Page 42 of Something Borrowed

Cal shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Good, good—that’s good, right?”

“It’s great,” Vic reassured him, then winced. He was uncomfortable, and that was on her. “I’m really sorry about the other night.”

He scrubbed his beard with one hand and looked even more awkward, but then he rallied. “The crack of dawn cancellation, the last Friday in November, roughly two weeks ago? I don’t even remember what happened. Refresh me?”

“Okay, I deserve that.” She grinned ruefully. “At the very least, I could’ve waited until the sun was up. Please tell me you had your phone set to Do Not Disturb.”

His laugh said that no, no, he hadn’t.

She scrunched her face apologetically.

“It’s really okay, though,” he added. “In fact, I should thank you.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Because he’s onto you as a person, and he’s happy to have missed his ride on the crazy train, maybe?

God, her brain was mean to her sometimes.

“The pizza.”

“The pizza?” she asked, not quite following.

“I ordered pizza anyway because, you know,” he shrugged. “I still had to eat.”

She laughed. “And also, because . . . pizza. You were probably glad you didn’t have to share.”

“No, I would’ve happily shared with you, Vic.”

His eyes were warm and guileless. It wasn’t just a line. She remembered him asking permission before he kissed her—and quickly cut off that vein of thinking.

“But that’s why a thanks is due. I ordered your bizarre-sounding smoked oysters and onion—”

Vic practically shrieked. “You did?” She didn’t know why it pleased her so much—maybe because, except for Michael, she’d never been able to convince anybody else in her life to try it. And Michael had been little, and she was the person who ordered and paid, so it didn’t really count.

Cal nodded. “I sure did.”

“What did you think?” Though surely him saying he needed to thank her meant—

He let out a low whistle. “It was so good I had to turn the TV off just to savor it.”

Vic laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Wow, that is high praise.”

“Yeah, well . . . but seriously. It was super good. Almost as good as my—”

“Your favorite, I know,” she teased.

Cal’s smile stayed, but his eyes grew serious. “I hope it won’t sound strange, but I also wanted to thank you for, well, canceling. You must’ve felt a little self-conscious being—”

“Such a huge flake?”

His eyes shone, and he shook his head. “I was going to say being so honest.”

Perhaps Vic’s face showed her skepticism because he added, voice soft. “I mean it. The easy thing to do would’ve been to try to spare my feelings, keep our . . . meet-up, then never talk to me again. Instead, you risked looking—your word, not how I feel at all—flaky and didn’t condescend to me by trying to manage my disappointment. Your texts, your words were actually deeply respectful. Of me—and of yourself.”

Oh. Oh.

“Um . . . you’re welcome. And thank you for being so gracious about it. That was unexpected and nice.”