Page 22 of Something Borrowed

She had a point—though not about the shoes. She had a closet full of them.

“Think of them like worn-out flannel shirts,” she’d once said when he was ribbing her. “Why do you need so many of them?”

Fair. People had their things they liked.

He slapped his thighs, clearing his thoughts, and pulled out his phone to see what was next up on his scheduling calendar.

His final “job” of the day couldn’t come fast enough.

*

Vic’s porchlight was aglow in the darkness, and even though the night was already cold enough for Cal to see his breath and the characteristic Greenridge dampness had settled into his bones, warmth suffused him.

And then Vic opened the door. Perhaps she’d just gotten out of the shower, because her face was flushed a soft pink and a few damp tendrils of her reddish-brown hair (such a great color; reminded him of maple leaves in the sunshine) had escaped her—what did Carrie call it again? A messy bun. Right. Anyway. Some strands of hair had escaped and curled around her face. So cute. She was in a soft-looking gray sweatsuit. Not date attire (Of course not, you idiot. You’re here to give a quote. It’s a job! You just happen to be eating together.), but he loved the look. She beamed up at him, big brown eyes shining. It felt like his heart literally grew seeing her smile.

“You came!”

“I did,” he replied, equally cleverly. They weren’t going to be winning any best banter awards, were they?

And then she registered the pizza boxes he was holding. “And you brought two pizzas!”

Her surprised delight was so genuine that a rush of pride went through him. Over bringing pizzas. Ridiculous.

“That’s some heavy-duty flirting,” she added with a wink.

He grinned back. “I know. All the ladies tell me how smooth my moves are.”

She was laughing as he followed her into the house, trying not to notice how the fleece pants hugged her heart-shaped butt—and failing badly, obviously.

“Eat first, then . . . work?” she asked.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Vic paused by the doorway to the kitchen, then moved toward the living room instead.

“We’ll be comfier here, I think. And it’s warmer.” A little natural electric fireplace flickered in one corner, and slate-gray suede furniture was softened with faux fur throw pillows.

He also noted there were colorful blankets everywhere. A plush rose-pink microfiber one bunched up as if just used on one arm of the couch. Another on the back of the matching wide chair. A blanket ladder in the corner of the room with four variegated wool blankets hung artfully on each dowel. Cal didn’t know much about blankets, but his friend Steve’s wife, Sylvia, sold things that looked a lot like them at the farmer’s market. He thought maybe they were handwoven. Expensive. Nice quality.

It was a cozy room, and Cal wondered if that was down to Audra or to Vic once she’d moved back. They settled around a low coffee table, him on the chair, her on the end of the couch closest to her. She pulled the jumbled blanket over her legs.

“I’m always cold,” she said, like she needed to apologize or something.

“Let’s dig in.”

Evie B’s had provided lots of napkins, and Cal wasn’t sure why exactly, but he loved how Vic didn’t fuss or suggest they needed plates or, even worse, forks and knives.

“Your tried and true,” she said with approval when she lifted the box lid.

“Yeah, but in case it’s too weird for you and you were just being nice before, I got a pepperoni mushroom too. I hope you don’t hate mushrooms.”

Vic laughed and took a slice, scooping up a wayward piece of pineapple and dropping it into her mouth. “I told you, remember? I love all the pizza—and pepperoni, pineapple, banana peppers, and onions is not weird! My all-time favorite is, wait for it . . . smoked oysters and onion.”

Cal paused mid-reach for his first piece. “Smoked oysters and onion pizza?”

Vic shrugged. “It’s delicious. Trust me.” She took a big bite and sighed happily. “So is this, though. The hot with the sweet. Mmmm. Perfect.”

The hot with the sweet was right. Cal had a hard time concentrating on the taste of his favorite food.