Page 89 of Something Borrowed

“It was the cutest thing,” she continued, bringing him back to the conversation. “They called a family meeting, the same way I used to when they were little. Jordy had his girlfriend Beth there, and the three of them—” Carrie choked up a little here, which was very unlike her. “Well, they said how much they missed me and that now that I’m going to be a grandma—”

“What?” Cal’s coffee sloshed over the side of his mug as he jolted in surprise. When Carrie let it fly that she was moving back to be closer to the kids, she hadn’t given a hint that this was part of the reason. “Come again?”

Carrie grinned so broadly that Cal thought her jaw might crack. “You heard right. Could’ve knocked me over with a feather. And Beth was just as adamant about hoping I’d come ‘home’ as they all called it. I felt, well, I can’t even explain it.”

“Wow, sis—or should I say, Grandma. That is amazing, top-notch news.”

“Yes,” Carrie agreed, still radiant. “And something tells me from the lack of texts and calls over the holidays that you might have your own news you’re excited about.”

“Maybe,” Cal said, pretending he was cool and would be able to resist telling all.

The desk phone rang, loud and insistent.

“Saved by the bell,” Carrie said cheerfully as she reached for the receiver. “But don’t think you got a free pass. I’ll expect every juicy detail at lunch.”

*

He and Vic were walking the Millennium Trail, a paved path that ran along the highway through town, popular with bicyclists, dog walkers, and random folks like themselves all year round.

With the trees still lit and twinkling, soft, huge snowflakes falling in the purple evening light, and the scent of their peppermint hot chocolates wafting in the cold air, it was a winter wonderland—but the biggest part of the wonder was Vic’s warm hand in his. Cal knew this about himself. He’d be oblivious to the night’s charms without her.

“Wow, big changes,” Vic said when he told her the news about Carrie’s move.

“You’re telling me. I’ve gotten so used to her help, and things definitely run more smoothly with an office assistant. I was thinking…” He paused, not quite sure how to proceed. The minute he’d thought of it earlier, he knew it was the perfect solution, but he wasn’t sure Vic would see it that way.

He took a big mouthful of cocoa, then pressed on. “You’d be perfect for the job if you want it. I know you love The Second Chance Shop, but in case you want something different with a few more hours . . . I pay okay, it’s full-time, and—” His heart raced. This next bit, for him, was the best part. “We’d be together all day.”

He couldn’t bear to look at her just yet, in case she wasn’t as enamored with the idea as he was. “Plus, a while back, you mentioned possibly getting your own place, wanting some distance from Audra. Carrie’s keeping her tiny house here, renting it out. I told her you might be interested.”

“Wow,” Vic said for the second time in minutes. And while her “wow” wasn’t negative or sarcastic, exactly, it didn’t necessarily sound positive either.

She stopped walking and stared up at him.

“That’s, um, a lot to think about.” She shook her head. “I’m really flattered you think I’d be good for the job and that you want to spend so much time with me, but—” She broke off. “It’s, well, a lot to think about,” she repeated. “I’ll have to get back to you about it. Is that okay?”

At least she was still holding his hand as they walked, Cal thought, but the lights in the trees seemed dimmer, and the temperature had clearly chilled. Their breath made ghostly white trails and even those disappeared in the darkening night.

Chapter 43

Vic had decided to try her hand at oils and was prepping assorted canvases accordingly. She’d sized them before going for a walk with Cal the night before, and now she was applying coats of gesso. Or that’s what Angel insisted she was doing. Devil knew better. Knew she was pretending not to be the kind of woman who was always, at least in part, obsessing about some man. Just like Devil also knew she was impatiently clock-watching, wanting evening to come because it was the night of The Second Chance Shop’s staff party—and not wanting it because she wanted to see her friends, or not just because of that. A huge part of the impatience was because she wanted to talk about Cal.

She wished Madeline had reopened the shop on the second of January, the way Cal had. This extra week off felt like too much time on her hands, with Cal back to work already. Plus, she had so many things she wanted to blab Gwen and Madeline’s ears off about. What the heck was Cal thinking, asking her to come work for him, to be his employee? And to rent his sister’s house?

She shook her head as she paced her studio, the final coats of gesso drying. She didn’t want the job Cal offered in any way, shape, or form. She loved working for Madeline—but even if she didn’t have the job at The Second Chance Shop, she wouldn’t have wanted to work with Cal full-time. It was too close, wouldn’t give either of them enough space. And yet . . . yet she was tempted to say yes to Cal’s job offer only because he so clearly wanted her to. It was very eye-opening about herself. That was how pathetic she was. How much of a pleaser she was. She’d consider accepting a job she didn’t want just to avoid saying no. And on that note . . . ditto regarding the offer to rent Carrie’s home. It’s true, she had told Cal she wanted her own place—but she’d since rethought that. There was something wrong with Audra, and she couldn’t, in good conscience, move out right now.

Okay, so . . . good. She knew what she didn’t want. She recognized the desire to say yes as what it was . . . pathology, hahaahahahahahaha—but seriously. Now she just had to figure out how to tell Cal.

Thanks for the offer. I’m flattered, but I’m happy where I’m at.

Sheesh, when Angel said it sounded so simple.

He’ll probably be angry or hurt, Devil warned.

That was, of course, very possible. She turned to her mind, as she so often did, to the helpful chart she’d now memorized. Things I can control: Boundaries I set with others and where I give my time, energy, and attention. Things I can’t control: How others feel and how others react.

Barf, said Devil.

She laughed at the thought. It was a little barfy—and that was okay. It was helpful-barfy.