Page 16 of Only and Forever
“She’s my baby sister’s best friend,” he says, as if this should make perfect sense to me. “I’m friends with my baby sister; her friends are my friends. Char Char Binks and I are buds. In fact,I’mthe one who got her reading romance novels, helped your sister rekindle her belief in happily ever after.”
My jaw clenches. Of course he did. There’s a small, screaming-angry part of me that wants to launch myself at him and give him a good, hard shake. To tell him he has no business putting absurd romantic ideas intomybaby sister’s brain. But when I glance Charlie’s way again, hearing Gigi’s throaty laugh and Charlie’s sparkly one right behind it, that admonishment, the indignation, just... dies away.
I don’t believe in happily ever after. But Charlie does, and if she and Gigi are happy, who am I to shit on that? Even if I’m scared she’ll get her heart broken. Even if I’m terrified I can’t protect her from something she doesn’t want to be protected from.
Standing, I set down my coffee and dab the corners of my eyes before I set a hand over my brow, shielding my gaze from the sun. “So my sister believes in happily ever after now, thanks to your romance novels.”
“Well.” Viggo stands, too, hands on his hips, at least until Charlie and Gigi spot us and wave. He smiles wide and waves back. “Notjustbecause of the romance novels. But I sure think they helped.”
I sigh bleakly, still watching Gigi and Charlie as they walk closer. “This store of yours, it’ll be selling romance books, won’t it?”
“Primarily, yes, but I’ve got lots of plans for the place. Places.”
My eyebrows dart up. “Multiple locations. Grand plans. Awfully confident, aren’t you?”
“Better than confidently awful,” he says, winking.
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “Well, may that confidence take you far, Viggo Bergman.”
“Likewise, Tallulah Clarke.” Our eyes meet. “You’ll figure out that book,” he finally says. “I know that you know that you know what you’re doing.”
I frown. “That was... a confusing sentence.”
“But no less true. Tell you what,” he says, turning fully my way, stepping closer. He raises a pinkie. “Let’s make a promise. A pinkie promise.”
I barely override the impulse to take a step back. “Why?”
“Because...” His eyes search mine. “It helps, when you’re doing hard things, knowing someone out there is cheering you on. So, let’s promise to put the rocky past behind us, be accountability partners, of a kind. By the time we’re celebrating Charlie and Gigi’s wedding, let’s promise we’ll have done what we set out to do: you, kick that book’s butt. Take the time you need to make it right, make it something you’re proud of. Push back your deadline, tell your publisher, ‘Just hold your horses and let me work my magic; great books take great time—’ ”
Great books take great time.That’s actually pretty good.
“—andI’llhave my bookstore up and running. Now, come on.” He lifts his pinkie higher.
I stare at it, then say, “And if we’ve both done those things—”
“Whenwe’ve both done those things,” he says.
“—then what?”
Viggo tips his head, smiling warmly. “Then we’ll celebrate, and it’ll be nice to know we were cheering each other on along the way. Hopefully, we’ll both be happier and less stressed. And maybe, justmaybe, by then, you’ll have come around to actually being my friend.”
“Your friend, Viggo? Seriously? We’re night and day. Why would we be friends?”
“Why wouldn’t we?” he counters. “Consider this. You know your literature—you’re a book lover. Think about how many great stories are built on friendships between people who couldn’t be more different. Difference is what makes the world beautiful, Lu, it’s what makes life interesting.” He shrugs, then says casually, “But I get that it might be intimidating—”
“I’m not intimidated by you. Or your pinkie promise.”
Viggo grins. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Roughly, I lock pinkies with his. A jolt of static electricity jars me as we touch, but Viggo doesn’t flinch. He just holds my eyes for a moment, steady and warm; then he pulls his hand away first.
The wind picks up, bringing Charlie and Gigi and a gale of blossoms with them up onto the deck. I scrunch my face against the petals as they whip around me, brushing them away. Viggo reaches toward me and plucks a flower from my hair.
“I could have gotten that,” I mutter.
He smiles, makes a fist around the flower, then rolls his wrist before opening his palm, revealing... nothing. The flower’s gone.
I blink at him. “Got a little magician side hustle going there?”