Chapter 14 #2
Cal tried to think of how to articulate it. He waved his hand, motioning from her head to her feet. “You’re just so . . . glamorous or something. With your Gucci and your Louis Vuitton—”
“With my Gucci and my Louis Vuitton, hey?” Her eyebrow arched and her voice was teasing, but not mean.
“I know what designer is. I have a sister.”
Vic laughed and lightly touched the rolled cuff of his flannel shirt. He was glad he’d worn one of his new ones. “This is better than Gucci, believe me. You know what they say, right?”
“No clue.” He was already grinning, anticipating a joke.
“Flannel on a man is like lingerie for women.”
“Is it now? Well, in that case, some lady is in for a hot treat. I always wear something a little more comfortable.” He winked.
He thought about taking her hand but wasn’t sure how it would be received.
“I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for,” he said.
“That you didn’t have kids or get married, or whatever.
Unless you were married—or are?” Damn. He hadn’t considered that.
Maybe that was why she was in Greenridge helping her mom.
Maybe she was married and just going through some upset.
“Not married, no.”
Cal exhaled in relief, then wondered if Vic noticed.
“But I have a kid,” she added. “He’s thirty-five.”
“Wow. I never would’ve guessed.”
Vic’s head tilted. “What does that mean?”
“I mean, I should’ve been able to do the math—just you look so young. I keep thinking you’re forty max, not my age.”
“Thanks, I think.”
Cal winced. “I did mean it as a compliment.”
“I know, I know.” She looked on the verge of saying something else but shook her head. “Never mind me. I’m weird sometimes.”
“You can be whoever you are with me.”
Vic was swishing her bottle of pomegranate juice in a slow circle, making the contents swirl. She looked up at him. “That is a very nice thing to say, Cal. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Does your son live here too, or—”
“No, no. He’s only visited here with me a few times when he was a kid. His home base is Toronto these days, but he’s a day trader and can work anywhere there’s good internet. Right now, he’s in Italy.”
“Sounds like he leads quite the life.”
Vic nodded.
“Are you close?”
The bottle of juice in Vic’s hand was being twirled in again, the juice sloshing. “He’s half of my heart, if that’s what you mean.”
“It wasn’t exactly. No.”
Those expressive brows of hers rose again. She was surprised he’d pushed a little, he thought.
“I wish we were closer. I made endless mistakes in the relationship department—and in the parenting department too, probably in more ways than I even know. I think he’s forgiven me, or doesn’t bear me ill will, at least, but it definitely affected him.
I don’t think he feels close to me.” Vic bit her lip. “Wow, sorry. That was a lot—”
Cal’s brow knit. “It really wasn’t. And I asked.
I’m sorry you guys don’t have the relationship you want.
For what it’s worth though, thirty-five’s still young these days.
Give him another five years. I got easier on my folks after I hit forty and realized how you should live and show up for other people is a really hard thing to figure out sometimes—but by then they’d both passed away, so I never got to tell them. ”
“Oh, man . . . that sucks. I’m so sorry.”
Cal shrugged, surprised he’d told her all that.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, yeah . . . so we do the best we can with what we know, but really, who knows anything until after they’ve screwed something up?
Kids hold that against you—and maybe it’s even fair—but they often come to understand. Or fingers crossed, anyway.”
It was a speech and Cal suddenly felt like an old, boring, crotchety lecturer, the way Mel had so often complained he was.
Vic, however, had seemed to listen intently, even to appreciate it. She nodded and made a non-committal but hopeful sound. “And what about you? Married? Divorced? Kiddos? I confess I pictured you married to your college sweetheart or something with a whole baseball team of kids.”
“It’s the beard. Plus, according to my sister, I dress like I live on a farm. People always think it’s a religious thing or something, and that I must have eight or nine children.”
“You’re right!” Vic laughed. “You do look . . . wholesome or something. Like you should have a horse and buggy or—”
Cal laughed too. “Okay, stop. I don’t think my manhood can take this.”
“Oh, I think your manhood can take whatever I give it.”
“Oh, do you now?”
Vic laughed again, turned red—but her smile was a little wicked. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”
“Too bad.” Their eyes locked, and humor and heat simmered between them. Again, however, Vic broke eye contact.
“Anyway,” Cal said. “My parents’ marriage was .
. . ugly. And the end of their marriage was .
. . ugly. I always wanted something different, peaceful, kind, I don’t know .
. . but it didn’t work. Despite my best intentions, I just seemed to follow their example.
Two fairly long common-law relationships.
Then another, that I thought was finally the one.
She, ah—” He broke off, cleared his throat.
“She wasn’t. And no kids. Not even a stepkid. Weird in this day and age, I know.”
“Did you want them?”
“Wow, we’re really pulling out the big guns tonight, aren’t we?”
Vic smiled. “It’s the pineapple—a little-known truth serum.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess I have to answer. I did want children with my ex—her name was Melanie. Quite badly, in fact.” He shrugged. “We can’t always get what we want in life, though.”
Vic nodded again, and they both seemed to feel that was enough of that kind of sharing for a first date or whatever the heck this was.
They’d made their way through one and a half pizzas—and Vic had matched him slice for slice. Now, without having to discuss it, they got to their feet simultaneously and removed all evidence of their feasting.
In the kitchen, Vic pulled a notepad and pen from a drawer. “In case you want to jot things down.”
Cal tapped his shirt pocket that held his phone. “I’ll just put notes on my phone.”
“Oh, right. Technology.”
They both smiled again—man, he wanted to kiss that mouth of hers—and moved past the living room. By a closed door in the far-left corner of the house, by the laundry room and another full bathroom, a loud rattling grumble made Cal start.
Vic grinned and stifled a laugh with her hand. “Audra. Snoring. Unbelievably loud, hey?” she whispered.
She wasn’t wrong. It was crazy loud. It barely sounded human, let alone like a sound a tiny, frail woman like Audra could produce.
They crept up the stairs, flinching at every squeak of the old floorboards, and again went through each room—except for Vic’s.
“Mine’s fine,” she said.
Rats. He really wanted a glimpse of it. He suspected it would give a glimpse of the Vic she kept hid away from the world. Now what on earth made him think that? he wondered.
Back downstairs, Cal was sorry the evening was wrapping up, but it was after 11:00.
“That was fun,” Vic said, again with that note of wistfulness that Cal didn’t understand.
“And hopefully helpful and beneficial.”
“Yes,” she nodded, and her lips quirked in a smile. “I’m sure it will prove to be all those things too.”
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll come by in the light one day this week between jobs and check out your roof. If you do need a new one, this isn’t the best time of year for it, but I can at least patch the place causing the water spot in the hallway upstairs.”
“That’d be great. You can text me, or—” Her face lit up and so did Cal’s insides. “Come by The Second Chance Shop. I’m there all week until 5:00 each day.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t ask where you work. I love that place.”
“Yeah, me too, I mean . . .” Vic shook her head, then nodded. “It’s wonderful, but I’m only there temporarily. Filling in for Gwen till she’s back.”
“Oh, yeah, I know Gwen. She’s honeymooning. Right. Nice.”
They stood in the porch, looking at each other.
Again, Cal felt the moment was yelling kiss her, kiss her, but something in her expression, a wariness or something even though she was smiling up at him, gave him pause.
But then she raised her chin slightly and looked him directly in the eye.
Okay then . . . He may have been out of the game for a while, but he wasn’t entirely clueless.
Not entirely. He was reading this situation right. He was. He thought.
“Can I . . . May I . . . kiss you?” Oh, smooth, Cal, really smooth.
She fluttered her eyelashes in an exaggerated, teasing way that was nonetheless very alluring. Alluring? Whoa, buddy.
“Yes, please,” she said.
Then his mouth was on hers, and all thought and inner dialogue was no more.
All he could do was feel. She ran her tongue softly along the ridge of his mouth—not quite French kissing, but something more than just a simple mouth kiss.
Then her teeth dragged his lower lip and bit him—just lightly.
The surprise of it made him shiver, and all of him twitched to attention.
He didn’t know if he’d ever felt anything like it.
She pressed her body closer, and he took her heart-shaped face in his hands, kissing her more deeply.
She smelled so great, like some kind of fruit and vanilla and spice.
He didn’t want it to end—and he didn’t want to make her feel pressured for anything more.
His heart was racing, his breathing fast, when she pulled back. Man, he hoped he wasn’t drooling. Her eyes were soft, and he felt lost in them. It had been so long since he had affectionate, sexual physical touch. He hadn’t realized how parched he was for it.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Vic’s cheeks flushed and she laughed softly. “You’re . . . welcome?”
“That was . . . I, well . . . I had a seriously great time tonight,” he said.
“Me too,” Vic whispered.