Page 56 of Only and Forever
“Afternoon, Tallulahloo,” he says.
“Afternoon, Viggo.” I add one more leaf of butter lettuce, then place the other slice of bread on top. “Come eat.”
Viggo sighs. “Lula, I’ve got so much to do.”
“Which I’ll help you with. It can wait for a chicken salad sandwich.” I point to the plate beside me.
He passes me to reach the sink, careful not to so much as brush elbows, then starts washing his hands. “Bossy pants,” he mutters.
I smile wider because I can with my back to him, inordinately tickled by those little moments he gets grumpy with me, when our roles reverse.
When he drops onto a stool at the counter across from me and tugs off his hat, I slide the plate his way.
“It seems disingenuous,” he says, bringing the sandwich to his mouth, “to thank you for force-feeding me. But I’ll say thank you all the same.”
“You’re welcome,” I tell him, before crunching into my sandwich.
Viggo rolls his eyes, then bites into his sandwich. A sigh leaves him as he chews. “Rude.”
“What’s rude?” I ask around my bite.
“That this tastes so damn good.”
“Food that someone else made you always tastes better.”
Viggo peers at me in that way I’ve caught him a handful of times the past week, when we’re together—cleaning up from dinner, sitting on opposite ends of the living room, reading quietly—well,I’mquiet; Viggo hums to himself, sways in his creaky rocker, audiobook blasting in his headphones as he knits what looks like a blanket. Sometimes I’ll glance up and catch him staring at me like I’m a word scramble he’s trying to sort out.
That’s how he’s looking at me now.
“What?” I ask. I take another big bite of my sandwich.
He shakes his head, then bites into his sandwich again, chewing thoughtfully as he stares off. After he swallows, he chugs the remaining half of his mason jar of water, then sets it on the counter with a hollowclunk. “Just wanted to say, I really appreciate you doing so much to learn the ropes of the store and help me out this week.”
I shrug as I chew, then swallow. I told him I’d do it. He doesn’t need to thank me for doing what I promised. “Sure thing.”
“I’m almost done with the book,” he tells me, holding my eyes. “Lula, it’s—”
“Don’t tell me,” I blurt. “Just... let’s... get through the soft opening. Then we can circle back to the book.”
He frowns. “But—”
“Please?” I beg.
He sighs. “Fine. But if you change your mind before then, tell me.” He shoves the last of his sandwich into his mouth and chews, a thick chipmunk wad in his cheek.
“You don’t need to rush reading it,” I tell him. “You’re so busy right now.”
“It hasn’t come at the cost of my work. I’ve been listening to it at night while I putz around with the pottery wheel, thanks to Microsoft Read Aloud.”
“Are you even sleeping right now?”
“Not much,” he concedes. I watch him rake both hands through his hair, eyes shut. “Trust me, I haven’t rushed reading it. I’ve neededa distraction by the end of the day, Lu. I try to go to sleep, but my brain is running in circles.”
Staring at him, I notice for the first time what I now recognize has been there all week—shadows under his eyes, anxiety pinching his brow, tightening his shoulders. His leg is bouncing so hard on the stool, I feel its movement shaking the floor.
“Hey.” I toe his foot beneath the counter.
He peers at me, hands frozen in his hair.