Page 71 of Only and Forever
I serve Tad their baked good, direct them to use the chip reader to pay, and send them on their way. Glancing around, I see everybody has a baked good, drink, or both in hand. Some of them are starting to take their seats in the front of the store, where Viggo has moved the club chairs aside and set up a circle of IKEA folding chairs with little cushions on all of them. He 100 percent crocheted those cushion covers.
I’m concerned for that man’s joints. And sleep habits. When does he do all of this?
Relieved to see no one else is here to accost me with more romance-related inquiries, I sit back on my stool behind the counter and sip my grapefruit seltzer. I spot a lingering book club member—name tag indicates she is Steph, she/her—who licks buttercream off her fingers before reaching for a book on the shelf. I clear my throat loudly. Steph startles and glances around, then catches me glaring at her.
Smiling sheepishly, she retreats to the circle of chairs.
“Damn right,” I grumble.
“Easy does it, Tallulahloo. You’re gonna scare away patrons with that scowl.”
I whirl around and spot Viggo smiling at me, ball cap reversed, so I can see much more of those lovely gray-blue eyes. They’re even lovelier under the store’s lights, removed from the shadow of his ball cap’s brim. Pale as ice, yet not nearly as cold. Not cold at all, actually. They’re warm and happy, lines crinkling at the corners as he smiles at me. His smile falls a little when I don’t return the gesture.
Reaching for his water, he sucks a deep drink through the straw, brow crinkled as he analyzes my expression. An expression I am trying very hard to mask behind my usual cool, unruffled poise.
It falters a little when he leans to set his water down and his free hand brushes mine.
I hate that I love the feel of those calloused fingertips on my skin. I hate that I have spent the past week trying not to think about how I loved his hands on me when we did that first workshop on my book.
We have not done another hands-on workshop. We’ve spent three mornings since that first time talking through more of his feedback in that same vein—show the connection, don’t tell; slow down, stretch out moments that tie their romantic past to its crumbling present, revealing for the reader how their relationship has shifted.
Each time, Viggo’s kept it to words only, no offer to demonstrate his meaning. I reassured him that I could extrapolate from his advice, based on what he showed me that first morning. He seemed relieved.
Which bothered me. And it shouldn’t. His relief should relieveme. Then again, lust is part of the lizard brain—it is primitive, irrational, and driven by my libido. Expecting it to behave logically is absurd.
So I’ve been ignoring it. Well, trying to.
In the end, I’ve just been using my vibrator a lot.
Viggo’s staring at me. I poke his chest, right in the sternum, snapping him out of it. “I know Elin Bergman taught you not to stare.”
“What can I say? I’m a rebel child.” Viggo’s concerned brow pinch morphs to a bright smile as he steps closer. “C’mon, Lu.” He sets his fingers at the corners of my mouth and gently lifts. “Turn that frown upside down.”
“One day,” I tell him, as I clasp his fingers and remove them from my face, “I’m going to write a thriller about a woman who snaps when one more person tells her to smile.”
Viggo gives me a comically exaggerated grimace. “Uh-oh. Have I just put a target on my back?”
I take a swig of my seltzer, hiding my smile. “How are you feeling about everything?”
He smiles. “So far, so good. Everyone’s a big fan of how the books are arranged by subgenre. Rave reviews of both baked goods and coffee drinks, in particular.”
I make a theatrical bow. I insisted on making all the coffee drinks tonight so he could rub elbows and be social. “Glad to hear it.”
His smile deepens. “About to get started with book club. Would you, uh... want to stick around? Could be some good material for your book. The nuts and bolts of relationships come up a lot when we discuss what we’ve read. You might pick up something you could use.”
“Oh... um.” I clear my throat and decide to focus on picking invisible lint off my jeans. “I think you’re giving me all the guidance I need, honestly. But... if youreallywanted me to, I could stay, otherwise I was just going to—”
“I want you to.”
I peer up. Our gazes meet. I see it now, the nerves tightening the corners of his eyes, his mouth. I frown. “What are you nervous about?”
He blinks. “Me? Nervous? Psh.”
“You are nervous. Why?”
Viggo darts a glance to the circle, then back to me. “It’s our first historical romance. And a lot of people were dragging their feet about reading it. I’m nervous they hated it, and then I’m going to have to disband the group, kick them out, and lose a bunch of friends.”
I roll my eyes. “You goofball. They probably loved it. And even if some of them didn’t, I’m sure they’ll be respectful about it. You can disagree on things and still be friends, can’t you?”