Page 79 of Only and Forever
“I was waiting for you.”
She glances over her shoulder, her eyes holding mine. “You didn’t have to do that.”
My heart’s thudding harder in my chest, tightness creeping back in as I feel a new weight to what I’m about to say. “I wanted to wait for you.”
A soft, perplexed smile lifts her mouth. “Okay. Well, you want me to make something?”
“I thought... maybe we could go out. Treat ourselves. It’s been a busy week. We’ve been busting our butts. I think we earned it.”
Tallulah turns fully and shuts the fridge door. She leans against it, her eyes searching mine. “Sure. That sounds nice.”
Relief floods me. Why, I don’t know. It’s just a dinner date. That is, dinner together. Not a date. Just two roommates, coworkers, co-coaches... friends. Eating a meal.
“Want to take the dogs?” I ask.
“Definitely. How about that new Korean place? I’m craving bibimbap.”
“Perfect.” I push up off the sofa, ready to grab my ball cap, keys, wallet, and go.
I tug on my ball cap and turn, catching Tallulah watching me in the hallway, a pinch in her brow. I want to smooth my finger over that. And I shouldn’t. Not if I just want her physically, not if this is just the case of unsatisfied lust that I’ve told myself it is.
“Gotta hit the restroom before we go,” I tell her. “Chugged a bunch of water when we got back from the mechanic—”
Her hand is on my chest, stopping me. Tallulah peers up, her eyes dancing between mine. No eyeliner, just wide amber eyes. She’s breathtaking like this, bare and unguarded. I want to walk her back, press her into the wall, kiss her, and kiss her some more. And then I want to walk her right across the hall to her bedroom and lay her down, make her come, give myself relief, finally scratch this damn itch, so I can clear my head, stop confusing lust and another, much more daunting L-word.
Her hand slips from my chest. “No rush. Take your time. I have to get ready first.”
“Get ready for what?”
She lifts her eyebrows. “To go outside.”
“You’re clothed, Lu. Grab some shoes, and we’re all set.”
She rolls her eyes. “I need to put on makeup. Fix my hair.”
“No, you don’t. I mean, you can, of course, it’s your body—”
“Glad we cleared that up.” It’s her usual bristly retort, but her voice is teasing and warm, no icy edge to be found.
“I just meant...” There’s a blue hair stuck to the edge of her jaw, and I can’t help it. I reach for that strand and slide it back, my fingertip tracing along her cheek, behind her ear. Tallulah shivers. “You look beautiful, with or without makeup, hair done orundone. So, you know... if you don’t want to make a man wait any longer for his bulgogi, you could just slip on a pair of shoes and we’d be out of here.”
Her gaze narrows. But a smile lifts her mouth. “Fine,” she says, breezing past me, back toward her room. “I’ll just get a pair of shoes. Might take me a while, though. I’m very choosy about my footwear.”
“Tallulah,” I warn.
She laughs, a bright, bubbly sound that echoes down the hallway. I stare at the dogs, who’ve settled at my feet, eyes up, waiting patiently. “I don’t know what to tell you. The woman likes her shoes.”
“Just kidding,” she says, walking briskly back my way, a pair of sensible sandals on her feet. Her hand clasps mine and tugs. “Come on. I’m starving.”
TWENTY-THREE
Tallulah
Playlist: “Baby Where You Are,” Mountain Man
For once, a week does fly by. Viggo and I exhaust ourselves with tasks. The final, perfecting touches on the store, social media blasts, and flyer distribution. Baking, plant propagating, mug making, and coaster crocheting (Viggo). Writing, revising, writing some more (yours truly). Together, we walk the dogs, talk store logistics during meals, and plan our next soccer practice, strategizing for the team’s upcoming first game.
I’m grateful for the busyness, the distraction that keeps us from lingering in the soft, cozy start of the day that we’ve settled into, sipping coffee side by side at the counter, Viggo reading while I crunch on my breakfast bar, blinking awake, setting out our plans for the day.