Page 63 of Something Borrowed

Vic gave a non-committal grunt that told Cal he was right on the money. “Let’s talk about you. How’s the home decorating going?”

“Well, I haven’t added anything new since I was at your shop, but I did put up some Christmas things—and some lights—so that’s made a difference. And come the new year, when I take them all down, I’ll scope out some other stuff.”

“Right on—and you know, there’s nothing wrong with living simply or having a clean, spare style.”

“Except that it’s possibly psychopathic?” he teased, referencing his joke when he’d come into the shop that day.

Her big laugh carried over the line, and he felt inordinately pleased with himself. He grinned into the receiver again. “I know you’re right. Minimalism is a good thing—if you like it, but I don’t. I want something with a bit more personality.”

“Well, you could always stop being so tidy and organized. Leave books in stacks around the place, not all shelved.”

He laughed. “I actually like that idea.”

“Well, if you like that, you’ll love my new decorating style.” She told him about the changes she’d made to her bedroom, converting it into a sort of mini workspace.

“You paint?” That totally made sense to him. She had such an interesting natural style and effortless way of combining various elements together in a way that looked great. Even the way she set out lunch seemed like a mini work of art.

“I . . . dabble,” she said.

“Says every true artist!”

She laughed, but he could tell she was flattered and that made him feel pleased again.

“I actually think I’m going to sell something . . . just a small thing. If she likes the final project.” Vic shared the incident with Claire and the solicited portrait of Lady Rumpelstiltskin, AKA Rumple.

“Wow, that’s fantastic. May I see it when it’s done?”

She was quiet, and Cal knew she was biting her lip. He knew it—and he could see her shy facial expression in his mind’s eye, too.

“Maybe?” she finally said.

They chatted for a few more minutes, and he asked questions about the setup in her room. When she mentioned the small round table being difficult to reach across, he was thrilled to have a solution.

“That’s a weird coincidence! I saw this thing online the other day—this painter, well, she paints furniture, not art stuff, but she wanted to be able to access pieces she was working on without having to constantly walk around them in her small space, so she made her round table into a lazy Susan.”

“Wow, that would be amazing!”

They talked about the how-to’s for a few minutes, then suddenly Vic broke off. “Omigoodness . . . I’ve been talking your ear off for nearly an hour. I’m so sorry. What did you actually call me about?”

Oh, right. He’d called her. “It’s no problem. I like talking to you.”

A beat of silence. “I like talking to you too. A lot.”

“See? So, no apologies—and I called you by accident.” He laughed self-consciously. “I was planning to text you to see if the evening of the 23rd is too close to Christmas for me to come and get some work done, but I hit Call instead.”

Vic’s big laugh filled his ear once more, and the grin it triggered this time felt too big for his face. Her laugh was so great. Contagious, even.

“Sorry,” she said a second later. “I didn’t mean to laugh like a hyena right in your ear.”

“I happen to love hyena laughs.”

Vic laughed again. “You’re in luck with me around then.”

“No, seriously. Your laugh is amazing, Vic. Not hyena-like at all. I love it.”

Quiet from Vic’s end, then a very soft, “Thanks, Cal—and the 23rd is great.”

“Well, great! I’ll see you then.”