Chapter Thirty-Two
“I can’t do this,” Gabriella whispered.
Vi knelt down in front of her. They were in the back room, crouched in between empty wineglass boxes and the overflowing trash can.
People had started showing up for the event an hour before it started, while Vi and Gabriella were still rolling bookshelves out of the way and setting up the paintings and hanging installations from the bookshop ceiling.
Vi stroked her hair. “Nobody’s going to think it’s stupid.”
“It is stupid,” Gabriella whispered, clutching her own face. “Who am I, thinking I can be an artist? Who wants a dress made out of wire and sunflowers? It’s already rotting!”
“You said the rot is part of the art,” Vi tried.
She glanced back at the door. Beyond it, people would be milling around with their free drinks and no food.
The catering company had, in typical fashion, gotten the days mixed up.
When Vi had called ten minutes ago to confirm they were definitely coming tonight, they’d apologetically told her that it was too late to start making anything now, and Vi should make other arrangements.
And since Vi had helpfully sent them the email chain confirming that they had, in fact, agreed to this date, they were giving Sweethelm Books a full refund.
Yet another thing to add to Vi’s mental to-do list. Along with finding more napkins, mopping up a juice spill from someone’s toddler in the cooking section, and figuring out a way to stop the bird installation from falling down again.
But Gabriella came first.
“I’m so stupid,” Gabriella said, muffled through her fingers. “Those are bits of my heart out there, Vi. And everyone’s looking at them. And it’s so stupid!”
Vi pried her little sister’s hands off her face.
“No one’s going to think you’re stupid for putting your heart on display. Hey. Look at me.”
Gabriella lifted her head, caramel eyes dripping with tears. Vi wiped them away and cupped her face gently.
“You’ll rock this shit,” she promised.
Gabriella let out a wet laugh. “Promise?”
Vi smiled, trying to focus on the pride and not the gnawing stress. “Promise. Now come on, your adoring fans await.”
There was a rapid knock on the door. Triss called, “Hellooo? Your food arrived!”
Vi frowned. The caterer had sounded pretty certain on the phone. And he’d already promised her a refund.
Vi opened the door. “Triss, what are you talking about?”
Then she stopped. The drinks table, which had been half empty when she went into the back room, was full. Three containers had been laid out next to the glasses, with rows of multicolored cupcakes gleaming under the bookshop lights.
“Your little cook has been very helpful,” Triss said with a smug smile.
Vi blinked, dazed. There was a dark head of hair making its way toward them, towering over the crowd.
“I couldn’t find plates,” Nick said as he emerged. “Hope it’s okay they’re still in containers. They’re fancy, but they’re still, you know, containers. You said the catering company kept screwing you over, so . . .”
Vi stared. He looked . . . healthy. He was wearing that soft blue button-down she liked so much and a dark jacket she’d never seen before.
His fangs were polished, his nails were clean, and he was newly shaved.
His hair was an unruly mess, but if anything, that just made her want to kiss him more.
He had that ratty backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Triss,” Gabriella said, loud enough that Vi startled. “Come look at my sunflower dress.”
“I saw it, dude. It was very—ooookay, I guess we’re gonna look at it again.” Triss let Gabriella drag her away, shooting Vi an amused wink as she went.
Vi didn’t wink back. She was too busy staring up at Nick, waiting for her voice to come back.
Nick cleared his throat. “Uh, I found a dishcloth. And carpet spray. Took care of the spill in the cooking section. And I climbed up and nailed that bird installation into the ceiling, so it’ll stop falling down.
With Chester’s permission! We can take it down tomorrow. I’ll repair the hole. Where’s Mosey?”
“He’s sleeping out back,” Vi said, dazed. “He’s . . .”
She trailed off, staring at everything he’d fixed while she was comforting Gabriella.
“Thank you,” she blurted.
Nick smiled softly. “For not being me?”
It took a moment to click. When it did, Vi had to take a second to groan into her hands.
“Come on,” she said. “I didn’t know you when I said that! You can’t hold it over me.”
“No holding.” His smile dimmed.
Vi wanted to bite his lip. Vi wanted to cry. Vi wanted to hear him say everything he’d done without telling her, everything he’d been hiding these past few months. She wanted to wipe away all his defenses, including that small nervous smile he was aiming her way.
“You inspired me, too, you know,” he said.
Vi’s heart lurched in her chest. Oh god, she thought. He’s going to tell me he’s dating someone. I inspired him to open up, like he inspired me. I’m an idiot.
“Oh?” she said weakly, tightening her hair ribbon so hard, it hurt.
He nodded. “I’m going to apply to be a baker’s apprentice.”
“Oh,” Vi said, relieved. She untightened her ribbon, the ache lessening. “That’s great, Nick.”
It wasn’t enough. It sounded like every empty comment she’d given a customer while she was thinking about other things.
She put a hand on his arm. “Seriously, Nick. That’s amazing. I’m really proud of you. And I’m really glad you’re feeling better. You look great.”
“Cool,” Nick squeaked. He cleared his throat, fidgeting with something inside his coat. “Do you . . . Do you need me for anything else?”
Vi looked around. The napkins had been refilled on the drinks table. The bird installation was no longer in danger of falling onto anyone’s heads. Triss was behind the drinks table, serving drinks and answering questions.
“I think we’re good,” Vi said. “But—”
“Good,” Nick said, cutting her off. “I also wanted to give you this.”
He pulled an envelope out of his jacket.
Vi took it. The paper was butter-soft, the kind you had to go to a special shop for. A red wax stamp sealed it shut.
To Vi, it said. The handwriting was clumsy, obviously done in a cheap Bic pen. It made the envelope look less fancy, and it made Vi want to grin like a fool.
“Um,” Vi said, hope roaring wildly in her chest. “What’s this?”
“Overdue.” Nick hitched his backpack farther up his back. “You can open it whenever. But hopefully before the next time you see me. And . . . look, I wanted to say, I know I don’t deserve you.”
Vi’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. “What?”
“Like, I know,” Nick said, fumbling over his words. “So I understand if you read the letter and you don’t . . . you know. Vibe.”
“Vibe,” Vi repeated, incredulous. She stared at the letter in disbelief. Was this what she thought it was?
Before Vi could ask him what the hell he was talking about, Nick turned and walked out, ducking precariously between the crowd and almost taking out a painting with his giant shoulder. Vi watched him stabilize it, wincing. Then he speed-walked out the door, clutching his backpack straps.
“What are you smiling about?” Gabriella said, sidling up behind her.
Vi tore her gaze away from the door. Gabriella’s face was dry, her eyes still red-rimmed.
“Nothing,” Vi said, tucking the envelope into her skirt pocket. “How are you?”
“Still a little raw.” Gabriella laughed. “But people are saying such nice things, so I’m feeling less stupid.”
“Good,” Vi said. “That’s good.”
Gabriella squinted at her. “Are you . . . blushing?”
“No.” Vi twisted away from her sister’s hands reaching for Vi’s cheeks, unable to keep the grin off her face.
Before Gabriella could continue, Triss came out of the crowd, looking annoyed.
“Vi,” Triss said. “The bathroom toilet is blocked.”
Vi nodded. She should go and handle that. She should go and check on everyone, see if Triss needed reinforcements, make some impressed noises in front of the paintings, so people would want to buy them.
“One second,” Vi told Triss, and ducked into the back room.
She grabbed Chester’s letter opener from the pen jar, the one with ornate carvings in the metal handle. Vi never had much use for it, though she admired its prettiness. But when it came to envelopes, Vi went the route of least resistance and ripped the paper.
Vi didn’t want to rip this paper. She eased the envelope open carefully, heart beating hard in her chest.
It was a letter. Also on fancy paper. Also written in Bic. Vi’s hands shook as she unfolded it.
This feels like a dickhead move, the letter began.
You have a boyfriend, even if you’ve only been going out for a weekend.
A weekend’s long enough for a lot of shit to happen.
Maybe you’re in love with the guy. I seriously doubt it—he reads business books, what the fuck—but who knows? Maybe the guy’s got hidden depths.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know: I love you. I love you so much, and I like you even more than that. Ever since I first saw you at that barbecue and realized you were my fated mate.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. In my defense, our very first conversation was about how much you hated the idea of fated mates. So I decided I’d wait until you liked me enough to look past it. Seemed pretty impossible at first. Then you kissed me, and I thought I had a chance.
I know what you’re thinking. And I don’t love you because you’re my mate. I love you because you’re Vi. I want to make you laugh every day. I want to pull that ribbon out of your hair every night, and I want to help you tie it up in the mornings.
I see you, past all those fake smiles and your Good to See You crap. I know it freaks you out. Scares the shit out of me, too. You looking past all my stupid jokes and seeing me makes me want to crawl into a hole and hide. But then I wouldn’t be with you, and I think I might risk anything for that.