Page 125 of Only and Forever

I smile against our kiss, joy filling me. Knowing that, in some miraculous way, every day that comes, I’ll love him even more—my friend, my partner, my heart.

My happily ever after.

Viggo

Tallulah and I drive all around because it’s a beautiful day, and it’s something we love to do together—ride in Ashbury, windows down, music playing, talking about books we’ve read, her next story idea, plans for the new bookstore, dreaming for what’s ahead.

We break up our drive with a picnic lunch Tallulah packed, enjoyed on Ashbury’s hood, drinking in the breathtaking mountain views, emerald evergreens and sapphire sky, golden light and fields of gemstone wildflowers. Then we make our way back, low evening sunlight lancing through the trees, bathing the A-framein a lacework of smoky shadows and pearly flickers of fading light. I’m floating on a cloud as we walk up the steps to the house, hand in hand, me and my fiancée.

My fiancée.

I grin like a goofball down at Tallulah. She smiles up at me and squeezes my hand tight. “Why don’t you do the honors?” She nods toward the front door, handing me the keys.

I take them, smiling at her again as I unlock the door. I’m expecting it to swing open quietly, reveal the hushed house, space and silence for Tallulah and me to fill this week, making love, sleeping late, cooking together, reading on the deck, sipping our coffees.

But what greets me is the opposite.

“Surprise!” The sound is shocking, the sight even more so. Every member of my family beams my way, blowing kazoos, party hats on their heads, balloons floating overhead.

I shut the door behind me, stunned. Confetti dumps on my head, narrowly missing Tallulah, who somehow knew ahead of time to jump aside.

Oliver cackles, raising a triumphant fist.

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling so wide, my face hurts. Tallulah laughs straight from her belly, pressing up on tiptoe to clear confetti from my face. “Happy birthday, Viggo.”

I shake my head, trying and failing to hold a serious face as I narrow my eyes at her. “You devious woman.”

“It’s not every day you turn thirty,” she says. “Plus, I know how much you love surprises. I had to.”

I tug her close, smiling down at her. “It’s not every day you get engaged, either. Best birthday present, ever.”

She sets her hand over my heart. “I’m so glad you said yes.”

“I’m so glad you asked,” I tell her, smiling as I feel the ring in its case, burning a hole in my pocket. I know now when I’ll give it toher. Tomorrow morning, when it’s just the two of us on the back deck, coffee in hand, watching the world wake up, a brand new day, the start of the rest of our lives.

“When do you want to tell them?” she whispers as we start walking toward the family, blowing their kazoos still, swatting balloons at each other.

I drink in the laughter and joy, as vivid and beautiful as the sight and gift of everyone here for me, all my nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters, and my parents in one place.

Stopping us, I wrap her in my arms and kiss her, long and deep. “You kidding? Right now.”

—

It’s a big deal, changing things at the A-frame. The place’s allure is its constancy—the beds are always where they’ve been, the spoons and forks in their same drawer, the same worn books on the bookshelf, the couch that I know personallydoesget moved for enthusiastic lovemaking in front of the fire, but is always put back afterward where it belongs.

Only for very special occasions do we change things up. And today is one of those days.

The long wood table that normally dominates the main room, after a lot of huffing and swearing through laughter, now stretches across the back deck, lights strung overhead, candles littering the table with their soft, cozy glow.

I glance around the table, my heart full at the sight of all my family, Tallulah’s too, her parents and her brother, Harry, along with Charlie and Gigi. Sarah, whose store we’re going to bring back to life, laughs, head to head with my mother. My dad smiles, deep in conversation with Linnea, who sits on his lap, telling him something that has him fully engrossed. Kids banging and coloring, babies babbling and cooing, being passed from one loving setof hands to another. All of these people who love us, who are overjoyed for us, celebrating the happy ending I was so scared I’d never find.

Tallulah clasps my hand beneath the table, and I meet her eyes. She smiles. “Happy?” she asks.

“More than I ever thought possible,” I tell her.

She squeezes my hand hard. I bring hers to my lips and press a soft kiss across her knuckles.

“A toast,” my dad says, standing slowly, glass in hand. Linnea bounds toward me, so tall and lanky now, a busy, bright ten-year-old who’s become my childhood literature expert, always helping me find the newest and best books for the store. I open my arms to her, hug her hard, before she darts around me toward her youngest brother, Noah, and lifts him up onto her hip.

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