splash inside me, ripples that echo through my body. I blink at her. I can’t believe she actually confided in me, and about this, of all things.
“I’m in way over my head,” she adds, staring down at her coffee. “I wanted to write a fresh take on the domestic thriller. Husband and wife both suspicious, marriage on the rocks—the usual deal, except it’s not the usual deal at all, the way I imagined it. I had these plans to subvert the predictable arc of the unreliable, jealous female narrator, the duplicitous, scheming husband, and fucking crush this book, but I just can’t...”
She sighs and massages her forehead with her hand.
“I just can’t get it right, and my editor is generally super helpful and insightful, but this time, every email and call with her is just muddying the waters, making it harder to sort out my thoughts and untangle the mess I’ve made of the plot, and we’re on this tight deadline because my first book did so well, and they want to capitalize on momentum, keep a tight publication timeline, but I’m so behind.I’m fucked.” Sighing again, she drops her hand. Her eyes meet mine, a rare flash of soft, raw vulnerability before they slip away, fastened on the horizon. “That’s my damn secret. Now spill yours.”
I stare at her, warmth spreading through me.
Tallulah trusted me. She talked... a lot. Well, a lot for her. That same zip of electricity that jumped down my spine the day she walked into class seven years ago flies through me again.
That’s when I know I’m in trouble. If I’m not careful, I’m going to find myself right where I was the day I met Tallulah Clarke.
Thoroughly, unbearably smitten.
FOUR
Tallulah
Playlist: “Direct Address,” Lucy Dacus
A thoughtful hum rumbles in Viggo’s throat. He stares at me with those keen pale blue eyes—I feel them boring into the side of my head. “Tallulah—”
“Don’t.” I point a finger at him. “Don’t therapize me. Or console me.”
He frowns. A frown looks all wrong on Viggo. There’s a sharp pinch in my chest. Something dangerously close to regret. I don’t think I like making Viggo frown, but dammit, I’m not here to be his buddy; I’m here to get this secret swap over with and move on with my life.
“I told you my secret,” I remind him. “Now you tell me yours.”
Clearing his throat, he scrubs at the back of his neck, then sets his coffee on the arm of his Adirondack. He tugs the hem of his joggers’ right pant leg a little farther down his ankle and clears his throat again. “I’m uh... I’m planning to run a bookstore.”
I lift my eyebrows. “And what does that have to do with Escondido? I vomited a paragraph of professional crisis on you. I deserve more than that threadbare sentence.”
He groans and slumps down in the Adirondack chair, raking his hands through his hair. “I went for a drive last year because... I needed to go somewhere. Do something. I was having one of those days when my brain was spinning in eighty directions and my body was antsy, and it was too damn hot for a run, so I got in Ashbury—”
“Ashbury?”
“My car,” he says impatiently, as if I should have known this. “I got in Ashbury, started driving south. Took the scenic route, down the PCH to I-5, and by the time I was a few hours in, nature was calling. I took a random exit, dealt with my business, and then when I was done, I just... wasn’t ready to go back. So I drove around some more and ended up driving into Escondido, right by a quirky little bookstore that just... made me stop. I wrenched the car in park, walked in, and”—he shrugs, his expression turning dreamy—“that was that. Love at first sight.”
Good grief. “Love at first sight, huh?”