Page 109 of Only and Forever

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

I set my e-reader aside and watch him traipse past the bed as he tips his head, shaking it once, twice, wiggling his finger in his ear, working water out. He opens the closet door, checking that his clothes are ready for tomorrow.

“What made you do it?” I ask.

“Shave?”

I nod.

He glances my way. Heat pours through me. I want to lick his jaw, feel that stubble scraping across my skin. “Figured the brides deserved not to have a Bigfoot impersonator as their celebrant,front and center in the wedding photos. You really think it looks okay? I feel naked without it.”

“I really think it looks much more than okay,” I tell him quietly.

He throws me another faint smile, a blush on his cheeks. “Well, good. That... that matters to me.”

We just... stare at each other, eyes locked, soft silence and night air mingling in the room, the hum and buzz of bugs outside our quiet chorus.

I bite my lip as my throat grows thick, fingers curling into the sheets, knowing it’s happening, inevitable, terrifying, beautiful—my heart pounds, affection, delight, joy, possession, desire, need, longing, coalescing, spilling through me, a kaleidoscopic flood that fills my heart, my thoughts with one crystal clear thought:

I love you.

Tears fill my eyes, a smile breaking across my face as I watch him turn back toward his clothes, brow furrowed in concentration as he smooths his shirt down. He’s nervous for tomorrow, to fill the role of celebrant that Charlie asked of him. Of course he’s nervous, not because he has anything to worry about, but because he cares. He’s done his online application so he can legally officiate their marriage. He’s practiced what he’s going to say countless times—I’ve heard him, pacing in his room, his voice low and cadent.

“How’s the minister feeling this evening?” I ask softly.

Viggo glances up again, his eyes meeting mine. His smile is bashful as he shuts the closet door, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Nervous.”

“You’ll be perfect.”

His hand falls as he stares at me, his throat working. He really is nervous. I open my arms. “Come here. Come to bed.”

He doesn’t hesitate, just crawls right up the mattress, into my arms, resting his head on my chest. I sink my hands into his hair,combing through gently. “I love how much you care. I love how you love my sister.”

I love you.

I kiss his hair, breathing him in. I want to say it so badly, but, God, what if he doesn’t want to say it back? What if he doesn’t feel that way yet, doesn’t think he’ll ever feel that way? What if the way I say it is unromantic, anticlimactic, a disappointment? And then how the hell will I get through the wedding tomorrow, staring at the man I’ve fallen for, who’s given me a home, a place to grow and flourish? How could I handle sharing this day with someone who taught me to love but doesn’t love me in return?

I swallow the words, clutching him tight, rubbing circles over his back.

Viggo sighs. “Thank you, Lula.”

I shut my eyes, savoring the feel of him, that clean woodsy scent, the trace of cinnamon sugar. I feel Viggo reach past me, turning off the light, then settling back in, arm curled around me, nestling his head on my boobs.

I laugh softly. “Getting comfy there?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nuzzles me, his nose brushing my bare skin, his chin grazing my nipple through my shirt. I bite my lip, my grip in his hair tightening, eyes falling shut again. Quiet settles between us again, the whir of insects outside the screen, the cool evening breeze whispering through it.

Viggo’s grip around my waist tightens. His thigh slips over mine. “Lula,” he whispers.

I drag open my eyes, blinking as they adjust to the darkness, only soft moonlight illuminating the room. Peering down at him, I catch his gaze as he stares up at me, eyes bright, a flush splashed across his cheekbones. “I need...” he whispers. “I need you.”

“You have me.” I cup his cheek, stroking it tenderly with my thumb. “I’m here.”

He shakes his head. “I need to touch you. I need you to touch me. If... if you want.”

Understanding dawns. I melt toward him, kissing his forehead. “ ‘IfI want you.’ Of course I want you. I just... want to respect what you need—”

“I know you do,” he says roughly, cupping my neck, drawing me closer. “It means so much that you’ve respected that, Lu.”

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