Page 19 of Only and Forever
Dad tips his head. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah!” I force my smile even wider, hugging both him and Mom. “Totally. Thank you for being here. Now go poke around some more. Make yourself comfortable, okay?” I tell them, pointing to the cozy corner at the front of the store, a handful of deep green velvet club chairs that I reupholstered myself, accented by pillows whose prints are mosaics of romance book covers.
Having successfully rerouted my parents, I take another glance around the store and do a little mental attendance check. Only an hour into being here, and we’ve put a massive dent in the food, some of which I made, some of which my family brought. Lids have been placed back over Mom’s classic Swedish recipes, cookies and cupcakes, including gluten-free variations for Seb and Rooney’s dietary needs. Dirty dishes are stacked neatly in the dish tub, waiting to be loaded into the compact dishwasher. Acoustic guitar covers play softly in the background, a soothing soundtrack as my gaze pans across the store.
There’s Willa and Ryder, halfway down the historical romance section. Willa’s browsing, easing books off the shelf. Ryder leans against a bookshelf across from her, a small stack of books tucked under one arm, watching her with a grin on his face.
Oliver and Gavin browse the sports romance section in the contemporary aisle, Ollie laughing at something Gavin mutters as he reads the back of a book in hand.
Frankie’s got her eye on the Austen-retellings shelf, finger trailing along the spines, while Ren sits on the floor near the front of the store by the non-romance section, with Lucia in his lap as he reads her a baby board book. Pazza, their black-and-white Alusky, lies calmly beside them, never content to be far from the baby.
Nearby, at the edge of the coffee bar, Rooney and Axel sit side by side and pass each other books, a steady signing assembly line as they work their way through a tall stack of the children’s books they’ve published together, written by Rooney, illustrated by Axel. Rooney’s academic background is in science, and Axel’s a painter. Three years ago, they published their first book about exploring nature and taking care of the environment. Since then, they’ve published three more, featuring a group of kids who go on adventures and learn about the earth—everything from marine life to native plant habitats, growing a garden to weather systems. I made sure my children’s shelf in the non-romance corner was stocked with their titles, ready for them to sign before they came.
At the other end of the shop, Ziggy sits on the floor, long legs outstretched, her back to a fantasy romance bookshelf, her nose in an advance copy that I snagged for her, the first book in a new romantasy series the publisher sent me. One of the great perks of being a bookseller—early copies of highly anticipated titles.
“You’re lucky I like you.” Seb leans a hip against the coffee bar, arms folded across his chest. He jerks his chin toward where Ziggy sits, engrossed in her book. “Thanks to you, I’m now second priority.”
I roll my eyes. “She tears through books, and you know it. You’ll go back to being the center of her world in just a few hours.”
“A few hours too long,” he grumbles.
I feel that pinch of jealousy.At least you only have to wait a few hours until you have your person, I want to tell him.I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting, with no end in sight.
I don’t say that. I keep quiet about my loneliness. I hold tight to what I’m holding out for—an epic romance, a grand, once-in-a-lifetime connection with someone who turns my world upside down, who makes me feel that glorious thrill romance novels capture. I know good things take time, and love doesn’t always knock on ourdoor when we want it but instead when it’s ready. So I’m trying to be patient.
I’m certainly not going to clue in my family to my desperation when, as I’ve mentioned, I’ve meddled and crossed the line plenty of times in their love lives. I’m in no rush to give them the green light to return the favor, because if I thought I was suffering now, their interference would launch me into a whole new level of misery. They all support my love of romance reading, some tolerating, others outright enjoying when I foist romance novels on them, but I don’t think any of them understand what it is to want romantic love the way I want it—to walk around with this aching, gnawing want that feels like a sickness spreading through me the longer it goes untreated. I’m hurting enough as it is—I couldn’t take them diminishing that, misunderstanding it, or worse, trying to shove some random person into my path to see if we click.
I’ll know when I’ve found the one. Our eyes will lock. My heart will do that...thing, give me the signal that this is the person I’ve been waiting for.
Waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
An involuntary sigh leaves me as I adjust my ball cap and tug it low. Seb narrows his eyes, searching mine in concern.
Over the past year, since he officially joined the Bergmans when he became Ziggy’s boyfriend, we’ve gotten close. As a professional hockey player for the LA Kings and Ren’s teammate, Seb’s busy, but he’s good about texting, often up at late hours like I am. He’s helped me out around the store with odd projects when his packed schedule allowed it. He’s brought take-out meals when Ziggy was here, helping me decide on and then carry out my plans for shelving my inventory. And he’s also sucked me into his world of tattoos. I now have three, thanks to his bad influence. Not that I think tattoos are bad, they’re just damn expensive, and I shouldn’t be spendingmoney on tatts when I’ve told myself I can’t even afford to hire a barista.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He slaps a hand on my shoulder, making me hiss in pain. That’s where I have fresh ink, and he knows it. “You sure about that?” he presses.
“Thanks for the concern.” I shrug off his touch and slap a hand over his chest, right where I know he has fresh ink, too, since we went together. “But I’m good.”
Seb shoves my hand away. “You’re full of shit.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Am not—”
A louddingfrom the overhead bell interrupts our petty back-and-forth. The door nearly bangs into the wall as Charlie rushes toward me and wraps me in a hug while Gigi shuts the door behind her. “Sorry we’re late!” she says.
I hug Charlie back. No, she’s not a blood relative, but in the past year, she and Ziggy have braided more of their lives together—Bergman family dinners, game nights, birthday parties. Charlie and Gigi are family now.
“It looks amazing,” Charlie says, stepping aside so I can hug Gigi, too.
“Seriously,” Gigi tells me, “Viggo, everything isstunning.”