Page 86 of Something Borrowed

Vic was beside herself with curiosity as she got ready, sliding into sheer black hosiery and a vintage black velvet cocktail dress that she’d found at the shop and been unable to resist. She finished the outfit with a simple updo and her wide diamond cuff bracelet.

When Cal came to the door to pick her up, he stuttered, “Oh, wow . . . you . . . are . . .” He shook his head. “Just . . . wow.”

“I’ll take that as a high compliment, good sir.”

He nodded. “Please. Yes. Do. That’s definitely how I mean it.”

She climbed into the van, pulling her long coat around her, as he held the door for her.

“So where are we going?” she asked once he was settled into the driver’s seat and they were on their way.

He hesitated. “I hope you’re not going to be disappointed.”

“I won’t be, I’m sure.”

“It’s just, it seemed like a good idea when I had it, but now—” he motioned toward her, “seeing all the trouble you went to, I don’t know.”

“It was no trouble. I like getting dressed up.” And she did. Still, Vic glanced out the window, feeling uneasy. Why did they have to be such a good pair, even when it came to insecurities?

“No,” Cal said abruptly, decisively. Vic jerked her gaze back to him.

He shook his head. “Sorry, sorry—I was losing my nerve there for a bit, but it’s all good. I know you. I know you’re going to like what I have planned.”

A few minutes later, they pulled up to a small, well-maintained, 60s-style L-shaped bungalow. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting when she got “all gussied up,” to quote Audra, and she looked at him, assuming it was his house and wondering if he’d forgotten something, or—

His nod answered her unvoiced question, and he took a deep breath. “Yep, this is my place, but please don’t get the wrong idea. I just, well, I know you’re sometimes not the most relaxed in public, and when we first met, we talked about cooking and stuff . . . and, well, I’d like to make you dinner.”

Part of Vic wanted to tease him—Didn’t want me to get the wrong idea, hey? What do you mean by that?—if only to camouflage her own nerves, but he looked so genuinely unsure of himself that she couldn’t.

She put her hand on his arm. “This dating stuff . . . it doesn’t get any easier with age, does it? Dinner, cooked by you for me, sounds wonderful.”

He laughed and looked so grateful to her that she choked up a little.

From the moment they entered the house and Cal turned on the lights, it was clear, however, that he hadn’t just planned dinner. Or rather, hadn’t planned just any dinner.

The dining room table was formally set, including water goblets, red wine glasses, white wine glasses, and champagne flutes, arranged above the knives on the right side of their plates, with creamy linens and gold-trimmed China that Vic recognized from The Second Chance Shop. A lush, low-profile arrangement of white roses, ivy, and evergreen interspersed with pillar candles formed the centerpiece.

“May I take your coat, ma’am?” Cal asked, and she could tell her surprised speechlessness pleased him, the same way his earlier stuttering had her.

On the way back from the entranceway closet, he paused in the living room and hit a remote. Soft pop music filled the background, nice and quiet so it wouldn’t interrupt conversation.

Vic wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her upper arms, shivering just a little.

“Cold?” Cal asked, immediately concerned.

“No, I don’t think so. Just surprised, I think. What’s the occasion?”

“A New Year, a new friend—that’s you, in case you didn’t know.”

She nodded. “It’s just very special already.”

“Good, it should be—because you are very special.”

Vic blinked. Was she falling for love bombing again? She excused herself to the washroom to compose herself and found it lit with a small candle along with another white rose in a bud vase.

“Just enjoy it,” she whisper-commanded herself in the mirror. “Enjoy him.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” she asked lightly, once back in the kitchen.