Page 34 of Only and Forever

Her hand brushes mine as she starts walking—it’s inadvertent, I think, but I feel how much she’s shaking. I wrap my hand around hers, desperate to comfort her, to dosomethingthat shows her I’m here; she’s not alone. I don’t expect her to respond or squeeze back.

But she does. She squeezes hard. She holds tight. I use my free hand to push open the door and hold it for her, and Tallulah strolls ahead of me, then nearly drags me with her as I linger to hold the door for a couple behind us.

As soon as we round the corner, she tears her hand away, turns, and faces me. Something that looks scarily like tears is in her eyes.

I take an instinctive step toward her. “Tallulah—”

“Did you mean it?” she asks. Her voice is quiet, but something powerful lurks beneath its surface.

“Mean what?”

“Your offer, to help each other out—you, with my book; me, with your store—to be roommates.”

I shake my head, disoriented. “Tallulah, I’m not worried about that right now, I’m worried about you—”

“Did you mean it?” she presses, stepping closer.

I search her eyes, asking myself that same question.DidI mean it?

As I stare down at her, a fierce pang of longing floods me. Every time I’m around her, I feelsomuch, none of which I can make sense of. No, she doesn’t give me butterflies; the world didn’t become brighter the first time I saw her stroll into our lecture. But I knowI feelsomethingfor her. I know that I’m fascinated by her—by the complexity of those chilly prickles and her quiet, concealed kindness. I think about waking up with her in the morning at my place, none of her artful black winged eyeliner or stylish updo between us. Seeing her in her pajamas, grumbling over coffee the way she was that morning at the A-frame. I think about having dinner and bickering good-naturedly like we have over lo mein tonight. And I like that idea.

A lot.

No, I don’t think Tallulah Clarke is the one I’m destined to be with. But what if she’s someone I’m destined to be with for a little while? A friend, a roomie, someone I can lean on and who can lean on me to make life a bit easier in a tough season.

I smile down at Tallulah, even as nerves tighten my stomach. What if she thinks my offer is ridiculous? What if she thinksI’mridiculous?

Then again,sheaskedmeif I meant what I said, when I offered to skill swap and cohabitate. She held my hand right back when I held hers. I think Tallulah’s being pretty damn brave right now. I want to be brave, too.

“Yeah, Lula. I meant it.”

She bites her lip, her eyes searching mine. “You’re sure? We hardly know each other. I could be an axe murderer, for all you know.”

I shrug. “I’m not too worried. I could wrestle an axe out of one of your little arms quite handily, if needed.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “First of all, besides my height, there is nothing little about me.” She lifts one soft, full arm, the one bearing what a little covert research led me to learn is her continuous glucose monitor. I don’t stare at the small oblong disc adhered to her upper arm. I’m aware of it, but my gaze is focused on something else—the dimple at her elbow that I want to nip with my teeth, then chase with my tongue. A dimple that makes me wonder where elsethere are deep, soft dimples on Tallulah that I could graze my teeth over, lick my way across.

Which is definitely not what I should be thinking about when proposing cohabitation to a woman who has demonstrated only the barest tolerance of my nonsense, who has never once looked at me the way every main character I’ve ever read in a romance novel looks at their love interest. Soft, aching longing. Heat in their cheeks. Gaze raking down their body. Tallulah’s only ever given me exasperated glances and eye rolls. She’s not into me. She wasn’t in college, and she isn’t now. There’s nothing happening there.

I just need my body to get the memo.

“Second,” she says, dragging my attention back from its horny detour. Making a fist, lifting her forearm, Tallulah flexes. “I’m a lot stronger than you think.”

I smile, because goddamn, I can’t help it. “Never doubted it, Lu.”

Her eyes narrow. Her arm falls to her side. She stares up at me, and I wish so badly I could peek behind the curtain of her cool, unreadable expression. Those big, pretty brown eyes dart between mine. Her mouth purses as if she’s thinking something through.

I wait quietly, patient and still, for once in my life.

And then Tallulah offers her hand and says, “Well then, Viggo Bergman. Looks like you’ve got yourself a roommate.”

NINE

Tallulah

Playlist: “Walden Pond,” Atta Boy

I’m barely holding it together. I had to push past the horror of bumping into Clint, straight to the logistics at hand. Because that’s how I function. Focus on the facts. Ignore emotions. Just. Keep. Going.