Page 107 of Something Borrowed

“Nope, stop it now. Please. I want to know you and what makes you tick, but you can’t just say horrible things about yourself. I won’t have it.” He shook his head. “No, that’s wrong. I mean, you can say whatever you want, of course. It’s just hard for me to listen to you beat yourself up.”

Vic laughed. “Fair—and sweet.”

“What did she say? About the letter, I mean,” he asked a moment later.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing—which is totally fine. I didn’t expect her to. I’m sure she hates me, and that is also fine.”

“Are you sure she got it?”

“Yep. I put it in her mailbox, then called her house and watched her go outside and retrieve it.”

Cal’s mouth pursed, and he nodded his head. “That’s pretty conclusive all right.”

They sat quietly for a long while.

“Should I take you home now?” he asked, “Or…”

“Do you want to discuss my stealing now?”

“If you want to, yes. If not . . . I’m good . . .” he hesitated. “I mean, I’m good if . . . that was a past thing for you. You’re not still—” He faltered, clearly uncomfortable.

“I’m definitely not still stealing,” Vic said firmly. “And it was, well, never really about the little items I couldn’t resist. It was… I don’t even know exactly. Compulsive behaviors—ironically, probably like the affair was for Brent—are born out of cowardice and not wanting to address my real issues. AI puts it nicer, saying unresolved trauma, grief, or depression can trigger kleptomania. Low serotonin makes you crave a dopamine rush—”

Vic interrupted herself with a nervous titter. “How much do you want to deep dive into the science of it? I could blather on all night—but understanding my brain a bit doesn’t let me off the hook for my choices. It just helps me figure out how to resist urges. I still have some amends to make. And just so you know, I went into Jack’s the day after, well, you know,”—she waved her hand to signify the Monika-Kelsey event—“and I spoke to the manager and made it very clear that you had no knowledge or involvement.”

Cal cleared his throat. “Well, thanks. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome. You’re an honest, straight-shooting person and I appreciate that. I know your reputation is important to you—and it’s important to me too.”

“Vic,” Cal interrupted, sounding urgent.

“What?” Alarm zipped through her.

“We’ve talked about a lot—and I want to talk more. I do. About anything you want, anytime you want . . . but please . . .” Something like physical pain crossed his face. “I’m confused. I reached out, knowing we were over—and that I deserve it. But now there’s all this touch. Please just tell me outright. I can take it, and I accept it, but I just need to know. Are we still friends then?”

Vic looked down at his hand that she’d placed on her knee, then considered her other hand, now linked through his. She remembered reaching for it, but not exactly when. “This is not how I touch my friends, Cal.”

Cal’s countenance fell for a moment, then suddenly brightened as what she was saying clicked. “You mean… well, it seems like you’ve accepted my apology, but I don’t want to presume that means we’re still together.”

Vic grinned. “I kind of hoped all this soul-bearing meant we were.”

A huge grin split Cal’s face. He went to say something, broke off, and smiled again. “You don’t know how happy that makes me,” he whispered. “How happy you make me. And I’m so grateful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?” Vic teased, but felt kind of close to tears, as something joyful and light—and equally grateful—flooded over her.

“Can I just hold you for a bit before we head back to your place and your mom and all?”

In answer, Vic scooted over and let Cal’s big arms enfold her.

“I also want to hear all about your visit with Michael,” he murmured into her hair.

“You will. Later. We have time,” she said.

“All the time in the world from here on out,” he said. “I won’t let you down again, Vic. I’m serious about you.”