Page 38 of Only and Forever
“Yeah, well, just don’t get any ideas beyond that.” I sip my coffee and give her a stern look. “This is going to be a purely practical, platonic arrangement.”
—
Viggo’s home is exactly what I expected; at least the main living area is, which is all I’ve seen so far. There are large posters of historical romance covers blown up big enough to fill chunky wood frames. Plants everywhere. A sunshine-yellow couch long enough for someone as tall as Viggo to stretch out on, covered with fluffy pillows inside colorful crocheted covers. Perhaps the only unexpected aspect is that it’s immaculately clean. He’s a single guy, and most single guys I’ve known are on the slob end of the tidiness scale. I also remember what the inside of his open book bag looked like crammed between us in recitation back in college—pure chaos. Not that people can’t change, but I just had the sense that he’s one of those guys who has to rummage around to find just about anything.
I glance around, taking in the space, while Viggo stands a few feet away from me, hands on his hips as he watches me. He’s flushed and breathing heavily, like he was when he answered the door a minute ago, as if he’d been exercising.
On a particularly winded breath, he reaches for a mason jar on the side table filled with ice water and drains half of it.
“Doing okay?” I ask. “Did I interrupt a workout when I arrived?”
Viggo sets down his water a little clumsily, then dabs his mouth with the collar of his shirt. This one bears a haphazard stack of books, their spines reading phrases likeenemies to lovers, bluestocking and rake, fake dating,grumpy + sunshine, only one bed. I frown, trying to make sense of them. And then my gaze dips down when I notice that lifting his shirt has revealed a thin band of tan skin, a line of chestnut hair arrowing down beneath his jeans slung low on his hips.
Heat rushes through me. I glance away.
“No workout.” He exhales heavily again. “Just got myself sweaty moving stuff around.”
“I hope that wasn’t on my account.”
“Nah.” He waves a hand. “I needed to do some rearranging anyway.”
“Hmm.” My eyes narrow as I stare at him. “You’re a bad liar.”
“Okay, so I cleaned up a little, too. Sue me for wanting to be considerate of my future roomie coming by. And I’m a great liar, by the way.”
“Wow, that’s what you want to hear from someone you’re about to cohabitate with.”
“Tallulah,” he growls, tugging down his ball cap and marching toward the kitchen end of the open space. “Stop being ornery.”
“Can’t. It’s in my DNA.”
“Well, then it skipped your sister. Charlie is as sweet as can be.”
I shrug. “The exception proves the rule.”
Viggo opens the fridge, pulls out a glass container sealed with a clear plastic lid, and sets it on the counter. “Maybe this will get you to reconsider your orneriness.”
I walk tentatively toward the container as Viggo unsnaps the lid. Now I can see what’s in there. “Brownies?”
He smiles. “All for you.”
My stomach flips. “You made brownies... for me?”
His smile deepens. “Course!”
“You... didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs, glancing down at the brownies, spinning the container a quarter turn. “I like baking. I’m still tweaking the recipe, but I think I’m getting close. Who better than my new roomie to taste test them? The recipe is low sugar and”—he rummages in his pocket and pulls out his phone, eyes on the screen as he taps and scrolls before turning the screen so I can see it—“I calculated the carbs in each serving. That’s helpful, right?”
I stare at him, trying to process this, trying to find something to say. I’m being too quiet. I know that, but I don’t know how to respond.
This might be the most considerate thing anyone has ever done for me. It’s going to spoil me, make me want things like this, even when I’m gone and this is over. And I’m so scared to want anything from anyone. All it’s ever done is hurt me.
I can’t tell him that. So, instead I tell him, “I’m not a big brownie gal.”
Viggo blinks like I’ve slapped him. Then he tugs his ball cap low, hiding his eyes. Heat creeps up his cheeks. I’ve embarrassed him.
I want to kick myself.