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)
Viggo talked about his brother’s family, the lake he loved where fish would bite all day and all night, and the size of the zander he’d caught on a recent trip.
“A zander? That’s a fish?”
He bugged his eyes out comically and plucked the brush out of my hand. “Yes, it’s a fish. It’s a huge fish. Like this big.”
Viggo spread his arms and launched into a thorough description—something about it being a European pikeperch with a big mouth and two prominent teeth…like Dracula. All the while, he held the brush above his head, taunting me as I reached for it. And then he turned into a vampire, dropped the brush on his workbench, and dove for me. I dodged him, careful not to bump into the crib pieces propped along the wall.
He caught my belt loop and circled his arms around me, nuzzling his nose in the crook of my shoulder till I squirmed and kicked his shin. Viggo feigned grave injury, demanding a kiss for his troubles. And we sort of devolved from there.
Silly kisses morphed into the kind that curled my toes and made me forget my name.
And I loved it.
The summer months breezed by.
Days at the donut shop were bookended by coffee with Viggo, flag football practices and games, and evenings spent in Viggo’s workshop putting the final touches on the crib. He’d declared it finished in August and immediately began making a dresser-slash-changing table.
“You need one. Everyone says so,” he’d claimed.
“Who’s everyone?”
Viggo had shrugged. “I read it online.”
See, that was very Viggo. He was the guy who quietly researched pregnancy guidebooks for Freya and parenthood ones for me, dispensing his newfound wisdom as he deemed fitting. Viggo was up-to-date on the safest car seats, strollers, and whatever symptoms Freya might be experiencing.
Some people needed good food and wine and the promise of hot sex while others—like me—got hot and bothered by a guy who studied up on baby formulas.
“Did you know you can get formula that has the same nutrients as breastmilk? Organic is best, even if it’s more expensive. That might change if the baby is allergic or has colic or…”
I could have listened to him all night with a baseball game as background noise, spoon-feeding him bites of ice cream in between his helpful tips.
By September, impending fatherhood was beginning to seem very real. Freya was seven months along with an undeniable baby bump. She looked fantastic and said she felt amazing, too.
“My tits are so big and perky,” she bragged. “All I need is chocolate!”
Yep, I was her chocolate supplier, and Viggo was the one who lectured her about the importance of eating well. I knew Freya took nutrition seriously, so I wasn’t concerned in the slightest. But I liked their playful repartee.
Viggo treated her like a sister. He nagged her, teased her, and was fiercely protective of her. I was embarrassed that I’d ever thought they were lovers. But I was curious about Freya—in ways I knew were intrusive to our surrogacy agreement. I didn’t want to upset her and yet, I couldn’t let it go.
I should have known she was equally as curious about me…and Viggo.
“You’ve become good friends?” she asked, stirring her herbal iced tea with a straw.
We sat at the same table for two at the coffee shop where she’d confirmed she was pregnant months ago. Just us. Viggo had been asked to supervise a new deforestation project and was stuck in a meeting. Plus he had a game later in the day. Freya had offered to change the appointment, but I’d wanted to see her on my own. And maybe the feeling was mutual.
“Um…yeah.” I sipped foam from my latte. “Viggo has been very…supportive.”
“Supportive.” She twitched her nose and smirked. “I bet.”
“Okay…I see where you’re going with this. Did he say something or—”
“Viggo?” Freya barked a laugh. “Viggo doesn’t say anything.”
“That’s not true.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did, and I couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “You’ve known him for a long time. He told me you were best friends with his sister. Annika.”
Freya froze for a moment, then inclined her head. “He talked about Anni?”
“A little. Yes. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I—how much did he say?” Freya furrowed her brow and resumed twirling her straw at an animated clip. “God, this is more serious than I thought.”
I stilled her hand and held it. “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t want to upset you. Forget it. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no. I don’t mind. It was a sad time. That’s all.” She pulled away and hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think I’d be here right now if it weren’t for Viggo. And I don’t mean in Vermont. Losing Anni was tragic. It was like the whole world went dark, and no one knew why. A bad dream and none of us could wake up.”