Page 41 of Something Borrowed

When Cal went to bed that night, he didn’t have to convince himself it had been a good night. It really had been—and it occurred to him that there was an upside to solo life that didn’t get spoken about enough. Melanie hadn’t been a reader, which would’ve been fine, but she resented that he was, and she definitely didn’t want him reading in the same room or staying up late at night—even if she was just planning to sleep.

He wondered if Vic was a reader, reminded himself that it didn’t matter, and felt happyish as he pulled the blankets off his feet, which were always too hot. He’d had a nice night. Not a mopish one where he wished he was doing something other than what he was.

As he was drifting off to sleep, Cal did wonder if he should’ve texted Vic back to see where she stood with the list of work he’d agreed to do. Was that still on, or was it off too?

Chapter 22

Seemingly overnight, the prolonged fall became true winter, and Vic tried not to love the new routine of her life too much because what if it didn’t last?

But what if it does? Angel sometimes whispered. What if it gets even better than you can imagine?

Both Vic and Devil would roll their eyes at the thought, though Vic secretly hoped Angel was onto something.

It was funny to her now, but originally, she had feared Gwen’s presence at the Second Chance Shop, thinking that with Gwen back, every one of her shortcomings would be bolded and underlined. Worried that any small inroads toward something approaching friendship with Madeline would be cut off. Or, at the very least, that Gwen wouldn’t really want her there, would find her an intrusion, or worse, a possible threat the way other women sometimes did.

She was shocked to find the exact opposite of each fear was true. Gwen was friendly and welcoming, and she seemed genuinely ecstatic to have Vic around to help customers and work the till, so she could focus on spring plans for the shop’s various yard displays, flower beds, and gardens. (Who knew there was so much to do with flowerbeds and gardens even in the winter months? Certainly not Vic.) Gwen was also busy building Christmassy floral arrangements, and it didn’t seem to matter how many she made, they always sold out. Every morning, she arrived with buckets of various evergreen trimmings, sometimes helped by her new, devoted husband Daniel or one of their seemingly numberless kids. Vic thought they had five, or was it six? She went over names in her head. That’s right. Five at home—and Gwen had three adult children who had already launched. Eight children!

“We’re kind of like the Brady Bunch but not as well-organized,” Gwen had joked, obviously reading Vic’s surprise when she initially found out.

Since Gwen had gotten back from her beachy honeymoon, she spent most of her time in the super cute workstation Madeline’s husband Grant had built outside in the gardens. It looked like a mini-Victorian House, complete with Gingerbread detailing, and featured a front section that opened down, creating a counter that Gwen could open to the public when she wanted to. In her heavy canvas apron and work gloves, surrounded by spools of ribbon in every color and texture, baskets of everything from cutesy to elegant trimmings, rolls of wire, and assorted cutters, it was like watching one of Santa’s elves—a Santa’s elf that was nearly six feet tall and a huge soccer nut.

Seeing how busy Gwen truly was made Vic feel oddly pleased. Madeline hadn’t just been being charitable. They really did need her.

Best of all, however—and this one could’ve knocked Vic over with a feather—while Madeline and Gwen were tight, for sure, their friendship felt wide and welcoming, not exclusive at all.

Some days, as they chatted during quiet minutes in the shop or had a quick visit at the end of the day, Vic was tempted to tell the full details about her breakup with Brent, not just the “cliff notes” as Madeline called her initial sharing. If they fully knew who she was and what she’d done and they didn’t hate her, maybe she could stop hating herself . . . For now, though, safety was best. Still, even with that question—whether they’d still like her if they truly knew everything about her—rattling around in her head, Vic had an unfamiliar feeling of optimism for the future.

These were the thoughts fluttering and landing in her head, then flitting off again as she let herself into the Second Chance Shop, readying herself for this early December day. She re-locked the door behind her and set a timer on her phone to remind her to unlock for the public and flip the Open sign when it was closer to 10:00.

Moving deeper into the delicious-lemony-smelling shop—would she ever get tired of its scent—she changed the number on the adorable wooden sign that cheerily announced how many sleeps until Christmas. 21!

She was almost an hour early, as she liked to be. It gave her time to do any last-minute tidies, familiarize herself with any new stock that Madeline—who was a night owl extraordinaire—might have added in the wee hours, and have a cup of tea before the shop opened.

She took this morning’s tea, a hibiscus rose blend—she’d caffeinate later, or not—to a large purple couch with a built-in side table.

Her phone buzzed and she mentally crossed her fingers. It wasn’t who she was hoping to hear from, however. It was a text from Madeline saying she wouldn’t be in until close to noon. Vic sent back a thumbs-up and smiley emoji. Another buzz. Another text. This one from Gwen. Two of her kids were throwing up. She wasn’t coming in. Madeline already knew, but she wanted to tell Vic too. Vic smiled and texted back, sending love and hopes for a speedy recovery.

She waited. Maybe three would be a charm and she’d hear from him . . . but no, her phone stayed quiet.

Michael, she said sternly in her head. Call or text your mother.

Vic knew why he’d gone silent. In her primary goal to “Rebuild (build!) a closer relationship with Michael,” she’d gotten too excited and pushed too hard, too quickly.

At first, he’d seemed receptive to her more frequent communications. Sending back comments like, “Ahhahaha, nice hair,” or “I remember that,” or “Good days!” to tiny snippets of memories she shared or photos she sent. Buoyed into a false sense of readiness by his comment about good days, which suggested maybe he hadn’t hated his whole childhood, she’d invited him for Christmas. She knew even as she sent the—probably overly long—message that it was likely a mistake.

Christmas was too emotionally laden. Even for families much less broken and distanced than her tiny one, it often came with heavy baggage.

She dared to send one small nudge text too, but since then had resisted nagging or pushing. She couldn’t keep from obsessively hoping he’d reply, however.

She should’ve waited. Focused on building up to a phone conversation or two, then maybe invited him for a spring or summer visit . . .

The alarm on her phone jangled. Vic jumped, then glanced at her phone again, this time checking the time. It was 9:55! How had that happened?

She quickly moved her empty teacup to the staffroom, where she’d wash it later, then zipped to the front of the store. She’d barely turned the lock when the knob twisted and the door opened, sending the bells above her head jingling. She stepped back to avoid being clipped by the door, and her jaw dropped in surprise.

“Oh, hey.” Cal seemed startled too. “Right—you work here. I forgot. Gwen still on her honeymoon?”

Vic smiled, unable to hide her pleasure at being able to say, “No, she’s back, but Madeline asked me to stay on. Permanently.”