Page 79 of Something Borrowed

Audra sniffed and looked at Cal, then at the bouquet again. He held it out, and she paused for a breath before taking it in hand and describing it, as if Vic and he couldn’t see the thing for themselves. “It’s very pretty—all those sturdy little red carnations with the evergreen branches and the little gold balls and spikey things. Carnations last well, you know. It will look nice for weeks.”

“Uh, great. I’m glad to hear that.”

From out of Audra’s line of sight, Vic wiggled her eyebrows at him, but he was too nervous to laugh.

Audra cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

You could’ve knocked him over with a feather. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll put them in water for you, if you’d like,” Vic added.

A few minutes later, after a couple of different placements, Audra was finally satisfied with the arrangement’s home on the console beneath her TV, where she could still see it while she watched her shows.

“All right. We’re heading out now, Mom. I don’t think we’ll be late.”

Audra waved a hand, possibly to say goodbye, possibly to dismiss them. It was hard to say.

In the entryway, before Cal had a chance to put his boots on, Vic caught his hand and squeezed it. “That was very sweet of you. Audra was thrilled.”

“That’s Audra thrilled?”

“Yep, she’s a warm, cuddly one, my mother.”

“What about you? Are you warm and cuddly as a rule?”

“Well, not as a rule.” Vic’s eyes twinkled merrily, then grew serious. “Yes,” she said frankly. “I think I’m touch-starved. I crave someone to snuggle on the couch or cozy up with in bed—” She broke off, looking flustered. “Sorry, talk about TMI.”

But Cal knew what she meant. It wasn’t a pickup line or her hitting on him. She’d shared—accidentally perhaps, but nonetheless—a yearning of her heart. And he wouldn’t make light of it. What he would do was try to be the man she trusted enough to choose to snuggle up with.

“Nothing you want to tell me is ever going to be TMI,” he said.

“Thank you . . . That’s an incredibly nice thing to say.”

Cal shrugged. “It’s just the truth. I could listen to you talk all day and never get tired of it. I’m honored by the things you tell me.”

Vic bit her lip, and her eyes shone—and Cal really, really wanted to remedy their mutual touch starvation.

In the van on the way over to Madeline’s, Vic explained it was an open house. “As far as I understand it, that means there’s no set arrival or departure time. People will drop in, visit for a bit, then leave. It’s pretty casual, I think. We can stay as long as we want—if we’re having fun. Or, if it’s not our thing or we don’t fit in or whatever, we can just show our faces and leave.”

Cal was confused. He knew what an open house was. And Vic had seemed excited about it when she invited him, but now she was already discussing an exit plan? He glanced over at her and noticed she was fiddling with the edge of her wrap, folding and unfolding it. Suddenly he understood her babbling. She was nervous. He reached out and gently closed his hand over her restless one.

“Sounds like a plan, but I’m sure you’ll—we’ll—have a great time. And you’re going to fit in perfectly. You’re totally great, and they’re your friends, so they already know that.”

Vic’s hand twisted beneath his. Thinking she wanted him to release her, he was about to let go. Instead, she shifted to link her fingers through his.

Why was holding hands so special? He pulled to a stop at a red light and smiled over at her. His breath hitched as she beamed back and gave his fingers a little squeeze.

And thankfully, his prediction was true. They had a super nice time at Madeline’s. Cal hadn’t realized she was married to Grant, an old acquaintance from back in the day and an amazing craftsman and woodsmith. It was good to reconnect with him. And Gwen was there with her very new husband Daniel—and their collective five children between them.

“I thought Gwen’s kids were adults,” he mused privately to Vic at one point.

She lightly and matter-of-factly replied, “They are. Pillar, Zach, and Zena are her grandkids that she’s raising.”

Cal was curious about that, wanted to ask why—but it wasn’t the time and place, and it wasn’t his business. He liked that Vic didn’t add any gratuitous details. If he became closer friends with the group, he’d find out then, and if not, he wouldn’t and shouldn’t know intimate details of her life. So far, he’d done a great job of not comparing Vic to Melanie—and they were so different, it wasn’t hard to avoid. In this one area, however, the contrast struck him hard and was impossible to ignore. Melanie had always told him and anybody else who’d listen everything she ever knew or heard about other people. At the time, it hadn’t bothered him that much. He thought it was harmless. Now he saw it differently; she was always looking at other people through a critical lens because she didn’t want to look at her own issues. Anyway, it wasn’t about Melanie. It was about Vic. He liked that she minded her own gate and the only personal issues she spoke about were her own.

The food was delicious and abundant, and Cal suspected he and Vic enjoyed it all the more because their own Christmas Eve and Christmas Day celebrations had been more modest, less indulgent. They were helping themselves to small seconds of an incredibly delicious chocolate cake when a cheerful voice exclaimed, “Vic! I hoped you’d be here.”

He and Vic turned toward the voice.