Page 32 of Only and Forever
My heart’s pounding, sweet, searing heat pouring through me.
“Tallulah,” I say roughly. “You might want to stop... saying nice things to me.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not being ‘nice,’ I’m being logical. I’m making simple sense.”
“You’re definitely being nice, maybe even sweet. And now I’m really darn close to hugging you for it.”
“No hugs.” She points her chopsticks at me. “First, there’s a booth and Chinese food between us and this is a very expensive, newly purchased top you could get food on.”
“We could stand—”
“Andwith our height differential, my face would be smothered in your sternum—I don’t need any more bitter reminders of how vertically disadvantaged I am.”
I pout, slumped back against the booth. “Fine. I’ll just have to accept your nice, sweet—”
“Logical—”
“—words, and let bygones be bygones.”
She shakes her head as she bends over her lo mein again. I catch the tiniest hint of a smile tugging the corner of her mouth right up to her beauty mark.
Quiet settles between us as she takes another bite of noodles, as I sit, leaning against the wall, watching her. Generally, I’m not afan of quiet. It makes me uneasy. It leaves me with my noisy, chaotic thoughts and an overwhelming sense of loneliness. But right now, I don’t mind it so much. This kind of quiet feels... alive, like that moment’s breath in a song between the final notes of a beautiful verse and the beginning of an epic chorus, full of promise and possibility.
Even so, after a couple of minutes, I hit my limit of stillness and silence, eager for what’s next, ready to run headlong into it. I sit up, deciding on one more bite of lo mein. “So, uh... if we were to do this, let’s talk logistics. Where are you living these days? Given your location, when would it be practical for you to come to the store, for me to help you with the book?”
Not that I’ve been keeping close tabs on Tallulah or anything, but last I heard through the grapevine, aka Ziggy via Charlie, she was renting a place in San Diego, living by herself.
Tallulah pauses chewing, then slowly resumes. “Oh... uh. Right now, I’ve been crashing at Charlie’s.”
“Charlie’s?”
“My landlord was a dick,” she says. “Had to move out quickly, but thankfully it was a furnished rental, so it didn’t take long. Don’t know where I’m headed next. I was thinking I’d stay in the area for now, given Charlie and Gigi’s wedding plans are ramping up and I’m helping with them. I’m flexible. I can work around your schedule.”
“You’re sticking around here?” I ask. My heart beats a little faster. I like the idea of Tallulah sticking around, more than makes any kind of sense.
She nods. “At least until the wedding.”
“Plan to rent again?”
“Probably.” She peers up, meeting my eyes. “What about you—where do you live?”
“I live in the back of the store, actually. It’s more spacious thanyou might think, plenty for one person. Open-concept kitchen, dining, and living room. One bath, two and a half bedrooms—that half bedroom is basically a glorified closet, small enough to fit some shoes, a desk, maybe a crib—not that I’m, ya know, welcoming kids anytime soon, maybe ever—”
You’re rambling. Stop. Stop while you’re ahead. Or less behind. Just stop!
“Not exactly sure I’m dad material,” I prattle on. My mouth is a high-speed train that lost the brakes three sentences ago. “But anyway, yeah, what more can I ask for? Lots of natural light, plenty of bedrooms, short commute.” I laugh, scratching at my jaw. Tallulah’s looking at me curiously, and I’m looking at her, and then my brain does one of those things it does sometimes, when it just mashes up the last few inputs—plenty of bedrooms! short commute! Tallulah!
“Say, you could live with me if you wanted,” I tell her. “Would you want to?”
Now it’s Tallulah’s turn to choke on her noodles. My heart rate spikes.
“Lula, can you breathe?”
Clearing her throat roughly, she nods, then croaks, “I’m okay.” She grabs her glass of water and drains it in three long gulps.
I watch her, guilt and embarrassment twisting together inside me. “I’m sorry, Lu. I don’t know where that came from—”
Her hand lifts, silencing me as she sets the glass carefully beside her. Clearing her throat again, she blinks away water that’s pooled at the corners of her eyes. “Stop apologizing.Ichoked. You didn’t make me do it.”