Page 63 of Only and Forever
My jaw clenches. I blink away tears. “It’s... scary.”
He pats my back. “I know. But these books we’re surrounded by, that you’ve voraciously read, isn’t that what they’re all about? Being brave enough to take risks to have the life we want and love? Be brave for yourself, Viggo. You deserve it.”
I swallow roughly. “Thank you. Love you, brother.”
“Love you, too.”
We pull apart. I wipe under my eyes and clear my throat, peering around the store, knowing Ollie’s right. It’s time to open the place already and stop dancing around the inevitable, letting fear hold me back.
“I see those gears turning,” Oliver says. Arms folded across his chest, he watches me closely.
“Yeah.” I slide my hand along the bookshelves, the smooth polished wood that my brothers helped me install and finish. My gaze drifts across the store. The green velvet swiveling club chairs Freya called me about when she saw them on the curb just waiting for some reupholstering TLC. The fantasy romance section Ziggy lovinglycurated and organized. The historical romance section, which is where this all began, years ago—because my parents kept the A-frame well stocked so Dad could read to his wife at night, because I picked one up while wrestling with feelings for a woman who wanted nothing to do with me.
Maybe I’m still wrestling.
Maybe, even though romance novels have given me a vocabulary for so many feelings, I’m still trying to make sense of whatshemakes me feel.
Maybe Oliver’s right, that I cling too tight to my romance novels because I want the security of this idea that if my heart’s journey echoes that of a perfectly crafted path to happily ever after, I’ll be okay—I won’t get hurt, won’t get rejected, won’t throw myself at the wrong person and get my heart broken.
But maybe there isn’t some crystal clear sign thatthisis the right moment,thisis when it will all work out. Maybe, like the store’s success, my heart’s happiness can’t be guaranteed, even with all the time and preparation in the world. Maybe all I can do is trust myself and throw its doors wide open.
How wise. How absolutely terrifying.
“Whenever you open, however you open,” Oliver says quietly, setting a hand on my back, “I’ll be here, rooting for you, okay? We all will.”
I nod, offering him a faint smile. I feel off-kilter, dizzy from the implications of my brother’s tough love. “Thanks, Ollie.”
Oliver peers at me. “You look a little wiped. Hungry? Want to grab a bite to eat?”
I open my mouth, then shut it, weighing my words, how to answer. I am hungry. And for the past two days, anxious about Tallulah, missing her high-handed demands that I consume actual meals, eating well or grocery shopping has been the last thing onmy mind. I’ve been distracting myself with rescue pets and fixating on my store.
Trying not to worry about Tallulah.
She said she’d be back in a couple of days. Tonight would be exactly a couple of days. I want to be here when she gets back—ifshe gets back.
Biting my lip, I wrack my brain for a plausible lie in place of the truth. Oliver would read way too much into my honest answer.
Kitten meows on the other side of the door offer me the perfect excuse. “Nah. I should stick close to home, with the kittens. Thanks, though.”
“Good point,” he says, following me as I open the door to the house and gently scooch back five meowing kittens with my boot. “How about takeout instead?”
Before I can answer him, the purr of a Vespa breaks the silence, growing louder by the second, closer to the alley and the door to my house.
Oliver’s eyes widen. He hops back, tugs the curtains away from the window, just enough to peek through, then drops them like they’re a hot potato. “You know what, totally forgot. We’ve got poker night with the guys. Gotta run.”
“Ollie, wait—”
I’m panicking. I don’t know if being alone with Tallulah, with all these feelings my brother’s kicked up, all the worry for her I’ve been carrying around for two days, is a good idea. Not if I don’t want to make things even messier between us than they were before she left.
“Love ya!” he calls, jogging through the store, making his escape. “I’ll lock the door behind me!”
The door to the store shuts behind him, just as the door to the house opens with Tallulah’s entrance.
Helmet-mussed ice-blue hair. The same clothes she was in two days ago. No sight of the always put-together woman I know.
I stare at her, my heart aching. So much feels tumbled, tangled inside me. So much I don’t know. But I do know this:
Tallulah’s hurting. And I’m hurting for her. I don’t have to understand everything about this woman or what she makes me feel to know I want to care about her and know whatever she’ll let me, even if just for this small time that she’s here and I’m here, under this roof, together.