Page 24 of Only and Forever
“You two.” Freya, their older sister, jabs her fingers in the tops of their armpits, the exact same spot. They both yelp and tumble apart. “Behave yourselves.”
They’re both panting. Viggo shoves Oliver’s shoulder. “Yeah, Ollie. Behave yourself.”
“He started it.” Oliver shoves Viggo back, planting a firm slap on his shoulder. Viggo whines in pain.
Elin, their mother, joins the fray. “Viggo Frederik. Oliver Abram. A truce, please. Now hug your mother goodbye.”
Viggo and Oliver step dutifully into their mother’s arms, letting her wrap them close, something whispered in words that sound like her native language, Swedish.
“Thanks for coming,” Viggo says as his dad, bearing a box of food containers, a bag slung on his arm that his wife takes, pulls him in next for a hug and kisses his temple.
“Thank you for showing us this labor of love,” his dad says, before stepping aside for a sleepy blond toddler draped across the shoulder of a dark-haired man with a beard and thick-framed black nerd glasses. Viggo’s brother-in-law, Aiden, I recognize after a second. At least I think that’s his brother-in-law. There are so many of these damn Bergmans, I can’t keep track.
More family adds to the queue and files out, while Viggo stands right by the door with the stools to the bar on his other side, pinningme in the corner beside him with the non-romance novels. We stand in what feels eerily like a receiving line at a wedding.
Every Bergman offers me warm goodbyes as they stroll out the door, like they aren’t fazed that I’m just standing there with Viggo.
“Bye!” the little girl with dark wavy hair—Linnie, I think?—tells me, skipping out the door. “See you Sunday!”
“Sunday?” I ask.
“Family dinner,” Viggo’s mother explains as she takes Linnie’s hand before the little girl can run out into the parking lot. “You should come! Viggo will tell you details. Any dietary restrictions, just let him know. Always happy to accommodate them. Good night!”
“I...”
Rounding out the line are Ziggy and her boyfriend, Seb, who offer very quick hugs, then avoid Viggo’s hissed whispers in their ears by yelling over each other, “Have to get going! Yoga early in the morning!”
Then come my sister, Charlie, and Gigi. Gigi hugs me, plants a kiss on my cheek, and dashes out. Charlie throws her arms around Viggo, then turns toward me and hugs me. I hug her back, keeping her pinned to my body.
“Thanks for that invitation to thegrandopening,” I mutter.
Charlie, darn her, might be tiny, but she’s strong. She wriggles out of my hug, takes a hop toward the door, and smiles sheepishly, poised on the threshold. “Uh. Well. Seems I got my facts mixed up.”
“Charlie—”
“Good night! Love you!” She blows me a kiss, then dashes out.
Suddenly, the place is eerily quiet. Viggo follows Charlie out, leaning a forearm against the doorframe as he watches his family get into their vehicles. I watch him smiling into the night, waving as they pull out and wave out their windows, too.
And then I realize I finally have a clear path—I can make a break for it, grab my stuff, get on the Vespa, and disappear.
Dashing behind Viggo, I scoop up my bomber jacket, then my purse, both slung over one of the green velvet club chairs. I turn, wiggling my jacket up my arms, purse clutched in one hand, ready to bolt. But then I freeze.
Viggo’s wobbling dangerously on the threshold. He clutches the wood and shakes his head a little, as if trying to steady himself. But then he starts to sway again.
“Hey.” I rush toward him, instinct guiding me to wrap an arm around his waist. He’s leaner than I remember him being last year—not that I have very specific memories of what Viggo Bergman looked like a year ago. I can feel his ribs, his sharp hip bones, as my hand tries to get a tighter hold on him. “You okay?” I ask.
“Little dizzy,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
He frowns thoughtfully. “That... is an excellent question.”
“Sit your ass down.” I kick a foot at the club chair, making it spin on its swivel base so it faces us, then guide him into it. Viggo lands awkwardly and slumps into the chair, eyes shut. I root around my purse and pull out a mini peanut butter cup. I always have peanut butter chocolate in my purse for when my blood sugar gets low. “Peanut allergy?” I ask. “Any allergies?”
He shakes his head. “Nuh-uh.”
“Eat this.” I unwrap it and step inside the bracket of his open legs. Viggo’s head lolls back. “Hey.” I gently pat his cheek and cup his head, guiding it up. “Eat this.”