Page 97 of Something Borrowed

He finally glanced her way, then, still half a block from her house, he signaled and parked alongside the sidewalk.

“I’m a local businessman,” Cal said miserably.

Vic flinched and nodded. She knew what was coming.

“I have to be able to shop there. I can’t have them thinking that I might . . .” He trailed off, but Vic heard the unfinished sentence loud and clear. He couldn’t have people thinking he might rip them off too—guilt by association.

“I understand,” she said. And she did.

Cal had been fixating on the steering wheel, avoiding eye contact. Now he shot her a look. “What do you understand?”

“That you don’t want to see me anymore.”

He didn’t confirm or deny, just asked, “And the married guy? That was true too? You were with him for years?”

Vic hung her head. She had been doing so well, trying so hard.

And that’s all you can do—and can keep doing. Be gentle with yourself and have your own back, woman.

She smiled, though she suspected tears would come later. Imagine the voice in her head being something she could agree with! Not an angel, not a devil. Just . . . her own inner self. Cal was special, but if he couldn’t see who she really was, or give her the benefit of the doubt or chance to explain—especially after all his big words about the past not mattering, well . . . she was done selling herself short for some man, trying to pretend she was all sugar and light instead of just a damaged, complex, fully actualized person, one who was trying to grow and get a little better all the time.

You sound like a social media meme.

Ah, there was the snark she was more familiar with. But it only made her inner conviction grow. She felt like sticking out her tongue.

There’s a lot of good stuff on SM.

“You should take me home.”

Cal nodded, started the truck, and shoulder-checked—then shook his head.

For a split second, Vic thought he was going to turn the engine off again. Talk things through—

But he didn’t. They didn’t. In under a minute, she was home. In less than five, the stuff from Jack’s was sitting inside her door.

“Vic,” Cal said, then paused. “I just need to think . . .” His voice petered out again.

She nodded. “It’s okay, Cal.”

What else was there to say? Nothing.

She even gave a little wave as he drove off.

Chapter 47

Between Vic’s hours at The Second Chance Shop, prepping, painting, and decorating Michael’s room, and squeezing time in for her own work (calling her painting “work”—look at her!), the two weeks till Michael’s visit sped by. And although she missed Cal more than she thought possible, she was also . . . fine. Good, even. It made her feel both strangely proud and oddly melancholy.

“So whaddya think?” she asked nervously as she showed Michael where he’d be staying.

He surveyed it slowly, then checked out the small ensuite bathroom, which featured a shower only, no tub. Audra had added the washroom, who knew why, about ten years back and had it done in all-white tile, fixtures, and cabinets. The result was a look that stayed surprisingly current and could be easily revamped by changing the shower curtain and linens. All Vic had done here was add heavy, high-quality towels, plus the infamous bar of pumpkin soap that had started everything good for her in Greenridge.

The room was lovely, and as she watched Michael take it in, Vic’s heart skipped happily. She could tell he liked it. Cal had questioned the deep orange she’d chosen for the walls, but she was glad she’d gone with her gut.

He lingered by the four small paintings she’d hung and even reached out and touched one. “I loved that scruffy old thing.”

Vic smiled at the image of a once-green-and-fluffy, then gray-and-nearly-fuzzless dinosaur stuffy. “I know.”

Finally, her boy turned to her with a questioning, surprised smile. “You did all of this for my visit? It’s too much.”