“He hugged me last night,” Oliver gloats. Viggo gasps and throws me a wounded glance. “It was extenuating circumstances,” I state for the record, scooping out flour. “What do I have to do to earn a hug?” Viggo demands. “If you ever fly a thousand miles and arrive on my doorstep in tears, I’ll hug you, Viggo.” “Psh. Easy. I already flew a thousand miles up here. Now I just need some tears, which is—” He blinks, sniffles a little, and don’t you know, his eyes are glistening. “Look. I’m in tears. Practically a puddle.” I throw a stick of butter at his head. “Get off your ass and help me with
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