Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Hmm. And the crib?”
“It’s coming. Viggo has it in his workshop. He’s running it through safety checks or something. Probably to make sure the parts I made aren’t defective,” I joked.
She ran a manicured finger across the dresser, cocking her head quizzically. “The parts you made?”
“Yeah. I made the crib.” My grin spread across my face unchecked. “Well…Viggo did most of it. He’s incredible.”
I pointed out his woodwork contributions throughout the room, pleased on Viggo’s behalf by my mother’s awed expression.
“Oh, my. He’s quite talented.”
“He really is,” I gushed. “Viggo makes custom birdhouses and sells them at a boutique in Fallbrook and online, too. They’re insanely beautiful. I bet they’d do well at any shop on Kercheval.”
Mom nodded. “Viggo. Is this why your marriage didn’t work? Are you more gay than straight?”
“I’m just regular bi.” I leaned against the doorjamb and reminded myself that this was her trying. “My marriage didn’t work because my wife liked you more than she liked me. But Viggo is—we’re friends. That’s all.”
She scoffed, inspecting the bookcase. “I hope you’re not bending the truth for my sake on this count.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dexter. I’m your mother. I can tell you’re half in love with the man,” she commented, pulling a copy of Goodnight, Moon from the shelf. “This brings back memories. I remember reading this to you and your brother over and over and…”
I hummed along, agreeing the book was a classic, though I couldn’t remember my mother reading to me…ever.
That wasn’t the thing that got me, though. Not even close. And the crazy thing was that I should have been thrilled we’d reached a truce and that she seemed to truly want to be in my child’s life. But all I could think was… I am in love with him.
Was it really that obvious?
“What are you supposed to be?”
“I’m a butterfly.” The little girl cradled her plastic pumpkin bucket to her chest and gestured manically at the colorful wings attached to her back. “Can you see?”
“Ah, yes. Now I see.” Viggo dropped two mini candy bars into her bucket. “Very nice costume. The best butterfly I’ve seen all night.”
She beamed, thanked him for the candy, and skipped down the pathway to meet her parents. Viggo waved at his neighbors before closing the door.
“How many butterflies have you seen tonight?” I asked, stealing a Butterfinger from the bowl.
“None. You?”
I snickered. “Same. I saw multiple superheroes, princesses, dinosaurs, and a really amazing Frankenstein.”
“I liked Dracula. He was very realistic, especially with those teeth. I wonder what happened to him?”
“He retired from the bloodsucking business,” I reported around a mouthful of chocolate.
“Back to sucking dick?”
“Very funny. Gimme one of those Milky Ways. They’re delicious.”
Viggo handed me the bowl. “I’m turning off the porch light now. Those trick-or-treaters will eat all our candy if we’re not careful.”
Ours…we’re…
I smiled as if the use of possessive grammar were an ordinary occurrence and not something that could make my heart flutter. Damn it, Mom. I wished she hadn’t called me out. It made me feel greedy—as if I were wishing for more than my share.
“Giving out candy is the idea, but yeah…that’s quite enough for kids. The rest is for us.”
We sprawled out on the sofa in the family room, my legs draped over his knees as we sifted through the Halloween treats left in the bowl with A Nightmare on Elm Street on in the background.
“You can have the Tootsie Rolls. I’ll keep the Snickers bars,” he stated.
“Whoa. That’s not fair.” I tore open a packet of M&M’s and gestured to the flat-screen. “Once upon a time, this movie scared the shit out of me.”
“Not anymore?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“Freddy Krueger isn’t as scary as your mother. I think you’ll be fine,” Viggo deadpanned.
“True.”
He muted the television, shifting to face me, his brows knit with concern. “What did she do?”
I filled him in on my conversation with my mother—minus her judgment of my emotional state, of course.
“And you were dressed as Dracula the whole time?”
“I was.” I laid my head on his shoulder and yawned.
Viggo snort-laughed; then he kissed my temple and said something in Swedish.
“What does that mean?”
He opened and closed his mouth. “Nothing. Just…I’m glad you’re not going anywhere.”
I laced our fingers and squeezed. “This is home now.”
He was home.
Viggo frowned, and I instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say.
The sentiment was too big for who we were supposed to be. Putting those words out there was dangerous. One of us—me—might get ideas, and that wasn’t okay. We knew who we were to each other, and I wouldn’t dare ask for more. No matter how much I wanted to.
CHAPTER 30
VIGGO
Ibrought the crib to Dexter’s house and assembled it while he was at work. I made sure it was perfect. Each slat was evenly spaced, the mattress fit snugly, and I’d even built two drawers for storage underneath. I’d also made a rocking chair. He’d said he was going to buy one, but…mine was better.