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If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I love a happy ending.
And then, behind them, as striking as a sudden silent storm, walks in Charlie’s sister, the only other secret I’ve kept in my life: Tallulah Clarke.
“Sure. But when you’re ready to walk what you so eloquently talk, you giant hypocrite, I’ll be here.”
“Someone’s bossy.” A twinkle settles in his eyes. He grins. “I can be. But generally, I much prefer when it’s the other way around.”
Stop romanticizing this moment with a woman who barely tolerates you.
That’s how you know you really love something, Tallulahloo, when it feels worth the hassle, when even the hardest parts of it feel like a gift.”
“Once you swap a secret with a Bergman, you’re bonded to them for life. We’re friends now, Lulaloo. Like it or not.” “I do not like. I unlike. Unsubscribe. Unfollow.”
Rooney and Axel sit side by side and pass each other books, a steady signing assembly line as they work their way through a tall stack of the children’s books they’ve published together, written by Rooney, illustrated by Axel.
“Sorry, Ash. I’m a mere mortal. She’s hot. And she’s going to be even hotter driving an Italian vroom-vroom. I can’t say no.”
“Then fuck them,” she says icily. “Fuck anyone who makes you feel like you’re too much. If they feel that way, they aren’t enough for you.”
“ ‘Iron out the kinks,’ eh? Is he going to help ‘fill your plot holes,’ too?”
“That . . . charged, impenetrable space between two people who feel so close—their hearts, their minds, their bodies—yet never truly touch, that place of mystery, that’s real. And I think, it’s that reach to feel and know and connect to every part of each other, in spite of the distance between us . . . I think that’s love, in so many beautiful, mysterious iterations.”
Rooney steps beside me, hand going to the soft swell of her stomach, which I’d bet, based on her otherwise slender frame, is a baby bump,
I settle in beside the man I love, a story he loves in my hands.
I stand at the threshold of the basement, watching my brothers trundle down the steps, knowing what I’m about to face, what’s been coming for me for years, what’s finally here. My own Bergman Brothers Summit.
“I’m no love expert, but I think I just might be an expert on loving you. Because you were meant for me, Tallulah, and I was meant for you. Your heart was meant to be with mine; I believe that.” Clasping her hand where it rests over my pounding heart, I tell her, “And my heart was meant to be with yours. It is yours. It always has been.” Bending, I kiss her, gentle and reverent, forehead to forehead. “My heart has been, and always will be, only and forever yours.”
“Excuse me,” I say primly. “I can’t help that I have a very sexy boyfriend I can’t get enough of.” “I’m your boyfriend,” he croons.
