Page 21 of Only and Forever
Considering how intentionally I’ve avoided him since our early morning coffee chat a year ago, I havenoidea why I’m showing up to Viggo Bergman’s bookstore for its grand opening.
Actually, I do have an idea—my sister, Charlie.
She gave me those big, sad puppy eyes,pleadedwith me to come. I suck at saying no to her and she knows it. So, here I am, at Viggo’s bookstore’s grand opening. Though, as I look around and see only his family milling around the store, I’m starting to worry. This doesn’t look like a grand opening at all.
My gaze flicks to my sister, hiss-whispering with Ziggy, who allegedly told Charlie about this “grand opening.” Ziggy glances my way, turns bright red, then lifts a book to hide both her and Charlie from my glare. Gigi’s beside them with a book in hand, too, which I think she’s supposed to be “reading,” except it’s upside down. Slowly, heads lift and turn my way, warm greetings extended, but most of them express some form of surprise that I’m here.
Dammit. I’ve been duped.
Viggo strolls my way, surprise painted across his features, too. Same blue ball cap, even more beat-up than last year. Another T-shirt, this time sky blue, bearing a hard-shell taco loaded up with what I believe are historical romance book covers portraying half-nakedcouples in Regency clothes, arms twined around each other. Above it reads,I like my romance novels like I like my tacos: extra spicy.
My eyes flick up to his, and our gazes connect. There’s something tight at the corners of that bright smile, like a storm rolling in at the edges of a sunny sky.
I take a deep breath to steady myself. I resent that this is how I keep bumping into him—Viggo on home turf, at ease; me in foreign territory, caught off guard. I resent that I’ve noticed there’s something brittle in his smile, something indicating that he’s not particularly happy to see me. I resent even more that Icare.
“Tallulah Clarke.” He stops a foot away from me, hands in his pockets. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was told tonight was your store’s big opening event.” I cross my arms over my chest, glaring around him at my sister, who stands at the other end of the store. She ducks behind Ziggy’s book again.
Viggo peers over his shoulder, following my line of sight, then glances back, eyes on me. His smile warms. He’s delighted by this. “Ooh, they got you good.”
I glare up at him. “I’m glad you find this amusing.”
“You know, Tallulah, I do.” Viggo reaches past me for the door, bracketing me inside his body as he pushes it shut. He’s close. So close I could make a fist around the fabric of his shirt and tug him closer.
If I wanted to.
Which I don’t.
I peer up at him, eyebrow arched. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re all ticked off that you’re here, at my super-soft opening, when it sounds like you planned to come to the store’s official opening, anyway. So you came when there’s a couple dozen fewer people, big whoop.” He shrugs. “You’re here now, and there’s a bunch of good books to browse, some snacks still, if you’re hungry, people you seemed to like talking to, based on the last timeyou saw them. How about you just... enjoy it? Or is being in my presencethatunpleasant?”
I swallow. “I don’t find your presence... unpleasant.”
He folds his arms across his chest, peering down at me. “So, after bumping into each other at the A-frame last spring, I didn’t hear from you for a year, why, then?”
My stomach tightens. A little guilt, a little guilty pleasure that he actually seems put out I never took him up on his offer, never came by.
I didn’t visit, I answer him in my head,because I was struggling. Because I needed to get my shit together and take care of myself. But I thought about you. I wished you luck. I felt you wishing me luck, too.
Shifting on my feet, I tuck a loose piece of hair back into my bun. “I was stressed, lots of moving parts, lots going on with the book, with... personal stuff. I wouldn’t have been good company.”
Something in Viggo’s expression shifts. Softens. He leans against the wall, head tipped as his eyes search mine. “You could have come by, vented, talked it out. I would have listened. Maybe handed you a paintbrush, made you paint a wall while you were talking, but I would have listened.”
My heart thumps hard inside my chest. How do I answer that? How do I tell him no one’s ever done that for me? Offered to be the one who makes a safe space formeto fall apart? I’d have to admit that I’m not sure I even know how to fall apart, that I just keep pushing and going and grinding myself down.
“Wouldn’t have been a very fair trade-off,” I tell him quietly. “I’m a shit painter.”
His mouth cracks in a grin. “Doesn’t matter. That’s what friends do, Lulaloo.”
Lulaloo.No one’s called me that goofy name, or any goofy names, for that matter, for twelve months. I hate that I’ve missed it.
“And I will remind you,” he adds, ducking his head so a little ofour extreme height differential is erased. His voice is soft, its warmth whispering over my skin, making goose bumps erupt in its wake. “Under the statutes of the Bergman Family Code, ever since you and I swapped secrets, wearefriends.”
I stare at him, warring with myself. Why is he so warm to me, when I’m so cold? Why is he soft when I’m sharp? Why do I feel this bizarre impulse to lower my guard, just say to hell with it, and enjoy how much I get a perverse kick out of his antics, his energy, his playful, poking jokes?
For twelve months, I’ve been struggling to move beyond operating in my default states: sad and stressed. For just one night, would it be so terrible to let myself enjoy this? Would it be so devastating to kick loose and hang out with his big, quirky family, which has wrapped its arms around my sister, made her feel loved and safe in a way my parents, my family as a whole, never have? Would it be the worst if I soaked up some time with this beautiful—albeit overly bearded—man who seems to see something about me worth leaning toward, even when I clam up, even when I snap, even if I have no idea what that is?